Undecided (20 page)

In record time I’m thrusting back and biting my
lip to stifle my cries. His fingers squeeze my hips too hard and my flesh
burns, but I don’t try to stop him. Next thing I know I’m coming, fingers
clawing the couch, muscles straining, clasping, squeezing. Crosbie’s grunting
behind me, powering through my body’s contractions, and soon I hear him come,
too, hunching over me, one hand tangled in my hair as though anchoring himself.

“Nora,”
he groans on a ragged breath, his hips bumping mine artlessly as he forgets
finesse and just gives in to his body’s demands. “Nora, Nora, Nora.”

I reach
up weakly and cup the back of his neck, the only thing I have the strength for.
“Crosbie.”

Two nights later I’m trudging down the sidewalk toward my apartment.
It’s quarter to eight and Kellan had texted mid-afternoon to ask if I wouldn’t
mind coming home until after seven. I figured he’d put enough time between the
gonorrhea news and treatment that he’s ready to get back in the game, and if
I’m not mistaken, he’d planned some sort of date night for Marcela. Nate’s
still bringing Celestia by the shop and Marcela is still bitter, so even though
I
can think of a million better things—and people—for them to do, this
is their mistake to make. And everybody makes mistakes. I should know.

I squint
up at our living room window. There’s a faint glow shining through, as though a
light has been left on in one of the bedrooms. I’m really not looking forward
to the prospect of walking in on my roommate and my best friend, but I’m cold
and I’m hungry and I just spent two hours memorizing irregular French verbs and
I want to go home. If need be I’ll creep quietly into my bedroom with my eyes
closed and my ears covered, and sleep with headphones.

I make as
much noise as I reasonably can as I let myself in, but I’m not greeted by the
sight of naked, writhing bodies. Instead I inhale the stomach-pleasing scent of
garlic and tomatoes and warm bread. I eagerly tug off my boots and hang my
jacket on the rail, then climb the stairs, praying there’s some food left.

On the
top step, I come to an abrupt halt.

There’s
Kellan. There’s candlelight. There’s a table set for two.

And
there’s no Marcela.

My eyes
skip around the room, taking in the strangely romantic set up. “Er…what’s going
on?”

He’s
standing in the kitchen in dark pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up
to expose his strong forearms. His feet are bare and if I’m not mistaken, the
apron he’s wearing was “borrowed” from Beans. He’s stirring a pot of what
smells like tomato sauce and appears to have been waiting. For me.

I hope
not. “Are you expecting someone?”

He grins,
the devilishly handsome guy in every romantic comedy, the one you know doesn’t
exist in real life. Except he does. And he’s
right here
. “I was,” he
says. “Have a seat. I hope you’re hungry.”

I stare
at the table like it’s a bomb. “What’s going on?”

He tastes
his sauce, nodding appreciatively. “I’ve been thinking about how great you
are,” he says. “How nice you’ve been about this whole situation lately, and
just what a good roommate you’ve been. Then I remembered we were supposed to go
out to dinner that time and I totally flaked so I thought I’d plan something
special.”

I can’t
convince my feet to move. The vibe in here is not special, it’s weird. He’s
moved the dining table into the living room so there’s more space, and it’s
covered in what looks like a white bed sheet folded in half. It’s set with
plates and wine glasses and candles. There are even half a dozen votives spaced
around the room, making for a very cozy—and confusing—ambiance.

The oven
timer dings and Kellan pulls out a loaf of garlic bread, so hot and perfect the
butter is still sizzling when he sets it on a cutting board. My stomach urges
me to get my ass in a chair. My heart tells me this is going to send someone
the very wrong message. And my head is telling me this will only end badly.

“Come
on,” Kellan says, garlic bread in hand. I feel the gentle press of his fingers
in the small of my back as he guides me to the table, then sets down the bread
and pulls out my chair, resting his hands on my shoulder to urge me into the
seat. This, of course, is the moment Crosbie walks through the front door.

The three
of us freeze, a complicated, decidedly unromantic, garlicky tableau. Crosbie’s
still wearing his jacket and holds a video game, mouth open in surprise. He
stares at us, his gaze locked on Kellan’s hands on my shoulders, before
shifting to take in the candles, the wine glasses, every damning detail.

