Kaylee groans at her pronouncement. “Kyle is coming over on girls’ night?”
“It’s not technically girls’ night—we just wanted to watch a movie,” Lilly argues. “It’s not a big deal. Plus he’s leaving, and…” Her diminutive shrug is a helpless one.
“Whatever.” Kaylee hefts herself out of the chair. “I’m going to text Jack to see what he’s up to.”
I watch her walk out of the room. “I really am sorry…”
Lilly smiles up at me, always a sweetheart. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we’ve never been caught up before, and she’s just edgy because she texted that guy a bunch of times and he hasn’t replied.” She stands, pushing in her chair. “Kaylee hates rejection.”
I’m beginning to see that.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I’m still holding the wet backpack in my hand and head toward the hallway, off the hook and wanting to be out of these damp clothes, Lilly’s words ringing in my ears.
She’s just edgy because she texted that guy a bunch of times and he hasn’t replied…
Because he was with me.
I didn’t text back and he didn’t text back because we were together.
Shit.
I dump my backpack in my bedroom then make my way to the bathroom to shed my clothes. Start the water so it’ll be warm by the time I climb in, setting a towel on the edge of the tub so I don’t have to search for it when I’m done. I give another shiver once I’m naked, the air inside the room cool.
Standing underneath the hot spray of water, I close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting it pour over my skin. The only thing I see behind those eyelids is Jack’s smiling, joking face.
I laugh despite myself at the joke he made about wanting a broken arm.
He’s so cute…
…and my roommate is in the other room right now, texting him, hoping he texts her back.
Ugh, what a mess.
Stop thinking about Jack, Eliza. He is not for you.
Maybe he’s not for Kaylee, either. It doesn’t seem like he’s into her.
But he’s not into you—and even if he were, it doesn’t matter because your roommate is.
Girl code…
You and I both know that, given the chance, Kaylee would steal him right out from under your nose if the roles were reversed.
Would she? Is she that cutthroat?
I’ve always seen the softer side of her, but lately she’s been different. Maybe Lilly is right; she has been edgy because Jack hasn’t been messaging her back, and it’s driving her crazy that he’s rejecting her.
Have you only seen the good things in her because she’s never viewed you as competition? She’s highly competitive. As a cheerleader, she’s spent most of her life participating in championships and events, spent most of her life being scored and judged—it seems fitting that if something (or someone) got in her way, she wouldn’t be happy about it.
I’m not in her way because Jack and I are just…
Friends.
Friends?
Weird.
I’ve never had a guy friend before, and he is an interesting choice as my first. But you know what they say: sometimes you don’t choose friends, they choose you.
Kidding—I don’t know anyone who has said that.
I just made it up.
The water keeps coming down and feels incredible, so I let myself stand here doing nothing for a few more minutes—not washing my hair, not conditioning it, not lathering myself up with soap. I am in no rush. I have nowhere to be except bed.
My hand slides down my body, finger dipping into my belly button on its way over my stomach, into the valley between my legs.
I don’t touch myself intimately often; I never felt like I knew how until Beth, my friend from high school, had a sex toy party over the summer and I bought a vibrator. Didn’t know how to use that, either, until I was peer-pressured into trying it.
I call it my “starter vibrator.”
Purple.
Small, the size of a lipstick tube, it has tiny purple rhinestones around the base. I’ve often worried about them falling off while I’m using it—god forbid I end up with a glittery vagina.
It gets the job done, and now at least I know what a decent orgasm feels like, not the sort-of wannabe orgasm you get when having sex with a guy as unsure about pleasuring a woman as you are about pleasuring a guy.
I let my hand fall to my side and press my forehead against the fiberglass shower wall, giving up on the idea of getting myself off as the door to the bathroom flies open and Lilly enters.
“Sorry,” she calls. “I have to flat-iron my hair a bit before Kyle picks me up, it’ll take one second.”
I don’t mind that she’s busted in unannounced—it’s not like I’m standing around naked and it’s not as if she hasn’t done it a hundred times before—but I would like to eventually get out of the shower.