Six
I ditched my costume the second I got back to the room—jacket, shirt, jeans—all in a pile on the chair.
I stood there in my boxers, staring at myself in the mirror.
The pale foundation was smeared, my eyeliner was running, and the dark lipstick had bled into the cracks around my mouth.
I was still wearing fangs.
I looked like a fool.
Carefully, I worked them off my teeth and set them on the dresser beside the stereo.
I grabbed a jar of cold cream and smeared a handful across my cheeks and forehead and down the sides of my nose. I scrubbed it all off with the washcloth from my shower caddy, rubbing until my skin felt raw.
Underneath it all was just my face. Nothing special.
I was fucking pissed. And embarrassed.
And I wasn’t going to stay here and watch him make more special moments with Kelly. Or worse—bring a parade of Kellys back to our room for the next eight months.
I needed to get out of there.
I didn’t know where I’d go. Surely Student Housing had some way of dealing with this kind of thing mid-semester. But if all else failed… maybe the commune? At least for the rest of the weekend?
God.
I’d figure it out.
I yanked on an old T-shirt—faded and soft, the logo for my dad's construction company barely legible across the chest—and pulled on some sweatpants.
I started packing.
I cleared a bunch of crap off my steamer trunk—the overflowing ashtray, a couple of empty Coke cans, three weeks’ worth of Nathan’s mail—and shoved it all onto the desk in a messy pile.
I opened the lid and lined the bottom with my shoes, then started pulling folded clothes from my drawers and stacking them inside.
I found a crumpled pack of Camel Lights with a few cigarettes left in it—the backup pack I’d kept around before I’d fully committed to hand-rolling. I sniffed one to see how old it was.
My throat hurt. The last thing I needed was another smoke, but I lit it anyway.
It tasted terrible. Stale and chemical, like smoking my high school self. I leaned against the sill, blowing smoke through the crack in the window.
My ears were still ringing from the concert. The silence was heavy. I didn’t bother with the stereo. Nothing could follow Grey’s performance, and anything coming through Nathan’s speakers would just sound tinny and small by comparison.
My buzz had worn off, leaving the dull throb of a headache. My eyes were tired.
I smoked and stared at the tombstones beyond the glass. Every time I heard footsteps in the hallway, I held my breath. But the sounds kept moving on.
Until one set of footsteps didn't pass.
The knob turned.
The door flew open.
And Nathan stormed in.
He stopped just inside the room and stared at me.
He was still mostly in costume—the white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, his face still pale with makeup. He was carrying my velvet jacket. He hadn't put it back on.
For a second, I saw relief on his face. He took a heavy breath, like he'd been running and thinking I wouldn't be there when he got back. Then his expression sharpened.
"Why the fuck did you leave like that?"
His voice was low. I'd never heard him sound like that—not polite, not careful. Just pissed.
I went still. A cold flash ran right through me.
"I didn't feel like watching Kelly mark her territory," I muttered. "And watching you let her ruin my clothes in the process."
He frowned down at the jacket. "What was I supposed to do?
" Hearing the lisp, he scowled. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, popped the fangs off, and slung them toward the trash can.
One went in with a ping and a rattle, the other ricocheted off the wall.
"She was freezing. She was wearing lingerie with no coat.
" He shoved the jacket at me. "It’s fine. "
I took it and looked at the collar. Yep. Her lipstick stain was still there. "No, it’s not," I said. "It’s fucking velvet. And it's vintage."
He let out a long, hard breath through his nose. "I'll buy you another one."
"No you won't. It's one of a kind and you wouldn't even know where to shop for a piece like this.”
His jaw tightened. He lowered his voice, his words turning cold.
"I didn't let her do anything. It's not like I wanted her to.
" He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked.
"And why do you even care? You've spent the past two months talking nonstop about all the cool townie guys you want to be with.
" He made cool sound like a dirty word. "It's not like I'm one of them. "
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
The silence was a roar.
He’d been listening to me talk about those guys and comparing himself to them. Like he’d been hoping he was in the running all along.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but my throat felt like it had closed up.
He shook his head and whispered, "I can't keep doing this.”
Every part of me went numb. Like someone had thrown a switch. "Well, you won't have to. I'm already packing." I gestured at the open trunk and stacks of clothes. "I'm gonna request a room change."
