And as far as my sexual history went, he most definitely won the gold medal in orgasms. And a world record in taking them from me in quick succession.
My table shifted and a bag fell onto it, interrupting me from my thoughts. I looked up into Leo’s face as he shrugged off his jacket and set it on the back of the chair opposite me. I tugged on an earbud.
Pointing a finger at me, he asked, “Want a pumpkin latte?”
I made a face. “Gross. No.”
Grinning, he walked around to the counter. I heard the distinct giggles of one of the baristas, having fallen victim to Leo’s flirting. That was his power: his charisma. He used his charms to smoothly talk his way through any sticky situation. It was why we got along strictly as friends, because I possessed the same power, but I wielded mine with my tongue and not just with words, but with action, too.
My phone vibrated across the table and I picked it up.
Celeste: Mom would like you to come home for Dad’s birthday.
I took in a deep breath, willing my mother’s nagging voice away from my head.
Me: Well, I’m not. I have school work to catch up on.
Celeste: Already falling behind?
I imagined her saying that, her blonde hair delicately curled to rest upon her shoulders, her green eyes, echoes of mine, narrowed on me with a snide smile spreading her paper thin lips. And the visual was so close to reality that I shook it from my head and turned my phone on silent.
Rolling my eyes, I moved my eyes back to the paper, wholly uninspired. My eyes caught on the doodle I’d drawn during class. It was just a small sketch on the upper corner of my paper; a loose white blouse with taut lines from the weight of the eyeglasses that hung from the opening. I may or may not have embellished with the cleavage above it, not that I needed to.
Leo returned and unceremoniously deposited a cup in front of me, sending droplets spilling out of the mouth opening and over my notebook.
“What’s that?” I asked, eyes flicking from the cup to him as I rubbed the mess on my papers.
Leo leaned back in his seat, shrugged. “Try it.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth as I mulled it over before taking a tentative sip. Instantly, a spoonful of liquid sugar hit my tongue and I made a face. “What the fuck, Leo?”
“Salted caramel hot chocolate.” He shook his head. “Girls like that stuff!” he exclaimed, pulling the offending beverage from my hand.
“Not this girl.” I turned my face back to my paper and found myself tapping along again to the beat that came from the lone earbud still in my other ear.
“True that.” He drank from the cup he’d given me. “You’re right, this is sickly sweet.”
Teasing him, I said, “Like your girlfriend … what’s her name? Darlene?” I waved a hand at the cup. “I bet she’d like that liquid poison.”
“Darcy,” he corrected. “And she’s not my girlfriend, remember? We’re on a break.”
I snorted, flipped a page in my textbook. “Oh, that’s right. Who’s the tits-with-legs I saw you with Friday night? Darcy two-point-oh?”
“She’s no one,” Leo said flippantly. I gave him a look, the don’t-treat-women-like-they’re-a-drive-thru look. In and out, that was the Leo way. It was another reason we worked as just friends: because I would never take him seriously. He sighed, losing some of the gloat he’d come in with. “She didn’t give me her number,” he said. I resisted laughing, just barely. Leo seemed actually hurt by it. “She rubbed her body on me for hours, went to the bathroom and never came back. And I sat there like a little bitch, nursing my beers thinking she was coming back.”
“Aw.” I reached a hand across the table and rubbed his arm. “Cheer up, pumpkin. There are other fish in the sea, or whatever that nonsense is.” I flipped another page in the textbook, knowing studying was futile but giving it a shot anyways.
“What about you? Who was that guy you left with?”
My eyes didn’t lift from the page, but my body stilled. “Some guy.” Not lying. “I didn’t get his number, either.” It still stung a bit, knowing he’d left me without making plans to see me again. Which I knew was the reason I wasn’t letting him off the hook easily. That and the fact that I liked to watch him squirm.
“You were practically eating his face.” Leo pulled a textbook from his bag and dropped it on the table. My pen rolled off the table and Leo bent down to get it. “Are you going to the party this weekend?” he asked flopping the pen on my notebook, splattering ink everywhere.
“Damn it, Leo. Can you do anything gently?” I looked at my ink splattered paper, noting with swift disappointment the droplet that had smeared across my sketch. “What party?” I asked with little interest. I thought of my father’s birthday and felt like celebrating at a party, even when he wasn’t in attendance, was decidedly something I did not want to do.
“Delta Whatever-Their-Name-Is. The place where you puked in the refrigerator.”
“Ah,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure they’re eager for me to be in attendance.” I turned back to the ink-splattered page in front of me and frowned. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Come on, Add. Let’s go out. We haven’t gone out in forever.”
Roughly, I flipped to a clean page in my notebook. “Forever as in six days ago?”
Leo placed a large, tanned hand on my own, halting me from further movement. “That doesn’t count; we danced with other people and only saw each other for five minutes.”
“I’ll think about it,” I conceded, shaking his hand off of mine. “But if—and I mean if—I go, you’re not letting me do Jell-O shots again.”
“Come on, babe. You’re a wild animal; ain’t no taming you when your heart is set on something.”
Why did that thought make me think of Nathan? Certainly, I couldn’t deny my thoughts for him weren’t primal in a way that was alarming. I didn’t jump from man to man, I left them when I was done with them, when they were worn out and still wanting. That was what women wanted, right? To leave a man wanting more?
So why hadn’t Nathan wanted more?
Chapter Seven
The next day, Friday, I took careful consideration regarding how I dressed. And as I took in my reflection, I felt sure that I’d capture Nathan’s attention once again.
I wore my long blonde hair over my left shoulder, with a tight French braid on the right side, just enough to keep the hair from covering my face on that side. Paired with my black eyeliner and red lips, I felt edgy, as if my look was transforming my attitude too.
I wore the tight pants from the Friday before, the ones with little zips from the back of my heels up to my calves. The tank top was new, purchased thanks to Wednesday night’s tips at the cafe, a little black fishnet number. I wore it over a red cami and shrugged on my leather jacket right before I climbed into the red heels that I’d worn on Monday.
As I adjusted the lapels of the jacket, I wished it was real leather. I thought of Nathan’s eyeglasses, the ones that cost several month’s rent. And for a brief moment, I doubted myself. Did Nathan see our little interlude as slumming it? With my fake blonde hair, fake leather, and heavy eye makeup, did he see me as someone only as deep as their top layer of skin?
I shrugged aside the unwelcome thoughts as I grabbed my messenger bag and took the steps from my fourth floor walk-up to the street.
The apartment would be a royal pain in the ass in the winter, when the steps were covered in ice and the railing too frozen to hold comfortably. But it was mine: all mine. No annoying roommates to accuse of stealing my clothes or to argue with over groceries. Sure, I was broke most of the time and my fridge was so empty that nothing ever had the opportunity to go moldy. These were the things people took for granted: that they had so much food that some of it grew mold from being uneaten.