“Crosbie—”
I begin.

“Hey,”
Kellan says.

Crosbie’s
mouth moves, but for a second no words come out. “I wanted to drop off your
game,” he says finally. Very stiffly he reaches out to place the game on the
counter, and even Kellan—delightfully obtuse Kellan—realizes something is
wrong.

“Are you
okay?” he asks, dropping his hands and stepping toward his friend. “Cros?”

But
Crosbie’s only looking at me now, his brown eyes hurt and bewildered all at
once. I know he’s never had a girlfriend before—not that I
am
his
girlfriend—and he’s definitely never been in a position to be cheated on. But I
also know he’s the sidekick in Kellan’s story; Kellan gets Miss Louisiana,
Crosbie gets the runner up. All those questions about whether or not I was into
Kellan—I’d finally convinced him, and now this.

“Crosbie,”
I say again, but he just shakes his head and disappears back down the stairs. A
second later the door slams shut, the icy wind making the candles flutter.

“What the
hell was that?” Kellan asks, running a hand through his hair. “I said he could
keep the game until tomorrow if he really wanted to.”

I shake
my head and blink away the guilty tears stinging my eyes. I should probably let
him go. I should probably not follow him into freezing temperatures and beg him
to hear me out. I should never have started this in the first place.

But I
did.

I run
down the stairs, pause long enough to shove my feet into my boots, and yank
open the door. The cold air steals my breath but I can see him half a block down.
I don’t even think about it, I just start running. The air is so crisp it feels
like something might shatter. The faint dusting of frost on bare tree branches
flitters down, glinting in the light from the streetlamps before melting into
my hair.

“Crosbie!”
I shout.

There’s
no one else around, no sounds, no cars, no anything. I know he hears me, but he
doesn’t stop. If anything he hunches up his shoulders and walks even faster.

“Crosbie!”
I pick up the pace. My lungs hurt because it’s cold and I’m not in shape, and I
shiver in my thin shirt and leggings, feeling my hair slip out of its bun and
flop against my neck

“Crosbie!”
I shout. “
Stop!
” I’m three car lengths away when he finally halts,
though he doesn’t turn around. His hands are crammed in the pockets of his
jeans and I can see his breath coming out in fast white pants. I’m gasping when
I finally reach him, putting my hand on his arm for balance and nearly falling
when he jerks it away.

I’m
prepared for his hurt, but not the raw anger on his face.

“Crosbie.”
My voice cracks on the word. “It’s not—”

“Don’t
bother, Nora.” He stares past me up the street, at nothing.

“I’ve
been home for two minutes,” I say. “I didn’t know he was planning this.”

“Right.”

“I
thought he had a date with Marcela.”

“You said
you knew they weren’t into each other.”

“They’re
not. They—I don’t know. I don’t know, Crosbie. But I’m not into him. I never
will be. This is just really bad timing.”

He shakes
his head but doesn’t move. “You wanted to keep us a secret for a reason. It
never had anything to do with me or that stupid fucking list.”

“It did,
but it doesn’t now.”

His jaw
flexes and his nostrils flare as he inhales. He’s angry, but he’s still here.
He’s listening. He wants to believe me.

“I
swear,” I add. “I swear. Please don’t…” I break off to catch my breath so I
don’t start crying, like that’s the one thing that could make this situation
worse. “Please come back with me.”

“Why?”

“So there
are no more secrets. So we all have to eat spaghetti together. It’s going to be
terrible, but let’s just do it.”

He
finally looks at me. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says.

“What?”

“If
you’re doing this because you think I’ll tell everyone we slept together, I
won’t. If you want to be with him—if you are with him—I’m not going to spread
rumors. I’ll get the fuck over it. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’ve
never lied to you.” I swallow past the guilty lump in my throat. A lie of
omission isn’t really a lie, is it? “And I’m not afraid of you. I like you.
Only you.”

He scrubs
a hand over his face and finally notices that I’m freezing my ass off. My arms
are wrapped around my still-growling stomach and I’m bouncing on my toes for
warmth.

