9. Lizzy
Holy shit, Sullivan Brewer seriously just asked me on a date.
Is that what that was?
Food = a date?
Yes, no, maybe?
I’m going to have to text my roommates to ask, but holy shit—I hardly had to work for that invitation at all!
I cannot wait to text Bethany and Jill. They are going to crap their pants.
I haven’t had a date in months, let alone a date with somebody cool. Is that a dumb thing to say?
Glancing over at Brodie, I feel a little pang watching as he sits quietly on the couch at the foot of his bed, staunch and unmoving, staring blankly at the television. He hasn’t uttered a single peep in a few minutes, not since Sully walked back out the door, leaving a trail of water and aftershave in his wake.
What kind of guy gets out of the shower, bursts through a door, and scams on their roommate’s overnight guest?
Sully does, that’s who.
But that doesn’t make him a bad dude. It just makes him…
Assertive.
And we like assertiveness, don’t we?
It means I don’t have to do all the work—not that I was planning on it because in my wildest dreams would I have thought Sully would waltz through the bedroom door after seeing me for five minutes by the bathroom and ask me to hang out tomorrow.
The idea gives me a thrill.
What girl doesn’t want a cute guy to think she’s attractive?
And it’s not as if Brodie was flirting or that he cares. I mean, look at him over there, not caring. Look at him watching the TV, ignoring me now that his roommate has gone back to his own room.
He’s pretending I’m not here.
Fine.
I pick up my phone and start a text thread with my roomies since Brodie seems intent on ignoring me.
Me: GUYS. You’ll never guess what just happened.
Bethany: You finally got laid???
What?
No!
Why would she say that?
Me: Ha ha very funny. But NO.
Bethany: A girl can dream…
Jill: You’ve been dreaming that Liz would get laid? Weird, but whatever LOL
Bethany: Pause. Did that dude with the hot voice try boneing you? Bone. Bang. Did I spell that right? Frick
Jill: What are you talking about? The dude with the hot voice??? What dude. Why is he trying to bang you? Make this make sense…
I look up at Brodie, a.k.a. the dude with the hot voice. His back is to me now, so I study his neck and thick black hair, two things I hadn’t noticed before ’cause there’s something about the span of a guy’s shoulders from behind that has me feeling some kind of way.
Me: Jill, I’m at the neighbor’s house. Did Bethany not tell you we actually DO have a squirrel in the house, specifically in MY room?
Jill: NO SHE DID NOT.
Bethany: Can we not change the subject? She was about to tell us all about how she didn’t get laid.
Me: LOL I was not.
Jill: THERE IS A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE??? WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME
Bethany: We’ve been busy, but more importantly, Lizzy is next door with the hockey players and staying with one of them so she doesn’t get ravaged by the wall rodents.
Jill: Once again—NO ONE thought to share this information?? I’m literally holed up with my parents. It’s boring as hell here, why didn’t anyone say anything?
Me: ‘Cause I was too busy packing up my shit and moving out ha ha
Bethany: For real now, tell us your news. We’ll behave.
Me: I have a date tomorrow.
Bethany: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. Please tell me it’s the dude with the deep voice.
She is really caught up on that, isn’t she?
Jill: OMG. Please tell me it’s not Charlie. That guy is SUCH an idiot…and can we not forget how he was bad in bed?
Why would I go on a date with a dude she slept with?
Ew. No.
She knows me better than that.
Bethany: They’re all bad in bed. Don’t tell Jon I said that.
Jill: Maybe if he went down on you more, you’d forgive him LOL
Bethany: Maybe I won’t suck his dick unless he goes down on me—we’ll call it an even trade, HA!!!
Me: Um. Hello?
Bethany: Sorry. We can’t help ourselves. We have to constantly get off track. Who do you have a date with?!!
Me: Sully? I looked him up, and his actual name is Sullivan Brewer. He seems like kind of a blowhard, but I think a date with him will be fun.
