Rm W/a Vu (18 page)

Erik seems reluctant, but does so with one final look from Greyston. I shouldn’t, but I find this odd display of his kind of sexy. The minute Erik is outside, Greyston closes the door, his palm flat against it as if holding it in case Erik tries to come back inside.

“What’s up?” I ask, truly curious about what is possibly going through Greyston’s mind right now.

 “I don’t like him,” is his short reply.

I’m not sure how to reply to that. Greyston doesn’t even know Erik—hell,
I
don’t even know him that well yet; isn’t that what dates are for? To learn about someone that you may have expressed an interest in?

“I’m sorry?” I finally say.

Greyston sighs heavily, dropping his hand from the door and running it through his hair, never breaking our stare—or his hold on my hand. “You could do so much better. I don’t trust him.”

I’m sure Greyston’s exactly right about being able to do better. However, what he doesn’t realize is that I feel as though
he
might be my “better.” And he’s not an option.

“Greyston,” I say with a smile. “I don’t think they can get much worse than Ben.”

“Juliette, you don’t know what he’s thinking—”

“And you do?” I ask softly, smiling at him to show him I’m not upset by his need to keep me safe. He’s doing this because he promised my dad; I know this to be a fact. “It’s one date. I’ve shared a few classes with him, and he seems really nice.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

There’s no holding back my amusement. “
You
look like a nice guy…are you telling me you’re secretly a psychopath?”

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes shut. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” I ask. “My dad thought you were some crazy person, and he agreed to meet with you so you could prove him wrong. Shouldn’t Erik be granted the same allowances?”

It’s clear he’s not happy that I’ve compared him and Erik, but it works. He opens the door, but still holds onto my hand, tethering me to him for a moment longer. There’s something in the way he’s holding onto me that reaches out to that small, distant part of me that’s still grasping for a shred of hope that
maybe
he’s interested.

Then he let’s go, and it all slips away.

“Promise you’ll call if you need absolutely anything. A ride, someone to talk to, anything.”

I agree without a second thought, thanking him for his concern, and walk out to find Erik leaning against the passenger side door of his older Ford Focus, playing with his phone.

Upon seeing me, he slips his phone into his pocket and pushes off the car. “Well he’s mighty protective, isn’t he?”

He moves away from the door, and I smile expectantly, waiting for him to open it. When he doesn’t, instead running around to his own door and hopping in immediately, I’m stunned. Slowly, I turn back to Greyston, who’s chuckling from his place in the doorway and shaking his head.

I understand that it isn’t unusual for men to make their women open their own doors or pull out their own chairs, but since meeting Greyston, I guess I had hoped that maybe Ben was the rarity.

Annoyed less than fifteen minutes into my first date, I open my door and climb in. I decide that I’m not going to hold this against Erik, and that it’s just how he was taught.

The entire drive to the party, Erik is talking about the big football game on Sunday. “I’m having a few buddies over to watch the game on my new flat screen. You should stop by.”

“Oh,” I tell him, “I can’t. I’m actually going to the game on Sunday.”

Erik’s eyes go wide, and he turns to me for a longer period of time than I’m entirely comfortable with since he’s driving. “When did you get tickets? I’ve been trying for
months
.”

I smile, remembering dinner with Greyston and my parents quite fondly. “Greyston, actually. He’s taking my parents and me. The team’s manager gave him tickets for signing the new quarterback.”

Erik’s mouth is now equally as wide as his eyes; it’s kind of frightening. “Your landlord gave you tickets? That’s… weird.”

“I don’t know,” I tell him with a laugh. “I thought it was kind of sweet.”

We arrive at the party a few minutes later, and Erik gets out of the car and starts for the door—while I’m still sitting in the passenger seat. He’s docking himself points left and right, but I continue to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Walking as fast as I can in my heels, I catch up to him before we pass through the door, and he snickers. “What took you so long?”

It takes all the strength I can muster to not slam his face into the side of the doorframe. He’s lucky he is able to redeem himself a little when he spots the keg and offers to get us both a drink.

