Chapter 15 Liza
Liza
Liza: I’m in the kitchen, and I think the coast is clear.
Blue: Roger that. I’m on my way down.
Blue: You know what we need? Walkie-talkies. How cool would that be?
Liza: So cool…if we want to broadcast to all our housemates that we’re messing around.
Blue: Shit. You’re right. Hmmm…What about Morse code? We could learn that. Do you think there are classes? Or just youtube videos?
Liza: I think our phones work just fine. And I think you better hurry your ass up before someone spots you. How long does it take to walk down the steps?
Blue doesn’t answer my text, but I take that as a good sign that I’ll see him in about fifteen seconds.
I fill up my water bottle, then lean on the counter.
I’m going for relaxed and casual, but I highly doubt I’m pulling it off.
It’s been two days since I met up with Blue at Drip, and I’m getting anxious.
Not in a bad way, more in an oh-my-god-was-that-orgasm-real-and-can-he-do-it-again-pretty-please way.
Syncing up our schedules was no easy feat, but we managed to find a few hours that work for both of us.
The miraculous part is that we’re basically alone right now.
Jenksy’s the only other person home right now and he’s up in his room taking a nap.
I’m not worried because we’d have a better chance of waking the dead than rousing Jenksy from his slumber.
I know from road trips that once that guy is out, it’s nearly impossible to wake him.
He’s often the last guy on the team bus for exactly that reason.
The trio of freshmen usually come home to hang out before practice, but I haven't seen them yet, so it looks like Blue and I might just pull this off—at least for today.
Blue strides into the kitchen, managing to look both confident and relaxed.
He’s got a natural swagger that’s entirely foreign to me.
I’ve got a healthy self esteem. I know what I’m good at, and I know where I fall short.
I’m proud of my accomplishments, and I’m not about to downplay them for anyone else’s benefit.
But have I ever walked into a room with the kind of ease and charm Blue does? I doubt it.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a chin tip and a half-smile that probably has the power to melt panties within a ten-mile radius.
“Hi,” I reply, like we’re passing each other on campus and being polite, and not like he’s about to sneak into my room and tear my clothes off.
At least, I think there will be tearing.
I hope so. Maybe I should request that? It’s the kind of thing I’ve read about a million times, but I’m not so sure it happens in real life.
Are panties really that flimsy? What kind of grip strength does that require?
The guys in books always promise to replace them, but do they actually? Because panties aren’t cheap.
“You good, DeWalt?” he asks, hip-checking me lightly as he refills his own water bottle.
“I’m so good,” I say, totally overcompensating and probably sounding like an idiot. But Blue turns his smile up to full wattage, and the effect is devastating. My knees are weak, and we haven’t done anything yet. Fantastic..
“Good to know,” Blue says with a wink.
Embarrassment paralyzes me momentarily. Why is it that I’m either supremely annoyed by this man or making myself sound stupid in front of him.
I don’t have long to ponder this question, because the three freshmen come trooping into the kitchen at this exact moment.
And when they see us standing next to each other, and notice that I’m not strangling Blue or spraying him with the faucet hose, they all look confused.
Leo recovers first, probably because he just figures we’re being weird humans and he rolls with it. But the other two guys are eyeing me suspiciously, like I might have a kitchen knife behind my back and I’m two seconds away from taking out our best defenseman.
Let’s be clear: I’d never do the team dirty like that. Especially not so close to Regionals.
“Everything okay in here?” Dime asks warily. His real name is Mason Tenerovich, but since we have two guys named Mason on the team, Ollie and Blue christened them with nicknames.
“It’s great,” I squawk, at the same time Blue smiles broadly and declares that he’s never been better.
It really is unfortunate that for two people who are trying to keep things under wraps, we’re both terrible liars.
And what makes a lie seem infinitely more believable? When you just keep adding to it.
“Liza’s helping me with something,” Blue says, causing the guys to look at us skeptically.
“Laundry,” I blurt. “I’m helping him with his laundry. He’s so bad at it, which is pathetic, right? Because it’s not that hard. But, I guess that’s why he needs my help.”