Jill: Sully? I remember him. I think he’s a sophomore? Probably took one too many sticks to the head.
Me: JILL, lol what the hell
Jill: Listen. He’s pretty. That’s all I’m saying about that. And he’s good at hockey.
Good at hockey? According to my search, he’s better than GOOD at hockey. He’s one of the best. But what guy on our team isn’t? Some of them are headed to the pros.
Even Brodie.
I did a search for him too, and wouldn’t you know it, the guy is not only being courted by several major teams, but he’s also a senior. Planning on graduating before entering the draft, which I think is smart.
Real smart.
Bethany: You’ve been there all of one hour. How do you already have a date with someone, and why isn’t it with Brodie with the deep voice?
Me: You need to let that thing go already. The dude is not interested in dating me for several reasons. 1—it would be weird. 2—I’m his roommate now. 3—we’re neighbors
Bethany: Your logic makes NO sense because 1—you have a date with your neighbor. 2—you are NOT his roommate
Jill: Yeah, I’m thinking a good way to pass the time while you’re in his room would be to fuck him
Oh my god, these two!
I glance at Brodie, who happens to be glancing at me at the same time, except he looks away quickly when our eyes meet.
Me: You guys can NOT be seriously telling me to sleep with him. I just met him.
Bethany: So????? Sleeping with someone doesn’t mean you have to marry him. It just means you want an orgasm. Let him go down on you at least…
Dear lord.
They’re serious.
They actually think I should sleep with Brodie and go on a date with Sully? That’s way too much drama and juggling for me. I can’t handle one guy, let alone two, and keep it a secret so they’re not fighting.
Not that they’d fight over me—I’m just saying.
Not that Brodie has any interest in me! I’m not saying that, either.
You get my point.
Me: We can’t all be dating a Jon and getting sex whenever we want, Bethany. Stop rubbing it in.
Bethany: You could be dating someone too if you would stop staying home to read every weekend. At least download a dating app, for crying out loud.
Me: There is NO ONE on those apps. And I do NOT stay home reading every weekend.
Just most weekends.
Books are more interesting than guys and bars, but if I had a guy to go to the bar with—maybe I’d get out more? It’s no fun going out with Bethany and Jon. They’re soo touchy-feely and give way too much PDA to be good going-out friends. No one wants to be the third wheel, and our other friends are in sororities, so they’re off doing their own thing many nights.
Bethany: How the hell would you know if there weren’t any guys on the apps? WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU CHECKED?
Jill: She has a valid point, Liz
Me: Jill, you don’t go out either!!!
Jill: True—but I go on dates.
Me: Let me get this straight; are y’all date shaming me??
Jill: LOL, no. We would never. We’re just saying—have some fun for once, and if this guy with the deep voice wants to, you know—do you a favor by eating you out, maybe you let him.
I shift awkwardly on his bed, giving him another cursory glance.
He looks so uncomfortable on that small couch, his shoulders slouched as he tries to make room for himself so he doesn’t have to join me on the bed.
God forbid.
I wonder what his deal is.
Does he have a girlfriend back home that he doesn’t want to upset?
That thought hadn’t occurred to me before, and a sudden pang of guilt pained my stomach as I tapped out one last message to my roommates before tossing my phone to the side: Don’t you worry about me. I’ll have plenty of fun tonight for all of us.
Brave words, even if they aren’t true.
“Would you please come lay on the bed? You’re making me nervous.” I tell Brodie’s back now that he’s back to staring at the television again. Not that he can’t stay where he’s at, it’s just…it’s giving me anxiety.
He turns to look at me, and I marvel at the fact that his eyes have never strayed below my neck.
This guy is good.
This guy is real good.
Or he doesn’t like tits because I know mine are showing. A little on purpose, a little by accident, a whole lotta boobage ‘cause I can.
If I had to describe myself, I would say I’m a contradiction; conservative but flirty. Extroverted but introverted. Cute but occasionally feeling myself, feeling super sexy. Quiet. And loud when the mood strikes.
