Chapter 9 Carrie
Since that afternoon with Wolinski, time has basically evaporated.
It’s already Tuesday, and the past three days have been…
weirdly peaceful. Including no fights with my dear mother, which leaves me thinking that spending last weekend with her actually helped.
A small part of me hopes she might be getting herself back on track after all.
My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil…
I glance down, bracing myself for a text from Mom. I frown. It’s not her.
BOOK BOYFRIEND
Donovan.
I let the call ring out, but as soon as it hits voicemail, he tries again.
BOOK BOYFRIEND
I’m hit with the sudden urge to step on my phone. After his second attempt, he sends a text.
BOOK BOYFRIEND : In case you’re wondering, it’s Don! But since you’re single, I’m guessing you knew that already…
CARRIE: Oh, it’s you! I actually have a guy in every city, so thanks for clarifying. I was about to send you a nude.
BOOK BOYFRIEND : Stop flirting with me, Carrie!
CARRIE: You wish! I just changed your name in my contacts, btw.
Then I send a screenshot of his contact profile.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Ouch. That one cuts deep
CARRIE: What do you want, Wolinski? You know we’re meeting in two hours, right?
WOLINSKILLMENOW: That’s the thing, something’s come up. Can we reschedule?
CARRIE: I thought you’d never ask!
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Four tomorrow. Good for you?
CARRIE: Works for me
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Any tips to keep me going till then?
CARRIE: Use protection.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Is sex all you ever think about?
CARRIE: Takes one to know one.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: I’m devastated, by the way. I really wanted to see you today. You’re always so sweet to me.
CARRIE: I live to help. Oh, and btw NEVER call me again.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: You should NEVER have said that!
I drop my phone on my bedside table and prize open my laptop, readying for a hard day’s work.
I spend a while shuffling around my notes and adding a little personal research here and there, but the truth is I’m struggling to focus.
I was all geared up to spend the afternoon with Wolinski, and I’m almost disappointed he canceled.
It pains me to say it, but I actually had fun with him at Sweety’s. Damn. My life must really suck.
I slam my computer shut and stretch out on my bed with the new book I got this morning, and by the end of chapter 6, I’m dying to message Donovan.
Somehow, that little fucker’s wormed his way into my brain, and now instead of it just switching off and enjoying the story, it’s busy taking notes, picking out all the little details Wolinski could use.
I end up grabbing my notebook and jotting down a list. By the time I close my book at 2:00 a.m., I’ve made a life-changing decision—I’m quitting romance. I’m officially switching to thrillers. Because I just read an entire novel imagining Wolinski’s face plastered onto the hero.
And that is absolutely unacceptable.
IT’S 3:47 P.M. AND THERE’S been no sign of my favorite preschooler.
Fine by me. If he thinks he can just keep me hanging around, though, he’s got another thing coming.
I told him I’m super strict, and I definitely don’t do lateness.
He’s got thirteen minutes. If he’s not at my dorm by then, there’ll be hell to pay.
Though why am I freaking out, when he isn’t even late yet?
A message pops up on my phone.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Can you come to mine instead? I had training and now I need to change. Unless you want to bask in my manly fragrance… (I read that in a book!) I’m on the other side of campus and my place is halfway.
I want to say no. I do not like the idea of visiting his man cave. But if I wait for him to get here, it’s going to mess up my whole schedule.
CARRIE: OK.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Yay! See you soon.
He sends me his dorm’s name and address.
I pull on shorts and a tank and slip on my sneakers before stepping out into the balmy September afternoon. Fifteen minutes later and I’m already regretting agreeing to this—I’m boiling, I’m out of breath, and this walk is never-ending.
“Carrie!”
Donovan is waving at me from the steps leading into his block. He jogs over to me, and I can see why he wanted to head back to his. He’s beet red and drenched with sweat, his wet jersey clinging to his chest.
“Gross!” I hold up a hand, keeping him away from me. “I can’t believe you actually train in this heat.”
He shrugs. “I’m used to it. Coming up?”
“I’ll wait here.”
“Really? I have air-conditioning and iced tea…”
“I’m coming up.”
I follow him up the steps, listening to him ramble on about his weekend, and by the time we reach his door, I’m feeling so incredibly awkward. It’s too late to turn back now, though. He shepherds me into his dorm, and I take a deep breath in.
“Hey, dude.”
One of his friends is calling out to him. I recognize the face—the guy’s name is on the tip of my tongue.
“Hey, Carrie!” He beams. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much…”
Damn! What was his name, again?
“Adam,” he whispers with a friendly wink.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I forgot.” I laugh.
“Nope!”
“Hey!” another voice pipes up behind me.
I did not expect the place to be full right now.
I glance over my shoulder. It’s Lane. This one I have no problem remembering, I spent weeks with his girlfriend last winter, back when they were fighting and she needed a place to crash.
She moped around for days. Seems like I’m destined to mend broken hearts.
First Mom, then Lois… She’s a sweet girl—that’s the only reason I didn’t throw her out, screaming that relationships are bullshit.
“How’s Lois?”
“She’s doing great!”
He looks completely love-drunk.
“Is it just you two?” Donovan asks.
“Lewis is here too, but he’s been fixing a shelf in the bathroom for at least an hour now!”
I glance across the room. There’s banging and crashing coming from behind the door, along with some low-level cussing.
I head over to the bathroom. “Need a hand in there?”
Donovan grabs me by the shoulders. “Carrie, what the hell?”
“Seems like your friend needs help.”
Lane starts to laugh. Adam stuffs a fist in his mouth.
“So, you didn’t talk her through our code words, huh, Don?”
“What are you guys talking about?” I glance back and forth between them.
“He’s on the toilet!” Donovan says, frog-marching me back into the living room.