Dime’s staring at us as though we’ve lost our collective minds.
“You two are doing laundry together?” he asks, pointing between us before turning his gaze to the washer and dryer that are tucked away in a closet in the corner of the room.
The door to that closet is wide open, and both machines sit silent and empty.
“Well, yeah,” I stammer. “We will be, after we go up to his room to get it. We just wanted to check and make sure no one else was doing a load. But the machines are free, so we’re good to go.”
Beside me, Blue is nodding vigorously. “I call dibs!” he yells.
Flo, whose name is also Mason, decides that now is the time to add his two cents. He picks up our water bottles and sniffs them, like he figures we’re day drinking. That really should be the only plausible excuse for the story we’re spinning right now.
I need to get out of this conversation before I accidentally start rambling about the study I’m doing for the Psych department and the fact that Blue is giving me a hand —literally. “We better go get your clothes,” I say, forcing myself not to grab Blue’s hand and drag him up the staircase.
“Good idea,” Blue agrees. “See you guys later,” he calls as we head up the steps.
If the guys think it’s weird that we’re saying goodbye just to run upstairs and return two minutes later, they don’t say anything.
And thank god for that. I must be sweating right now.
I’d never survive an interrogation. If I ever get mistakenly accused of a crime, I’ll crack in about two seconds.
I’d probably make a false confession before they were done reading me my rights because I just can’t handle the pressure.
When we reach the third floor, Blue flops onto the couch in the little common area outside his room. He’s got one arm draped across his face, but he lifts it just enough to look in my direction. “Holy shit, DeWalt. You’re a worse liar than I am, and I didn’t think that was possible.”
Flipping him off, I use my free hand to lob a throw pillow at him. “I don’t want to hear it,” I tell him. “I’m the one who got us up here. It may not have been a great lie,” I concede, “but it got the job done.”
“True,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “So, now that we’re here, what do you want to do?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I want to get down to business and that this whole flirty banter thing he’s got going on is completely unnecessary. But dammit, I like it. I’m not supposed to like it, but I do.
“Hmmm,” I say, narrowing my eyes and tapping my finger against my chin, because I’ve decided that we’re not really flirting. We’re practicing. And that’s perfectly acceptable. “What are my options?”
Blue’s still sprawled out on the couch, while I’m sitting on the arm of the chair across from him.
He stretches for a second before lacing his fingers together at the back of his neck.
The movement makes his hoodie ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin.
And yes, I take a moment to appreciate the view.
Only for a second, though, because he clears his throat and gives me a pointed look.
“You want options, right? Well, let me think. We could actually do laundry. My hampers are overflowing.”
“Hard pass,” I say automatically.
“It was worth a shot,” he jokes. “All right, so laundry is out. Hmmm…you want to watch TV?”
“Nope. Not in the mood,” I say.
“Hey, you know what we could do? And I’m actually being serious for once.”
I twist my lips to one side like I’m actually burning brain cells. “You could take me into your room, rip my clothes off, and do delicious things to me with your tongue?” I guess.
“I was going to say you could help me put together the new scratching post I got for Hazel, but I like your idea way better. Let’s go with that.
” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he pops off the couch and strides toward me, his arm reaching for mine.
Our hands touch, and the reaction is immediate.
It’s warm and electric.There’s nothing overtly sexual about holding hands, but it feels intimate, and the zing of pleasure that races through my body tells me I’m ready for more of his touch.
But that will have to wait.
About two seconds after our hands are joined, I hear the soft click of heels on the wood floor. Immediately, I drop Blue’s hand like it’s been dipped in molten lava, and when I look up, I see Bridgette rounding the corner.
“I heard you two were up here,” she says, smiling brightly.
Bridgette Mikalski is the personification of sunshine.
She’s endlessly warm and sweet and she sees the good in everyone.
Perpetual positivity is obnoxious on some people, but not my loyal, redheaded friend.
She’s so damn genuine and kind that it’s impossible to hate her or be annoyed by her glass-so-full-it’s-overflowing view of the world.
I do wish she had better timing, though.