Shy but assertive.
I haven’t dated and haven’t had sex in quite a few months but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it on a regular basis; dating and sex, that is, neither of them mutually exclusive.
I’m not so conservative that I wouldn’t have casual sex.
I’m not so stupid I don’t know that Sully the Roommate Hockey Player isn’t an actual player who has no intention of being in a relationship with me. He did not ask me on a date because he wants to me monogamous—but neither did I.
And that’s the beauty of it.
But staring at moody, broody Brodie is giving me second thoughts about the whole thing.
He’s just so…
Nice?
No, that’s not the right word.
He’s a decent dude—that sums it up way better. Not sweet, not kind, but…something, you know? And I’m not basing this assessment on actual facts or background information or prior experience with him. No. I’m basing this opinion on the one plus hours I’ve spent in his bedroom and in his presence, and Brodie has been nothing but chill.
Too chill if you want my opinion.
“Would you please come lay on the bed?” I ask him again, fully aware that it sounds slightly intimate. “Let’s talk.”
I half expect him to respond with a, “We can talk while I’m sitting here,” but he surprises me by rising and walking around to the other side of the bed and plopping down on it, his weight causing the whole mattress to cave.
So big.
Stiffly, he settles himself against the headboard, sitting up, pulling a pillow over and resting it in his lap. Hands folded.
When he glances down at me, he raises his brows as if to say, “Now what?”
Very good question.
Glad he didn’t ask it.
I make a show of yawning, curious about where his eyes will land when I raise my arms above my head, disappointed again when they land in the same spot they’ve been: my face.
Dammit!
This is pathetic, I literally have a date with his roommate tomorrow, and let’s not joke ourselves—it’s a date. Food is a date.
So why the hell am I trying so hard to get Brodie to shift his gaze and give my tits a glance? What the hell kind of pervert am I?
The captivity is getting to me!
I have Stockholm syndrome!
“What year are you again?”
“Senior,” his deep voice tells me. “What about you?”
“Junior.” I raise a hand to my face and nibble on my thumbnail. “Do you have a major, or is it just hockey?”
Some guys do that, don’t they? Declare something but have no a intention of doing anything else with their lives except play the sport they’ve dedicated all their time to.
“I have a major.” His laugh is quiet and amused. “It’s Economics.”
“Economics?” I can’t keep the shock out of my tone. “Fancy!” I pause. “What would you do with an econ degree?”
Brodie shrugs his wide, broad shoulders. “Don’t know. Maybe work in finance—my dad owns a wealth management company. If I hurt myself or don’t make it in the pros, I’ll work for him.”
“Ahh, so he’s your backup plan.”
He nods. “It’s always good to have a plan B, yeah?”
This time, it’s me nodding. “Yeah, good to have a backup plan.”
“What’s your major?”
“I’m dabbling in International Studies?” Whatever the hell that means. “Hospitality or something like that. I’m still not sure.” I’ve always wanted to have a travel blog or an influencer page, but you kind of have to travel to post about your travels. So not doing that—at least not at the moment.
I don’t say any of this to him.
“My sister works for a hotel in Vegas,” he finally says after a few moments. As if he were debating about telling me. “She’s the concierge manager.”
That is a fun fact.
“Really?”
“Yeah. She has some insane stories.” Brodie glances over at me. “I don’t know if she loves it, but when you go into hospitality, sometimes you take what you can get. She started off as a club promoter.”
Club promoter? That’s a male-dominated industry, so his sister must be a badass.
“Why do I picture you as an only child?” I ask him, adjusting myself on the bed so I’m on my stomach, chin perched in my hands, legs bent behind me.
“You picture me as a child?”
“No, I just look at you and feel like you don’t have siblings. A brother maybe, but not a sister.”
I know it’s an odd, random thing to say, but that doesn’t stop me from saying it.
“I also have a brother,” he informs me. “He’s younger. He’ll be a freshman next year—here, actually.” Brodie glances down at me. “What about you?”
