“A PB&J?” I ask, blinking at him as I try to figure out the most strategic way to squeeze past him into the living. Only there is no strategic way because he's a big dude and he takes up the whole space. “Yeah, sure,” I say, just to get him to move away, pad into the kitchen with an exaggerated yawn, arms stretched over his head, the muscles in his sleek back lengthening into a painting worthy image of perfection. Oddly enough, there isn't a single tattoo on that long, lean stretch of muscle. Other than the sprinkle of color at the top that connects his shoulders and trails up the back of his neck, this is all blank canvas.
I feel my breath catch again and have to close my eyes for a long moment. Never in my life have I been this jumpy about a guy before and it's a little concerning if I'm being honest with myself. In my mind, I tell myself I'm acting this way because I lost my virginity to the guy. Everyone always acts like people develop immediate feelings for the partner that was involved during their first time. Maybe it's true?
I walk up to the doorway between the living room and kitchen, folding my arms in front of myself as I watch Zay slap together another sandwich for me. He even wraps the bottom half up in a paper towel so it's portable.
“Here ya go.” He passes it over to me and lets his fingers linger against the pulse point in my wrist. “Have fun at school, okay? And tell Dan the Douche to fuck off if he tries to hit on you.”
“Um.” I slap the sandwich against my palm. “And why would I do that? What if I like the guy?” I kind of don't, but that's not really the point.
Zay flashes a grin over his shoulder.
“Cool beans. Like the guy. Do whatever you want with him … after I go back to Vegas. Until then, Smarty-Pants, I'm totally laying my claim on you.”
The campus at HSU is lush. I'd be hard-pressed to admit it, but it's definitely prettier than Berkeley, less competitive, too. It's not like I have a problem with competitiveness. Trust me, I can keep up. I didn't graduate high school early to then fall behind, but … an academic world without that cutthroat background buzz is nice, peaceful. Even though Humboldt State is a hell of a lot less prestigious than UCB, I think I might be able to adapt. Maybe even come to like it here?
I pass under trees dripping with dew, past jurassic ferns that have probably grown here since the beginning of time, and head out to my Subaru, pausing when a hand clamps down on my door and a girl appears, leaning into my personal space like Zayden does.
“Hi there,” she says, smiling prettily at me. And wow. She is pretty—tall and thin with tattoos on both arms and electric blue hair that mimics the small bit of clear sky I can see above her head. “You're Brooke, right?”
“Yeah?” I answer her like it's a question, mostly because I'm already worrying about what's going to happen between Zayden and me when I get home, and partly because I'm a little confused as to how she knows my name.
“Tinley,” she offers as introduction, pointing to herself with a finger tattooed in hearts. “You're Dan's study partner?”
I blink stupidly a few times and lift my hands to my hair, pulling it all away from my back so I can lean against the car's seat without it yanking my scalp off.
“Sure.” Now that she's mentioned Dan, I'm thinking about Zayden's words. My claim on you. Claim? What claim? That's just stupid guy talk, and I hate it. I won't listen to it. “Why?”
“Because he's my ex, and I just wanted you to know that he sleeps with anybody he can get his hands on.” A pause as the girl steps back in her tight black jeans and tank top. “Anybody. Basically, he's a slut.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Right. Okay. I wasn't planning on sleeping with the guy, but thanks for the heads-up.”
“No problem,” she says as she takes another step back and watches as I climb into the car and shut the door. I turn on some metal music and let the angry sounds wash over me. Something about all that chaos keeps me calm in a way Zayden's pop music never could.
I push my glasses up my nose and buckle myself in, pulling out of the space and noticing as I do that the blue-haired girl is watching me and smiling. Huh. Doubt I'll ever see her again, but still, that was weird, wasn't it? Totally weird.
I head home and pull into the driveway next to Zay's minivan, straightening out the boring gray tank I wore to class, wishing I'd taken the time to put on makeup before I'd left.
“Not that it really matters,” I mutter under my breath, running my fingers through my hair before I climb out and head inside, opening the door to blaring Eminem/Rihanna as I move into the kitchen and cross my arms over my chest. Zayden's rapping to the baby in her high chair as she bounces and laughs at him.
When he sees me, he winks and starts singing Rihanna's portion of the song, completely unashamed of how stupid he looks.
I seriously cannot fight that smile.
“Sing it with me, Smarty-Pants,” he says as he spins in a theatrical circle on the soles of his knee-high Converse. They're black and white, covered in straps studded with bits of metal. They look … devastatingly sexy with his black skinny jeans and his red tank. When he puts his hands together in a prayer position and gestures at me with them, I feel a warm heat between my thighs. “Come on, baby. Let's do this thing.”