Someone cheers, and another person whistles. “Nolan!” someone cries.
“You’re viral,” someone else yells.
I follow Evelyn and Hudson over to where someone’s holding a phone, showing a clip of Nolan in an interview, composed, confident, and deliriously handsome as the interviewer showers him with questions. He looks like a celebrity who frequents red carpets and night shows, prepared for each of the inquiries.
Nolan chuckles dismissively from where he’s stuffing the final loose cups into a garbage bag. “Let’s haul the garbage out. We’ll drop it off on campus. I’m going to stay at the dorms tonight.”
Lenny slings an arm around Nolan’s shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here. We need you in one piece for next week’s game.” He leads him to the front door.
Nolan takes a look around, his gaze stopping on me for a second and his face falls, as one does when they’ve realized they’ve left their keys or purse or something behind.
“Janelle!” Lenny yells, waving a hand. “Janelle, come here.”
A blonde girl appears in the doorway, her face coated in glitter, and her lips a light shade of violet as she smiles at Nolan. “Need a ride?” She turns to take his hand and I notice the prominent number seventeen—his number—painted on her cheek.
“I’m—” Nolan begins, shaking his head.
“Drunk.” Lenny nods. “We know.” He thumps Nolan on the back, pushing him forward. Nolan stumbles, but I would have sworn his eyes were clear, though bright before he’d kissed me, his voice clear, not slurred. “Don’t worry. We’ve got the rest,” Lenny assures him.
“Make sure you put on protection, and I’m not talking about your seat belt!” the guy they called Pops yells. “If you packed all your condoms, there are extras in the fishbowl!”
I cringe on behalf of my heart, my pride, and any neighbors who might be hearing this.
“Tell me you hear me!” Pops yells.
“You’re an asshole,” Nolan calls.
“Even if you stick it there!” someone else quips.
I flinch, feeling my cheeks grow red as the desire to brush my teeth and rinse with hydrogen peroxide consumes me. I want to wipe my mouth with something stronger than a paper towel—straight alcohol—anything to erase the taste and memory of him.
The group sniggers and gathers the last of the garbage before waving and calling out their goodbyes.
When the door closes behind them, that hollow place that taunts me with bad ideas seems like a mountain rather than a cave.
Hannah turns from where she’s still in the living room. Her expression is the definition of confliction. “How mad do you think she is?”
It takes me several seconds too long to stop thinking about the way that blonde smiled at Nolan with adoration and lust, to consider what they might be doing now or in fifteen minutes when they get back to campus, and remember I’ve injured my relationship with our roommate.
I cling to the distraction and guilt, perversely grateful for having fucked things up so I have something else to focus on, so I don’t get emotional and send a damning and regrettable text to Nolan.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to recall Katie’s reaction, but the memory of Nolan's kiss invades my thoughts. Not just the kiss, the way his fingers swept across me when Luke had invited me to hang out, the way he’d watched me before kissing the hell out of me. God, that kiss. That undercurrent of impulsivity that dares and taunts me finally felt like it had found a release.
Of course, it was kissing Nolan that finally found my trigger because he’s off-limits—or should be. He is … right?
I shake my head to dislodge the thought. “I’ll talk to her in the morning. How was Ethan? Was he nice? Did it go well?”
Hannah’s smile becomes radiant as red blooms on her cheeks. “He’s so cute, and it just felt like everything clicked. We have so many things in common.” She shakes her head. “We like the same music, the same bands, the same anime shows…” Her shoulders sink, staring at me with a wistful expression, silently pleading with me to reel her back down to reality.
I think of Nolan’s instant smile, the easy exchange between him and his friends and that desire to be the glass is half full, sunshine, fun girl I’ve always wanted to be, has me setting down every reminder that she doesn’t know him well enough, has no idea if he might be the type to kick puppies or not hold the door open for a young mother carrying an infant car seat or the type. Instead, I grin. “Tell me you got his number.”
Her smile shines a shade brighter as she nods.
“You definitely need to text him. If we only have a few years left to blame terrible decisions on our pre-frontal cortexes, then there’s no time like the present.”
“I’m already regretting telling you about that.”
I grin. “I haven’t even gotten started.”