I shake my head. “Lonely only. That’s why I love having roommates.”
He snorts. “I don’t. Mine are a pain in the fucking ass.”
I’m sure they are. “Living with four other dudes does sound terrible. And disgusting.” I’ve seen the bathroom, so I can attest to this. Although like I said, the bedroom I’m lying in now is cleaner than I would have ever expected, and I’d wager that if I went and knocked on Sully’s door, his space would be a mess.
Ew.
“It can be.”
“What’s the dumbest thing one of your roommates has ever done?”
“Shit, I don’t know. They’ve done so much stupid shit it would be hard to come up with one thing.”
“I’ll wait.” I laugh, seriously wanting to know.
It takes him a few seconds to think on it, but when he finally opens his mouth to say, “One time, Charlie took such a massive dump that the toilet backed up. ’Cause obviously he had to wipe his ass, right? But there was so much shit in the toilet that when he added the TP, it backed up when he tried to flush it. ’Cause he flushed it like, four times to get it all down.”
My mouth drops open. “That sounds so fucking gross,” I curse even though I’m not a girlie who curses in front of boys. I like them to think I’m way more proper than I actually am. “What did you do?”
“We didn’t do anything. It wasn’t our shit. But it was a huge mess and smelled disgusting,” he recalls. “My parents paid for a hotel room so I could sleep somewhere else.”
“Aw,” I croon. “You should have come slept by us. We would have taken you in.” I wink, dang if I don’t.
Brodie blinks. Then he laughs, finally seeming to relax a bit. “I would never have come over. What would I have said? Charlie shit, can’t spend the night in my own house?”
“Exactly that, yes.” I nod. “One hundred.”
“Next time then,” he promises, though I can tell he’s not being serious.
“You would not.” I roll my eyes, rolling to my back and staring up at the ceiling.
“No I wouldn’t.”
“Why?” I play with the straps of Bethany’s white tank top, wondering if my boobs are flat as pancakes because I’m on my back.
“Because. That would be weird, I don’t even know you guys.”
“You do now.” I roll back to my stomach and look up at him. “We’re friends now.”
Duh.
“You help me, I help you.” Seems obvious. “Now I owe you one.”
I smile sweetly, eyes on his face, watching his expression change from relaxed to moody, brows furrowing as if I’ve told him something scandalous or serious when all I did was tell him I owe him a favor.
Wonder what’s going through his brain.
Wish I could ask and have him answer honestly.
“You don”t owe me anything. We”re neighbors.”
But I want to owe him something. I want him to want me to owe him. As crazy as that sounds, the idea thrills me even though he couldn’t care less. If he were smart, he would make a move on me if only to pass the time and not because he was interested.
“There”s nothing wrong with being bored and passing the time by having sex,” Bethany once told me after she slept with some random guy she met at Starbucks. Said he looked cute with his nerdy glasses, and she had an hour to kill before class. She was already on that side of campus, so they had sex in the bathroom because, why not?
She’d been bored waiting.
And I’m slightly bored now. Or could be.
That would be my excuse anyway.
For a brief second, I wonder if the only reason I”m having these thoughts is because Brodie has expressed zero anything toward me. In fact, the guy is acting as if he does this sort of thing all the time—rescuing damsels in distress even though, let’s be honest, I’m only faking it.
But I might as well be a dude for all he cares, making small talk with me on his bed at the same time as watching the television affixed to the wall in front of us.
Maybe I should go out of the bedroom and see what his roommates are up to if only to get a little bit of attention. Would that be so bad?
Stop it, Lizzy. You’re pouting.
You’re not pouting. You just want his attention.
He’s your captive audience, and he’s clearly not into this conversation. Spice it up!
“How long have you been playing hockey?” I ask, pulling the world’s most mundane question out of my ass.
“Since I could stand on skates.”
“Why? Are you from Canada or something?”
Brodie smiles—the hint of a smile, not a full-blown one, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle in the cutest way.
“New York.”