“Where’s
your coat?”

“I didn’t
stop to get it.”

“Well,
you should have. It’s freezing.”

“Well, if
it’s the coat or you, I choose you.”

It’s
super lame, but his face softens, mouth quirking reluctantly. He looks down at
me and believes whatever he sees. “All right, Nora. Let’s go.”

* * *

Five minutes later we’re sitting at the dining table to partake in the
world’s most awful dinner party. I brought out my desk chair for Crosbie while
Kellan wordlessly blew out every candle and set a third place. Now we sit in
front of three untouched plates of spaghetti and garlic bread, unwilling or
unable to meet each other’s eyes.

Kellan’s
first to speak. “Seriously?” he mutters, shaking his head. He snatches up his
garlic bread and takes a big bite. “You two?”

Crosbie
and I look at each other. “Yeah,” Crosbie finally answers.

“How
long?”

I nibble
at my garlic bread like a guilty rabbit. “Halloween.”

“
Hallo
—”
Kellan’s eyes widen. He gapes at me but points at Crosbie. “That’s who—?”

I know
he’s talking about the condom, so I cut him off. “Yes.”

He glares
at Crosbie. “You said you banged Miss Washington!”

“Well,
she’s
from
Washington.”

“I cannot
believe this. Under my nose.”

I can’t
believe it either. And finally I start to laugh. I laugh so hard my shoulders
heave and my eyes water and I even snort a little bit. I slump in my chair and
toss back my head and just really fucking
laugh
.

“Are you
just banging or is this for real? Boyfriend-girlfriend real?”

The
question sobers me up pretty quickly. I straighten in my seat and Crosbie and I
exchange a look.

“It’s for
real,” he says quietly, picking up his fork and twirling it in his spaghetti.
My heart lurches at the words, because I know he’s never said them about anyone
before. Neither have I.

Kellan
takes another bite of his bread and chews while he surveys us. “I knew it.”

“You
knew?” Crosbie echoes, sounding doubtful.

“Yep.
You’ve been different this year. I knew there was something going on.” He tilts
his head, conceding. “I didn’t know it was Nora, but I knew there was
something.”

Crosbie’s
jaw twitches. “I see.”

“First
you started noticing chicks with glasses after Nora came over to see the
apartment that first time. I just thought you’d developed some new fetish, but
it was that outfit she had on. She made you like nerds.” He nods at me. “No
offense.”

I roll my
eyes.

“I
didn’t—”

“And how
you kept changing our runs so they would go past Beans, then talking about
brownies so I’d suggest we go in.”

“I’m
not—”

Kellan
looks at me. “It was his idea to invite you to the Halloween party. I mean, I
was on board with it, but it wasn’t my idea.”

Crosbie
glares at him. “What are you—”

Kellan
shrugs innocently, though I think we all know he’s far from it. And while
Crosbie’s looking a little embarrassed to have his eighth-grade seduction
strategy exposed, my heart’s beating a mile a minute. I don’t know anyone who
works as hard as he does, for anything. Especially not for me.

“Thank
you,” I say.

It
appears to take some effort, but he pulls his attention away from Kellan and
focuses it on me. “Thank you?”

“Yeah.” I
nudge his leg under the table. “If what he’s saying is true, then thank you.”

He
blushes when he smiles. “Any time.”

The rest
of the meal is only slightly less awkward, though it’s admittedly more than a
little weird when Kellan tidies the kitchen while Crosbie plays video games and
I work on my archaeology paper. No one really speaks, and eventually Kellan
joins Crosbie and they blow things up for a while. Around eleven I’m sick of
analyzing cave finds in the fictional region of Malaruhu, and I shut down my
laptop and head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash up. When I come
out the explosions abruptly stop, and Crosbie looks from me to Kellan and back,
then slowly stands.

He wipes
his hands on his thighs, hesitant, and I realize we’re at a turning point. If
he stays the night, the entire pretense of my arrangement with Kellan is shot
to hell. If he goes home, the entire pretense of our relationship is
undermined. We’re standing in a room with the most popular guy on campus, and
we’re choosing each other.