Give Me You (13 page)

He still whispers dirty promises in my ear from time to time, but when he’s busy with soccer or class, I kind of miss the adorable pain in the ass—sexual innuendos and all.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

When he drops me off at my dorm after one of our trips to downtown, he walks me to the door. We say goodnight and I open the door to see Landen’s giant sneakers next to Layla’s desk in the common room.

“Oh awesome,” I say. “Your roommate is here. Guess I get to be the third wheel tonight.”

Skylar smirks. “I could sneak you into my dorm. Doubt the guys would mind.”

“I bet.” Part of me is tempted to see if he can finagle missing curfew and we can go to Jax’s place. “I’m tired and ready to crash so I’ll just sleep on the futon and hope I don’t hear anything cringe-worthy in the next room.”

Skylar hesitates but I can tell he’s about to say something.

“Spit it out, soccer boy.”

He grins. “I could stay if you want. You know, just so you’re not the third wheel. We don’t have curfew check tonight so…”

I contemplate this. If we lay the futon out, it’s nearly a full size bed. I can handle that, right? Lying next to him all night on a futon.

“The futon is comfortable but kind of small…”

“I can sleep on the rug.” He pulls a serious face when I laugh. “Hey, I went to summer camp. I can rough it.”

My eyes roll involuntarily. “I bet there was no floor sleeping at the Beverly Hills overnight camp.”

Skylar laughs and nudges me. “Go on inside, Red. We can watch a movie and pass out. I’ll behave myself. Scout’s honor.”

“Were you ever really a boy scout?”

He digs his hands into his pockets. “No, but I got the gist.”

“You’re a mess.” I step the rest of the way into the room and turn on another lamp so it’s not so dim. The bedroom door is closed but we needs pillows and blankets off my bed.

I tell Skylar I’ll be right back and tiptoe into the bedroom as quietly as I can manage. I’ve just about gotten my comforter and pillows off my bed without disturbing the lightly snoring spooners in the next bed, when my damn wall shelf falls to the floor.

“Sorry, shit. Sorry!” I say softly as my alarm clock goes down as well.

Layla sits up looking disoriented and wild-eyed.

“Dammit!” My picture frame must’ve fallen onto my bed because it hits loudly when I pull the comforter. I’m like a bull in a china shop. Clearly a life of crime is out for me.

“Shh, you’re okay, baby. It’s okay,” I hear Landen saying soothingly to Layla.

Oh God, her condition. The one that’s like Epilepsy or something. “I’m sorry, Lay. You okay?”

She says something that sounds like yes but Landen is practically smothering her to his chest so I can’t be sure.

“What the hell, Ginger? Just turn the damn light on,” he barks at me.

“I thought you might be naked,” I hiss back at him. “I’m not trying to scar myself for life.”

“Landen!” I hear Layla say, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure means she is in fact naked.

I flip the lamp switch on but don’t look at them as I scramble to grab my stuff and clean up the broken pieces of picture frame on the floor. It wasn’t even a picture of anything special, just one New York to remind me what I’d left behind and was never going back to in case I got tempted to skip class or drop out or something.

“Told you two push pins wouldn’t be enough to hold all that,” Layla says, nearly giggling at me crawling on the floor like a lunatic.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Sorry. I figured you had company so I was just going to grab my pillow and blanket and sleep on the futon.”

“We were just sleeping, Corin. You don’t have to give up your bed. We can go sleep on the futon,” Landen tells me.

“It’s fine, um, Skylar’s here so…”

“Oh, Corin,
no
,” Layla says, with regret in her eyes. This girl. God love her sweet little heart. She acts like she is now the keeper of my virtue.

“Not what you think.
Shut up
,” I say under my breath. I have no desire to dicuss my sex life or lack there of in front of Landen.

“Shutting.”

“Night night, kids,” I say before exiting the room and sliding the door shut.

“Sounded like that went well,” Skylar greets me on the other side.

I close my eyes. I’d throw the blanket at him if I wasn’t worried there might be broken glass in it. “I am not smooth,” is all I say.

“What happened?” Skylar points to my right hand, which has a trickle of blood running down the side of it.

I set the blankets and pillows on the futon so I can inspect my wound. “Basically I’m clumsy as hell and incapable of not destroying everything in my path. Picture frame broke.” Blood has never really bothered me but I’m tired and starting to feel a little light-headed.

“Come here,” he says, leading me into the bathroom.

Skylar is surprisingly gently as he cleans and bandages the minuscule cut on my hand like a pro. I guess being an athlete prepares you for these kinds of things.