New York! “I would not have guessed that.”
“Upstate. Like Buffalo, nothing exciting. I’m not from the city or anything.”
Huh.
Interesting. I’ve never been to New York City, let alone Upstate, which I hear is gorgeous.
“I’m from Minnesota.” Not too far from here but not as close as Jill’s family.
He nods. “That’s cool.”
Is it? Is it cool to be from Minnesota? “Both big hockey states, eh?”
God, why am I still talking? And why would I purposely try to sound Canadian by saying ‘eh’? I want to face-palm myself, but that would be weird. He has no idea the thoughts going through my head, and if he did, he’d probably move back to the couch.
Ha.
It’s like I said—Brodie might not be classically good-looking. And he’s certainly not setting anyone’s panties on fire, and I can’t put my finger on what it is, but…there’s something.
With him stretched out next to me, it”s almost impossible not to give him a once-over, my curious eyes trailing down his torso to the tips of his toes.
His feet are big, and he could use a pedicure—but what guy couldn”t?
Plus, aren’t his feet in skates all the time? And for real, isn”t that something, a guy who can skate?
Why does that turn me on so much?
Because back when I was younger, my mom used to make me watch this movie growing up about this bitchy, high-maintenance figure skater who desperately needed a skating partner, and the only guy they could find to do it was a retired hockey player.
Shoot, what was the movie called?
The cutting something. Edge.
The Cutting Edge.
That”s some serious cinematic goodness right there.
Brody catches me staring at his toes and gives them a wiggle.
“Are there any guys on your team who are actually from Canada?” I blurt out, for lack of anything more interesting to say, fueled only by my knowledge that Canada is a huge hockey country, yeah?
“Sure.”
Sure? That”s all he has to say, giving me no opening for more questions, and he”s already told me he”s been playing hockey as long as he could stand in skates, so I can’t ask about that. And his dad is in finance, so I can’t ask about his parents. Two siblings to my none.
“Favorite meal?”
“Breakfast.” Zero hesitation.
“Like. What, though?” Be more specific. What is it about breakfast you like?
“There is seriously nothing better than eating healthy all week, lean protein and all that shit—vegetables, whatever—then just deciding to go out for breakfast one morning on a Sunday and order a stack of pancakes with butter and eggs and sausage and getting so full you want to literally shit yourself.”
My brows go up.
Shit himself?
Ew.
Also: we didn’t need that visual, did we? He could have stopped short of needing to shit himself, thankyouverymuch.
But also, I know what he’s talking about because I hardly ever indulge in those kinds of breakfasts anymore, but when I do, they just hit so good.
“What about you?” He finally asks a question in kind, and I preen at that, straightening myself so I can get a better view of him from the vantage point I have, which is still flat on my tummy, lying half across his bed.
“I love a cute dinner.”
Brodie blinks.
Blinks again.
“What the hell is a cute dinner?”
So glad he asked.
“It’s when you get dressed up all cute and go for dinner, wine, dessert. Any excuse to put on makeup, a cute outfit, and show off the girls,” I say, referring to my boobs. “Even when I’m with the girlies—is cute dinner.”
I don’t mention cute dinner is best served when it’s a date night that includes flirting, and sometimes sex is involved.
“Oh.” Brodies eyes are as wide as saucers. “What’s your go-to meal on this cute dinner?”
“I have to think this through because it’s a tough one.” I sigh. “Ugh, so many options—it depends on what I’m in the mood for. I love a good burger, but only if it has a good, squishy bun. A burger is”—I kiss the tips of my fingers—“chef’s kiss.” And unpopular opinion. “Seafood. Shrimp cocktails all day long.”
To my surprise, Brodie nods along.
“I can endorse that. I could eat the ass out of a lobster tail.”
The ass out of a…
Say again?
I laugh despite the fact that he’s not trying to be funny, which only has me giggling harder.
It occurs to me that Brodie probably doesn’t purposely try to do anything—well, except hockey because it’s basically his job.