My friends are split down the middle on how it will actually go down, but they’re all convinced that it will go down.
Half think that Ben and I are soulmates who are just biding our time until marriage and babies.
The other half think that we’re going to have too much to drink one night, have awful sex, and never speak again.
Ben and I proved them wrong when freshman year ended and our friendship was still intact. Sophomore year? Repeat.
Junior year, we really upped our game. Not only were we closer than ever, but we became roommates. It happened sort of by accident when one of his housemates backed out at the last minute, and I belatedly realized I couldn’t bear one more year of dorm food, so I moved in. And it worked. So we did it again senior year.
Here we are, two years after graduation, still living together, although we’ve upgraded from crappy off-campus housing in Eugene to a slightly less crappy two-bedroom house in the Northwest neighborhood of Portland.
And yes. Still platonic as ever, with not so much as a hint of change in the air. I’m crazy in love with Lance Myers, my boyfriend of five years, and Ben…
Well, Ben’s on a rather awe-inspiring mission to seduce the entire female population in western Oregon.
“Do you guys have any milk?”
Ah, here we go…case in point. I glance up to see a tall, thin blonde standing in the doorway of my kitchen.
“Milk?” she asks again.
I take another bite of cereal, and it takes all of my self-control not to look pointedly at the bowl of cereal I’m eating. Of course we have freaking milk.
“In the fridge,?
?? I say with a friendly smile. She smiles back and she’s got deep dimples in each cheek. Cute. I can see why Ben likes this one.
She walks past the table to the fridge, and I cringe when I see the fact that she has airhead monogrammed on the butt of her baby blue sweatpants. Really? Really?
Airhead has apparently forgotten that she wanted milk and instead pulls out one of the cans of Starbucks iced coffee that I keep stocked for Monday mornings when I need an extra pick-me-up, which is every Monday, because, well, Mondays are just the worst, aren’t they?
Airhead pops the tab and takes a sip without asking, which I guess is kind of annoying, but I’ve never really been one of those girls who likes to waste energy getting bitchy about stupid things, so I let it go.
“Hey, so I’m Parker,” I say.
“I’m Liz. Are you dating Ben’s roommate?”
Considering I know for a fact that Liz is the latest in a rather impressive streak of one-night stands, dating seems sort of a presumptuous word choice, because how does she know I’m not just a onetime sleepover guest like her?
This, too, I let pass without comment.
I mean, what else is the girl supposed to ask: Did you get drunk and sleep with a guy you barely know, like I just did?
Plus, I have a fun surprise for her.
“I am the roommate,” I say, keeping my smile friendly. I’m wearing my oldest pajamas and haven’t even pretended to have tried to take off last night’s mascara, which is now all over my face. I’m pretty sure I don’t look threatening.
But I’d be wrong.
Liz pauses halfway in, drinking my precious iced-coffee beverage, and her previously curious expression turns wary.
I mentally shrug. Ben tends to use my unisex name to full advantage by avoiding female pronouns when referring to his roommate while a booty call is in progress. He picked up this approach after several hookups that failed due to the fact that some girls still subscribe to the old girls-and-guys-can’t-be-just-friends axiom.
Amateurs.
Ben ambles into the kitchen, his sweatpants matching the style of his girl toy’s, although his are dark UO green, and instead of a tacky phrase on the back, they just have the Oregon Duck, our old college mascot. We graduated a couple years ago, so the frat-boy attire’s a little sad, but I can’t judge him too harshly since my entire workout wardrobe consists of old college shirts.
He yawns and smiles. “Morning. Have you girls met? Liz, Parker, Parker, Liz.”