an unfinished sentence, and holy shit—he really was writing a paper. I’m so happy right now I could jump him.
“I was wondering where that sweatshirt was,” he says.
“I have to wash it,” I answer.
He points to the chair in front of the laptop, one of those black, spinny, armless office chairs. I sit down and he’s on the edge of the bed and it’s a small room, so he’s basically right behind me, his knees straddling either side of me on the chair. I’m paging the cursor down, trying to read this paragraph about Bob Marley and the song “Buffalo Soldier,” and I guess it’s interesting but I can’t really tell you because the proximity of Travis is driving me crazy, and I mean that in a purely sexual way. His adorable boy face is right here, over my shoulder like a devil whispering, “Let’s fuck,” in my ear. He’s not actually saying that. But I can feel his breath on the back of my ear, I can hear those quiet little mouth sounds he makes. He clicks his tongue softly and it makes me shiver.
“Are you cold?” he asks, at the same exact time I say, “Is it warm in here?”
I laugh and pull my (fine, his) sweatshirt off over my head, totally conscious of how my tank top rises up over my back and I quickly tug it down. I get up and hang the hoodie on the hook behind the door and when I turn back around he’s sitting in the desk chair, leaning back with his arms crossed in front of his chest. And he’s glaring at me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, honestly confused.
“You did not come over here in that tank top with no bra on expecting to leave in once piece, did you?”
Well, no, not really. I fold my arms across my chest though, because fuck him for declaring the obvious.
“Emmylou.”
“What?”
“Come here,” he says. “Or else go. Because if you don’t want anything to happen, this is pretty much your last chance.”
“Are you saying you do want something to happen?”
“Do I have a dick? I think we both know the answer to that.”
“Well, what if I’m still undecided?”
He rolls his eyes and spins back around to the laptop.
“You have five minutes to make up your mind before I jump you,” he says. “It’s 1:23, so at 1:28, it’s on. You’ve been warned.”
“Wait, those are my only options? To be mauled or to walk home? What about the paper?”
“Fuck the paper,” he says. “I’ll drop it off for you on my way to work tomorrow.”
“What about . . .”
“What about what?”
“What about Millie?”
“Millie?” he says, spinning back around to face me. “Oh yes, Millie Vagaboss. Let’s definitely talk about her.” His sarcasm really isn’t bad for a Midwestern boy.
“It’s none of my business, really,” I say as I realize I don’t actually want to hear this, most likely.
“No, no, it’s your business, especially since you gave her your blessing to basically dry hump me in the van last night.”
“What the hell?” I think I feel my nostrils flaring, but I really hope not. “I did?”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” he says. “She told me you said there’s nothing going on between us, and you were cool if she hooked up with me, like I’m some guy in your personal boy harem and you’re giving me to her as a token of your appreciation.”
“It was so not like that! Are you kidding me?”
“She was really drunk,” he says. “But that was the gist of it, yeah.”
Now I’m mad. I have no idea why, since I basically did tell Millie she was free to go for it with Bean.
“What’s wrong?” he says. “Did you really expect to find her hiding in my closet? Were you going to fight for my honor or something?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“Stop giving me to your friends like I’m some kind of manslut.”
“I didn’t do that!”
“You did tell her there was nothing between us, though.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, feeling guilty and I’m not even sure why.
“And then you walked right over here in my favorite tank top without a fucking bra on, and by the way? Your five minutes is up.”
“I know,” I say.
Cue eye lock. I feel like motherfucking Cyclops I’m owning this stare-down so hard.
But then Travis pounces, throws me over his shoulder and dumps me onto the bed. He jumps on top of me and starts to tickle the hell out of me. His fingers are in my armpits, in