“Thank you. That would be great.” I watch as he crosses the room and talks to the guy manning the keg. While he’s gone, I take a look around at the party to find it’s already in full swing. Men and women are grinding in the large living room area as heavy dance music makes the walls and windows rattle, and there are couples making out in every corner. I haven’t been to one of these things since last year, and I can clearly see that they haven’t changed.

Erik returns a couple of minutes later with my beer. “Your new place looks great,” Erik says, trying to start the conversation. “What made you decide to move off campus?”

I quirk my eyebrow at him, because I am more than certain the rumors surrounding my moving out of the dorms has been made public. “You’re joking, right?” He says nothing. “Well, when someone finds out their boyfriend and roommate are sleeping together, there’s not really much keeping you here.”

Erik doesn’t seem surprised by this news, which can only tell me he did know. “That sucks,” is all he says. “Can I ask if you know how he got the black eye?”

I’m just taking a sip of my drink when I laugh. “Greyston.”

 “Your landlord?” I nod, and Erik shakes his head in disbelief.

Erik continues to ask me questions, and I’m surprised that I’m able to contribute to the conversation here and there. However, it seems that every time I bring up Greyston, Erik becomes agitated. We talk about Erik’s plans for the weekend, and when he asks what I plan to do, I remind him of the football game with Greyston and my parents. This leads Erik to ask how that was even arranged, and I explain the dinner last week where Greyston invited us all.

Naturally, I remember the whipped cream on the tip of Greyston’s fingers and get that warm tingly feeling in my lower belly. I don’t mention this out loud, but I imagine it over and over again before I let the memory play out to when I got whipped cream on my own clumsy digits.

And Greyston dropped his fork.

It must be the beer, because that memory shouldn’t be sticking out as prominently as it is… Should it?

Erik interrupts my thoughts, asking about the car I was driving to school the past few days.

“It’s Greyston’s,” I reply without thinking. “He wanted to be sure I had a more reliable vehicle while he was away on business.”

I swear I can feel Erik’s annoyance flare. “Of course. Next you’re going to tell me he’s the world’s best cook.”

“He’s not bad, actually,” I inform him, thinking back on all the delicious meals Greyston has prepared for us: the Alfredo dish, bacon and egg breakfasts, spaghetti…

That was when Greyston dropped his spoon into the sauce.

Something else clicks into place—even though I didn’t know there was a place for it
to
click.

Hours pass, meaning I’ve become even more drunk. Erik and I have been doing shots in between my apparently bottomless red solo cup of beer. Sure, it’s probably not the best way to avoid a hangover—or alcohol poisoning—but I’m actually having a good time. I’m not fully aware of when or why I do it, but it seems like every time Erik starts up a new topic, I bring up Greyston, always finding a way to relate it to whatever we’re talking about. However, the more I talk about him, the more I seem to remember all of these little things I originally sloughed off as unimportant because I had figured there was no way Greyston would ever act that way or say certain things around me.

The way his fingers brushed my knee when he was trying to comfort me about his leaving… The smiles he’s always giving me… Even just the way his eyes always lock on mine when he’s talking to me.

“Greyston again, huh?” Erik says after I tell him another Greyston story. I think he’s annoyed, but he could also be drunk…because I’m drunk, and I think everyone here is drunk.

“Greyston’s awesome.” My words are only slightly slurred as I state this as a fact. I think. 

Erik seems to ignore my statement completely. “Look, can we stop talking about your landlord? How about we go and dance?”

“Uhhh…” I look behind me at the lazy dancers, leaning up against each other for balance—actually, upon closer observation they’re not leaning; they’re pawing at each other and on the verge of public sex. Some people have no shame.

“Juliette?” My eyes snap back to Erik’s a little too fast, and I lose my balance. He catches me, but I don’t like how his dry, calloused fingers feel on my arm. They itch. Greyston’s, though? They’re nice. Like little jolts of electricity making my heart beat faster and my stomach flip.

“What?” I ask before remembering what he just asked. “Oh, right. Um, I’m going to go to the washroom.”

