Jesus. First Drew, now Iris. Whatever happened to the carefree and innocent college days of kinky sex experimentation?
“I don’t need or want a relationship. They’re emotionally exhausting. I’m lucky if I can muster the energy just to go to class these days. And what’s the point of risking getting close to someone when we’re going to graduate and move on in less than a year?”
“It might last longer,” Iris begins.
But I shake my head and take another pull on my straw. “It isn’t worth the risk. Nor do two random hook ups a relationship make.”
It’s going to happen again. You might as well admit it.
“It’s a start,” Iris says.
“It is not.” I shove my shake away. “I just… He’s… We’re…”
“You conjugating here?” George asks, his lips twitching.
“Ha.” I expel a breath. “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s something between us that’s like…” My hand lifts helplessly.
“A fat zit that needs to be popped?” George puts in helpfully. “You know, all hot and throbbing and dying to be touched. The pressure to give it a squeeze builds and builds until you give in and, bam!” George taps his fists together. “Eruption.”
“George!” Iris tosses a balled up napkin at him, and I chuck a fry. He’s too busy cracking up to defend himself. “You’re going to make me sick.”
“That’s totally gross,” I add with a laugh.
“Seriously,” Iris huffs, “did Mami drop you on your head when you were a baby or something?”
“Come on,” he’s still laughing, “you know it’s true.”
“I do not want to think of any guy I’m…”
“Fucking?” George offers.
“I’m whatever,” I grind out, “in terms of a zit.”
“Yeah, well,” George steals one of my fries, “it would definitely kill the buzz if you did.”
“I’m going to think of you as a pimple,” Iris snaps. “You know, those deep-seated ones that make your life hell and always show up right when they will embarrass you the most.”
“Ah, you love me, sis.” George blows her an air kiss.
Iris rolls her eyes before turning back to me. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Agreed,” I say succinctly, purposely misinterpreting her words. “It was a mistake that won’t happen again.”
GRAY AND DIAZ are in my kitchen when I get home for the day. My mood is so rotten, I almost regret giving Gray a key, but then I smell something drifting from the big pot on the stove that makes my mouth water and decide his occasional invasions are worth it. I might have asked him to be my roommate, but every time we go to an away game, I have to room with him—and sometimes two other guys—which is more than enough socializing for me. Besides, I like living alone.
When my parents died, I was handed a life insurance payout check for two million dollars and two death certificates. I promptly threw up the contents of my stomach and didn’t get out of bed for a week. I wouldn’t even touch the money. I wanted my parents, not some fucking check. Eventually, Coach convinced me that my parents took out those life insurance policies because they wanted to provide for me. Not the best comfort, but I bucked up and called a financial advisor who put the money in various accounts.
Last year, when I learned the true value of privacy the hard way, I bought a small bungalow style house. I don’t plan to live here permanently, but I bought for cash and, over the summer, I had the master bath and kitchen redone. When I’m ready, I’ll sell it at a profit and put the savings away. For now, however, it’s my haven.