Chapter 11 Carrie
There’s a sharp knock on the door, then another. I jerk my head up so fast, my glasses nearly go flying off my face. Nobody ever swings by my place without a heads-up—especially not on a Tuesday evening. They probably got the wrong door.
I place my laptop down and wait a beat, part of me hoping whoever it is will just give up. The knocking starts back up. Louder, this time. I sigh. I was really getting into this movie. Shit, this better be a life-or-death situation… Maybe there’s a fire on campus.
I stride over to the door, silently cursing the ancient wad of gum stuck over the peephole.
“Who’s there?”
“Me.”
Lord help me. What the hell is he doing here?
“You’ve gotta be pretty arrogant to think ‘me’ is enough to get a girl to swing open her door.”
“It’s your book boyfriend!”
I can picture him standing behind the door, inches away from me. I run back through my schedule. We didn’t have plans to meet today. And we would definitely never have plans to meet here, of all places.
He knocks again, and I slide open the lock.
“Honey, I’m home!” he singsongs.
Every inch of me wants to slam the door shut in his stupid face.
“What?” I snap.
He opens his mouth. Shuts it again.
“I was about to say something kinky, but I feel like it won’t land well.” He grins.
“Look at you! Working on your awareness skills.”
“Can I come in?”
“What for?”
He shrugs. “Adam’s cousin came by for a surprise visit. I thought I’d give them some space. So I figured I’d drop by to say hi.”
A gaggle of girls are whispering about us by the bulletin board in the hallway. Great. I give it ten minutes before the entire dorm knows the captain of the basketball team stopped by. And in twenty, the entire campus will think I’m just another name on Wolinski’s body count.
“His cousin?” I eye him suspiciously.
“Dexter Drake. He’s like this soap opera actor from LA.”
I frown. “And you decided your best backup plan was… me?”
He digs through his bag, ignoring me. “I come bearing M&M’s!”
Damn it. He sure knows his way to a girl’s heart.
“Urgh.” I step aside.
He beams at me. “Oh my God, thanks so much for inviting me to hang out! You shouldn’t have.” He looks around. “Wow. This room is…”
“Insanely small compared to yours?”
He makes a sorry face at me and falls back onto Becca’s bed. It’s so weird having him in my space like this. It makes him look huge, too.
He plumps a cushion behind his back. “No new roomie?”
“No. Becca hasn’t told anybody she spends all her time at Carter’s. That way, if she ends up with her ass dumped like Lois did, at least she still has a place to stay.”
“Lewis and I call it ‘getting Kirked.’ ” He smirks. “So, that’s cool—you get this place to yourself.”
“Pretty much. Except when random dudes swing by at nine thirty p.m. without a heads-up.” I flash him a smile.
Part of me wishes he weren’t here, since I’m apparently still dealing with my SSS—a.k.a.
“sex-starved syndrome.” Judging by the way my lower belly reacts to his stupidly broad shoulders practically spilling over Becca’s bed, it clearly doesn’t take much to set me off these days.
But I’ve been wanting to act less moody lately, so I guess this is good practice.
I watch as he carries on inspecting my room. When he gets to the bathroom door, he freezes.
“Holy shit. The bathroom is so small I could practically pee without even getting out of bed.”
I slide the door shut. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Nice nightdress, by the way.”
“It’s a sleep shirt,” I correct, tugging the hem down to cover my knees, yanking up my socks. “But thanks. You could’ve texted, that way I’d at least be properly dressed.”
“And miss this? Never.” He laughs, but his eyes trail down my body, inch by inch, and I almost press my thighs together on reflex. He blinks, then nudges his chin toward my laptop. “Were you watching a series?”
“A movie.”
“So, she does actually do more than just read!”
“It’s a movie based on a book, if that makes you feel better.”
He widens his eyes. “So, let me get this straight—while I’m spending hours reading pages and pages of stuff, I could just be chilling on my bed watching movies? Nice hack, Carrie!”
“Most books never make it to the screen, you moron.”
“Does it have romance?” He takes in my expression. “Scratch that. Of course it does. Can I watch along?”
I glance between his friendly grin and my computer. It can’t hurt… Can it?
“Sure.”
“Should I be taking notes?”
“We’ll run through the theory once it’s over.”
“Once they’re married, with a white picket fence?”
“Actually, it’s not technically considered a romance. It’s more of a love story. They die in the end.”
“What the hell?! Spoilers!”
“You’ll survive. Now, pass the M&M’s.”
I curl back to my usual spot—on the floor, propped against my bed—and he scoots over to sit next to me.
When I set the laptop across both of our legs, it forces us to press our thighs together, and pretending I’m not suddenly hyperaware of every inch of skin that is in contact with his, I restart the movie.