Unable to deny me my girl time, he lets me go, and I stumble through the large crowd to find the bathroom. I do what needs to be done, wash my hands, and fix my hair. As I glance over my reflection, I flash back to when I was coming downstairs to greet Erik back at the house. There is no denying that there was something in the way Greyston was looking at me. I smile before biting my lip, wondering what the look might have meant…

There’s a knock on the door that startles me until I hear Erik’s voice calling for me from the other side. When I open the door, he’s holding my cup out to me. I’m suddenly not feeling like partying and just want to go home.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks, placing his hard, scratchy hand on my bare back and leading me back out into the throng of people.

“It’s just getting late, and I’m feeling kind of tired,” I lie. “Would you hate me if I wanted to go home?”

While he doesn’t say yes, something in his eyes tells me he’s not exactly pleased. “I thought we were going to dance?”

I look around at the “dancers” and cringe. “Um, I’m not a great dancer. And besides, I don’t do”—I raise my hand and wave my outstretched index finger around at everybody in the room—“that.”

Erik’s hand moves across my back, even dipping beneath the soft fabric of my shirt slightly, and he leans in until he’s whispering in my ear. It reminds me of the morning I made French toast for Greyston, only Erik’s breath is nowhere near as sweet and warm as Greyston’s. “Juliette,
everybody
does that.”

Shaking my head, I pull away from Erik; I need his hand off me, and I suddenly feel the need to scrape my neck and ear clean with a Brillo Pad. “Mmm mmm,” I disagree. “Not me. Not ever. Look, I just want to go home. Please?”

Sighing heavily, Erik gives in to my request. “Fine. Let’s go.”

We step outside, and Erik starts leading me to his car. I stop instantly because, even though I’m really drunk, I know that there’s no way Erik is fit to drive. “Um, would you mind if we walked? I don’t think you should drive.”

“Juliette, I’m fine, really.” I shake my head adamantly, and he concedes again. “Whatever you say.”

It’s about a thirty-minute walk—maybe more because I can’t seem to walk in a completely straight line. Erik keeps trying to take my hand, but I’m pretty sly and keep moving it to fiddle with my hair or adjust my shirt. He seems to be put out by my non-hand-holding, only I can’t seem to care.

We finally arrive at my house, and Erik walks me up to the door. The porch light is still on, and I can see the dim light of one of the lamps in the living room. Is Greyston still up? The thought that he is excites me more than I can even say.

“I had fun tonight,” Erik says in a husky voice, reminding me that he’s still here.
Boo.

I try not to giggle, but fail miserably; he sounds ridiculous. “Uh, yeah,” I concur to be nice. “It was all right.”

“What do you say we have a little more fun?”

Uh oh…
I do not like the way that sounds. Nope.  Uh uh. Not at all.

Leaning in, Erik starts to play with a tendril of my hair, his eyes moving back and forth between mine and then roving down my body. It makes me nervous. “So, you gonna invite me in?”

“No,” I answer quickly with a laugh. I hate the way he keeps invading my personal bubble.

 “Come on…” Erik leans in further, his hand cupping my jaw and moving back until his fingers rest on the base of my neck. His face is slowly getting closer, and he’s licking his dry, cracked lips. Dread fills my body, and I grab the doorknob behind my back.

With my free hand, I reach up and grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from me, and step back. “I said
no
.” I turn the knob behind me to see that it’s thankfully unlocked, and I clumsily step just over the threshold, leaving Erik on the porch.

“You know what?” There’s a fire in his eyes, and not that sexy, smoldery kind like Greyston’s, either. Nah, he looks pissed. Rejected. “You’re nothing but a tease. I put up with you going on and on and
on
about that guy all night, and I get nothing in return?”

My head feels fuzzy, and the outer edges of my vision are still cloudy from the beer. Through it all, my irritation surges. “What did you want, Erik? A medal?” He glares at me, and whatever verbal filter I have left is washed away by the alcohol in my system. I don’t even know what I’m saying until I’ve said it. “Actually, I’ve got a few participation ribbons for dates who turn out to be sore losers upstairs…you want me to go grab you one, cupcake?” There’s a warm, familiar chuckle off to my left, and if I really hone my peripheral vision, I can see Greyston leaning in the doorway of the living room.

Erik doesn’t seem to appreciate my joke as much as Greyston does—which is because Erik’s not awesome like Greyston. “Fuck you,” he spits. “This was such a waste of time.” Grumbling something about my being a frigid tease, he retreats down the stairs.