Page 4 of I Think He Knows
Her choice of words makes me chuckle. “Absolutely not.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You said that a bit fast.”
“Maybe I’m not into going home with strangers either.” I shrug. “No matter how cute.”
This tugs a smile out of her. “I don’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
At this, she laughs. It’s a weird, snorty, high-pitched laugh unlike anything I’ve heard before. At the sound of her own snort, she claps a hand over her mouth, her blush deepening.
I’m beginning to feel a bit envious of this so-called boyfriend of hers.
“Come on, Miss Lana Mae. Your no-strings-attached access to the last clean towel in our linen closet awaits.”
She snorts again, and I indicate she should go up the stairs in front of me. Not so that I can check out her butt. Honest. I avert my eyes, like the gentleman I actually am under my teasing. The girl may be beautiful in that irresistibly sweet, whimsical way, but she said she has a boyfriend, and I don’t mess with that.
Unlike my roommate from hell, who’s up in our room with a sorority girl when I know for a fact that he has a girlfriend back home. One he never mentions. And one who apparently has no idea he’s working his way through the entire female population of our freshman class while still dating her.
I clench and unclench my fists at the memory of his smug face as he ushered the petite brunette into our room about an hour ago. He simply shrugged at me while I stood in the hall wearing nothing but my shower towel. “Sorry, bruh,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “But you know how it is.”
I retorted that no,bruh, I did not know how it was, because while I was perfectly capable of picking up a girl, I didn’t do so while in a relationship. He had the gall to laugh. “Whose fault is that?” he asked before he slammed the door of my own bedroom in my face.
Which is how I ended up at this stupid party in the first place. I had to borrow clothes from one of my buddies down the hall (resulting in me looking this century’s most enthusiastic frat boy), and then resorted to hanging out by the stairs, chugging water and waiting for the aforementioned petite brunette to reappear, which would signal that I could finally get some sleep before my 5am alarm tomorrow.
I have to be up early in the morning for an audition. Like, a movie audition. Which sounds weird, even to me.
Truth is, it’s a Hail Mary. I’m currently working a landscaping job most mornings, and on top of that, I’ve started picking up night shifts at a warehouse. Fitting both jobs around my college courseload is exhausting, and after falling asleep in class twice last week, I realized I needed to figure out a more sustainable way to pay for my education. I might have no idea what I want to do with my life, but I know I want to make something of myself. Succeed. And getting a college degree is the first step.
When I heard that extra parts in movies here in Atlanta pay pretty well, I was kinda skeptical.
But honestly, I’ll giveanythinga fair shot if there’s a chance I can at least quit the night shifts.
Meanwhile, mybruhdrives a Range Rover and has daddy’s credit card on hand for his tuition and expenses. Which I know I shouldn’t be butt-hurt about, but it’s hard not to be when he’s such a jerk. I feel terrible for his girlfriend, and I’ve never even met the girl.
“So, you live in Frat Boy Paradise then?” Lana Mae asks, looking over her shoulder as she steps onto the landing. Half the guys’ bedrooms are up here, and more often than not, everyone’s overflow crap ends up in the hallway.
I quickly kick away a couple of rogue jerseys and beer cans. A house inhabited by forty guys is exactly what you’d imagine it to be: a pigsty. Questionable choice on my part, pledging for the sole purpose of not having pay more to live in dorms.
“Paradise Lost, more like.”
“Milton,” she says, looking surprised. “Didn’t peg you for a literary guy.”
“Not gonna read into what that implies.”
“You shouldn’t,” she counters cheekily.
I can’t help the grin that creeps over my face. “Well, sadly, you’re right, Donovan. I’m not really into literature. Just made the mistake of signing up for Epic Poetry for my freshman English elective,” I explain. “And to answer your question, I do live here.”
For some reason, she brightens at this. “My boyfriend lives here too. Maybe you know him?”
I’m surprised at the way my heart sinks. I was still kind of hoping her boyfriend was imaginary… but of course she’s dating one of my frat brothers. I mean, look at her.
I nod. “Probably. You in a sorority?”
“Nah, I’m a senior in high school. Steven was in the year above me.”
The name hits me like a punch to the gut.