There’s a rustle of plastic, and a large hand appears in my peripheral vision, full of colorful candy. I take a few, very pointedly avoiding brushing his fingers. My body’s already being weird about this whole thigh-against-thigh situation. I don’t need to make it worse.
As the movie rolls, silence settles, and I keep sneaking handfuls of M&M’s from the pack resting on his lap. Turns out Donovan isn’t the type to narrate every single scene. Thank God.
“Is this guy for real?” he says suddenly.
So much for that…
“Why isn’t Max getting that Sheryl’s the stranger he’s been chatting to online? It’s pretty fucking obvious…”
“Shh!”
“How can he even think this is Abby? She’s such a blatant bullshitter!” He chews thoughtfully. “Just goes to show what a great ass can do.”
“Are you done? Because I’m trying to focus, here. One more word, and you’re out.”
“Wow, take it easy!” he protests. “You need to relax. You’ve been chewing on your nails this whole time.”
He leans in, stopping inches from my face. “I think this movie is stressing you out,” he says quieter, his breath ghosting down my neck.
I suddenly feel faint.
Oh my God. Not this again!
I take a few deep breaths to recenter, eyes glued to the screen, when Donovan casually stretches an arm out on the mattress behind me, and a shiver runs down my spine, pooling in my lower belly.
Okay, this actually needs to stop. Drastic times call for drastic measures. When I see John to wax his back tomorrow, I’ll be asking him for a little favor of my own. Just the once. Or twice, max. Just enough to take the edge off.
“Fuck, Max!” Donovan lets out a bark of laughter. “He’s not seriously going to sleep with Abby, is he? Wake up, buddy! You’re in the wrong place! Sheryl’s on the first floor!” He covers his eyes. “This is not happening.” He peeps through his fingers. “Yes! Good job, Max!”
I start to laugh. I like seeing him so caught up in the movie.
“Yes, Max! Jackpot. Now she’s gonna let you f—”
I elbow him in the ribs, and he laughs, reaching for my bun and giving it an affectionate ruffle. Why are they all so obsessed with my hair? I keep my wild curls scraped back specifically so people don’t mess with them.
As the on-screen action plays out, he carries on fiddling with my hair absentmindedly, and my body is enjoying this a little too much for my liking.
Especially right now, when my hyperactive libido, the spicy scene on-screen, and the guy sitting dangerously close are blending into one very inconvenient cocktail.
Suddenly, the room feels unbearably hot, and I do my best to slow my breathing, praying he won’t notice I’m basically overheating.
Max and Sheryl are finally getting it on, and the visuals are…
a lot. My stomach tightens. I swear Donovan feels three times heavier against my shoulder.
I don’t think I’ve budged an inch in the last ten minutes. Has he?
“Your ears are all red,” he whispers.
I ignore him, pulling a knee up into my chest to cut off the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Don’t tell me this movie’s getting you all hot and sweaty,” he asks, voice so low my skin prickles in response. “It’s not as sickly-sweet as I was expecting. I like the tension they’ve got going on.”
“I agree,” I manage, though my voice comes out a little rough.
What the hell is wrong with me? I think I’m going to have to ask him to leave very soon.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think I was in for this kind of… physical reaction, myself.”
“Wait. What do you mean?” I glance at him for the first time since the movie started.
“Forget it.”
I can’t help it—my eyes slide over to where I shouldn’t be looking. I catch myself just in time and go back to fixating on the screen. What if he were hard right now—what would I have done next? Oh gosh.
Suddenly, he seems to realize what’s going on and his shoulders start to shake. I glance up. The asshole is laughing.
“Oh, knock it off! You are such a pig, you know that?” I turn up the volume. “I’m going to pretend you never said that…”
Okay, maybe I’m the pot calling the kettle black here.
“Sorry! It’s just that it’s been about a century since I’ve done what Sheryl and Max are doing.”
“A century? Please. What’s that in Donovan Wolinski time?” I snicker. “A week?”
“Over three months and counting, actually.”
I hit pause, and the screen freezes on Max’s bare ass. Nice.
I turn to Donovan. “You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head.
“Even I’m not that starved.” I laugh. “Shit, Donovan!”
He stretches his leg out and tilts his head, studying me in silence.
“Over three months…” I calculate out loud. “So, that’s—what? Late June, early July? So basically, this whole summer you didn’t even once…”
I pinch my lips shut the moment my brain fills in the missing link.
“I mean, it’s not that bad,” I stammer. “It’s not crazy, or anything.”
He keeps watching me, and now I want to sink into the mattress. How am I supposed to recover from this?