He looked at the trunk like he was seeing it for the first time.
Like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what it was even doing here.
The anger seemed to have dropped right out of him.
"Wait—" His voice was barely there. "That's not what I meant. I—I can’t keep doing it.” His eyes were liquid and pinned to mine. "I’m always... I’m always thinking about you. I can’t turn it off.
I spent the whole night wishing the girls would disappear so it could just be us. ”
He stopped, as if the sound of his own voice surprised him. He swallowed hard, his whole body going stiff like he was bracing for an impact. When he spoke again, the words went flat. "I know I’m not your type. I’m not one of those guys. But I thought if I was your best friend, then maybe someday…”
He gave a small, embarrassed shrug that hurt me to see. His mouth quirked up on one side, an attempt to show me he was fine with us just being friends, but there was a pleading in his eyes. “Or at least I'd get to hang out with you."
I couldn’t breathe.
Everything I'd said for the last two months. All that bullshit about artists and musicians and my "type." I'd been talking about it constantly, thinking I was being open. Like I was showing him what was possible. Like it was safe to be himself around me. Whether he was straight or gay.
But I'd really just been holding it between us like a wall.
I'd been telling him he wasn't enough.
I’d been such a fucking idiot.
"No." The word came out rough. "Nathan, no."
I had to stop and force myself to breathe.
“I’m sorry.” It came out as a whisper.
I stepped closer. Not touching him yet.
"I spent two whole months trying not to fall for you because falling for your straight roommate is pathetic, and I promised myself I'd never be that guy."
All the stuff I'd been obsessing over—it was all just noise.
"I thought you were straight.” It was the only defense I had left. It sounded small and useless now.
"Well, I'm not." He swallowed. His jaw was so tight I could see the muscle working. Then something shifted in his face—half smile, half surrender. He knew he’d crossed a line.
We stared at each other.
I felt myself starting to smile. "No shit," I said.
I closed the distance between us. My heart was hammering all the way up into my throat.
"Why don't you kiss me, then."
His eyes went wide for half a second. Like he couldn't believe I'd actually said it.
Then he cupped my face in his hands, holding me there. I brought my hands up and circled his wrists, and just held on.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
And he kissed me.
Like he'd been waiting for months to do it. Hungry. A little clumsy. He tasted like cranberry and tobacco and something warm that was just him.
Until that moment, I'd told myself I hadn't thought about it. But I had.
When we broke apart, the foundation was smeared around his mouth, the golden tone of his real skin showing through.
He laughed. Breathless. "Fuck."
"Fuck," I said.
He kissed me again.
Slower this time.
I grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. We were pressed together now, hard through our clothes, and the friction made us both groan into each other's mouths.
He broke away, breathing hard. "I've wanted to do that since the first day."
"The first day?"
"You walked in wearing that Siouxsie shirt.” He touched my bottom lip with his thumb. "I thought you were the coolest person I'd ever seen."
"The way you shook my hand, all formal and shit.” I smiled. "All I could think was 'Those eyes.'"
He grinned. "Shut up."
We kissed, and none of it mattered anymore. Tyler. Every guy I'd pretended to want because they fit some idea of who I was supposed to be. Poor Kelly. She was never a threat.
Nathan's fingers found the hem of my T-shirt, and we pulled apart so I could yank it over my head.
He stripped off the pirate blouse and the black pants, almost tripping with his boxers around his ankles.
I shoved my sweatpants down.
We stood there for a second, fully naked and hard, the orange glow from the streetlight outside falling across his furry chest. I was finally able to look at him without pretending I wasn’t.
His cock curved up toward his belly, thicker than I thought it would be. He didn't look like a nervous virgin at all. He looked like a man.
I pulled him against me. The feeling of our cocks sliding together, nothing between us...
I wanted to taste him.
I dropped to my knees and wrapped my hand around him. I circled the head with my tongue, teasing the tip. I tried to take him deeper but I could barely get my mouth around him.
His hands slid into my hair, fingers curling against my scalp but not pulling. Like he wanted to but was holding back. "Huck—"
I looked up at him.
He was staring down at me, his mouth open, eyes wide like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
He hauled me to my feet and dragged me toward his bunk.
He climbed onto the mattress and I followed, covering his mouth with mine. He pulled me down on top of him and I settled between his legs.