I shudder. That was close. I glare at Donovan. I knew coming here was a bad call, I should have followed my gut!
Lane props an elbow on the back of the couch.
“Just so you know, Carrie—if you ever hear Lewis say he needs to go look for something on his desk… Whatever you do, don’t go into his bedroom.”
I flash him a thumbs-up.
“Why would she go into his bedroom, anyway?” Donovan pipes up.
I glance at him, surprised.
“I can think of plenty of reasons!” Lewis grins, emerging from the bathroom. “You’re Becca’s roomie, right?”
Before I know it, Lewis is pulling me in for a giant bear hug. Hope he washed his hands! I flail my arms in the air.
“Get me out of here,” I choke out, waving my arms at Wolinski.
“This is giving Lois vibes.” Lane laughs.
“Just introducing myself, that’s all.” Lewis releases me from his grip and beams. “Lewis Conley.”
I smooth down my tank and take a step back, reasserting my boundaries—or trying to, anyway. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s random hugs, especially from chaotic guys like this one.
“Look at her!” Lane shakes his head sternly. “You scared her.”
“I’m good, I promise!” I shoot them a small smile. “I had a dog named Lewis once. He was noisy and weird but super loving.”
I pat him on the shoulder, and he’s enjoying this way too much.
“Stroke me like you mean it, baby!”
I give him a hard stare. “Sadly, we had to put him down.”
Lane bursts out laughing. “Okay, I take it back. She’s worse than Lois!”
“Why do you guys always bring home aggressive women?” Lewis whines, shuffling toward the coffee table. “Nobody loves me!”
If you’d told me at the start of the year that I’d find myself in the Campus Drivers’ den, I would’ve suspected alcohol poisoning or a sudden personality transplant.
“Come on, you coming?” Donovan cuts in abruptly.
His voice makes me jump. He’s been pretty quiet so far today.
Lane looks interested. “What are you two up to?”
“Just pickin’ apples.” Donovan smiles, yanking on my tank.
As he opens his bedroom door, I can just make out Lewis calling after us—something about enjoying the harvest.
“Okay, so that was a perfect real-life example of what not to do going forward,” I whisper, following him as he shuts his door.
“Hit me with it.”
“Make sure your friends are out when you bring a girl over here. And make sure she’s madly in love with you before you introduce them,” I add.
Looking around I let out a whistle.
“This is insane!” I gasp. “I had no idea you could get rooms like this on campus.”
“My dad’s the basketball coach.” He smiles. “It has its advantages.”
You could literally do cartwheels in here. I’m super jealous. The most striking thing, though, is how clean it is. Neat, tidy. Nicely decorated and furnished. I hate to admit it, but I really like what Donovan’s done with the place.
“Were you expecting some kind of gross man cave? Or you just surprised I make my bed?”
“I mean… both!”
“I’m gonna hop in the shower. Make yourself at home.”
I stand there for a moment, taking it all in. Notes laid out on his desk, shelves on the walls, scattered with photos, most of them showing the Campus Drivers standing by their cars like proud parents.
I wander over to the window, humming as I go. Even the view is nice.
I perch on the edge of the bed and bounce up and down. The mattress must cost a fortune. I’ve never slept on anything as plush as this. Suddenly, an idea hits me.
I kick off my sliders and clamber into the middle of the bed, grinning to myself. It’s rude, I know. But it’s an old childhood instinct I just can’t resist.
I’m about to start bouncing, when Donovan strolls in, bare-chested, track pants slung low around his hips, a towel draped around his neck. He narrows his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Just making myself at home…”
“By jumping on the bed?”
“Jeez, live a little! This thing is like a bouncy castle.”
I start to jump.
“Carrie!” he warns.
I bounce harder. “Wolinski!”
“You really shouldn’t—”
I bounce higher and faster, ignoring his warning, and on my final jump the rebound is so much more intense than I was expecting that I yelp in surprise.
My life flashes before my eyes as I go soaring through the air, shrieking as I come crashing down sideways, landing with my back on the floor and my legs lumped on top of this freaking murderous mattress.
So this is how I die.
A burst of laughter comes from above, and the bed frame squeaks as Donovan’s head pops up between my ankles. He’s lying on his stomach, eyes sparkling. Thank God I decided on shorts today.
“Told you so.” He smirks. “Need a hand?”
“Bad book boyfriend,” I mutter.
He scrambles to his knees and leans over the side, one arm outstretched.
From all the way down here on the floor, I’m not too sure how he plans on helping me up, but I’m in the mood to watch him try.
I grab his hand, debating if I should bring him down with me, but in one way too easy motion, he pulls me up and into him.
Before I know it, I’m sitting on his bed in front of him, my legs on either side of his knees.
“That was like performance art,” he whispers, his breath hot against my cheek.
Why is he whispering? Why am I still clasping his fingers in mine? And why does it feel like my stomach is churning like a washing machine?
“I hit my head!” I protest, releasing his hand and rolling over onto my side.
Getting all tingly over Wolinski? Girl, you seriously need to get laid.
Slowly, I slip my sneakers back on, all too aware of Donovan behind me.
“Wanna stay here, or you feel like heading back to Sweety’s?”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s pulling on a T-shirt, the muscles in his back flexing as he goes. I shudder. Bedroom + topless guy + girl who needs some action =…?
“Sweety’s!” I decide.
“Why are you yelling?”
It’s Wolinski, Wolinski, Wolinski… I repeat to myself.
I jump to my feet. “See you downstairs.”
Too bad about that iced tea. Maybe Sweety’s will have the cool-down I so clearly need right now.
I make a beeline for the living room and say my goodbyes to the Campus Drivers, before racing down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, staring up into the bright blue of the sky, gasping for air. My brain definitely needs all the oxygen it can get.