“Why are we always getting injured around those two?” I almost laugh. “Seriously, they’re the ones in the angsty relationship and the two of us are just innocent bystanders that keep getting smacked with debris. And we aren’t even the ones getting to have all the hot sweaty college dorm room sex. I feel like we’re getting the raw end of the deal here.”

The affection in Skylar’s hazel eyes turns from sweet, nurturing concern to liquid heat. “You feel ready for hot sweaty sex, sweetheart, you let me know. Dorm room or otherwise.”

My breath catches in my throat. That’s the confusing part. Sometimes, like right now, when he’s holding me so tenderly and tending to my wounds, I do feel ready. But the thought of it, of how I might feel and how he might act afterward, that I’m not at all ready for.

“Skylar, I—”

“Get out!” Layla’s scream interrupts whatever I was about to say.

What the hell?

Skylar and I practically sprint the short distance to the bedroom. Skylar reaches it first.

“Landen?” He peeks his head in and I try to maneuver around him.

“Layla?” I ask in the same questioning tone. She looks okay for the most part, just super pissed.

“We’re fine.” Landen glowers at us and Skylar pulls me from the doorway.

I protest for a few seconds, demanding to make sure Layla is okay, but we can still hear them. She’s dishing out some serious anger, something about Landen knowing more about her condition and her meds and being selfish like his dad. I can’t keep up with the soap opera, but I hate that she’s so upset and there isn’t anything I can do to help.

I also can’t help but feel guilty for disturbing them tonight. Clearly my interruption led to some major blowout.

I jump when Landen punches the bedroom door on his way out.

“Let’s go,” he says to Skylar.

My mouth gapes open because seriously, what in the fucking fuck is going on here?

Skylar shoots me an apologetic look and nods to the dent in the door. “I’ll pay to have that fixed. Let me just get him out of here. Call you tomorrow.”

With that, they’re gone and I’m left alone with a sobbing roommate who may or may not have a deadly medical condition.

Calculus has officially become the easiest part of college.

A
week goes by and my roommate does her best imitation of a deaf mute. I text Skylar and ask if he feels like hanging out because I need some human interaction or I’m going to lose it. He texts back and says we can order in and play video games at Jax’s later after his practice.

I’ve never looked forward to cheap Chinese takeout and video games so much in my life.

I love Layla, I do. But she’s barely speaking and I’m just kind of existing in her space when we’re in the dorm together.

Skylar looks as stressed out as I feel when I get to the apartment that night.

“Your roommate acting like a zombie too?”

He nods. “Worse. Like a zombie with ‘roid rage. Which is exactly as awesome as it sounds. He’s kicking ass on the field though. We both got to start this week.”

“Wonder how much long this is going to go on?”

Skylar shrugs. “Until they work it out and get back together.”

I scoff at him. “How can you be so sure they will?”

He stares at me intently for several seconds. “You think they won’t?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and contemplate the situation. “I think they might not. I think it might have run its course—this thing between them.”

“Love, you mean,” he clarifies.

“Whatever.”

“Care to wager on it?” He has this look on his face, like we’re playing a game where only he knows the rules.

“Meaning?”

Skylar opens the bag of Chinese food and enticing scents waft in my direction. “Meaning if they get back together before the year ends, I win. If they don’t, then you do.”

He hands over my favorite, a container of sweet and spicy Kung Pao chicken. I practically inhale it while he works on his Mongolian beef. Halfway through we trade without even verbalizing the agreement and I realize I’ve missed hanging out with him as much if not more than I miss Layla speaking to me.

I point a chopstick at him. “Fine, I’m in. But what do we win?”

Skylar lifts a shoulder non-committedly. “Whatever we want at the time.”

I bite my lip. “Okay, but um—”

“Not sex, Corin,” he says, seemingly hurt. “Jesus Christ. You think I’d make you fuck me because you lost a bet? Really?”

“No. I just don’t want to get in over my head. No sex or sexual favors as a prize. That’s my one rule.”

Skylar nods in agreement. “That’s fine by me. I have no rules so you can demand all the sexual favors you want. Bet or no bet. Just sayin.”

“Then you’re on.” I grin and he lets me pick my fortune cookie because he knows I believe you don’t get the right fortune if you don’t pick your own.

“What’s it say?”

I unfold the little white strip of paper. “It’s says ‘brace yourself, for the winds of change are blowing in your direction.’”

“Huh.” Skylar opens his and read it aloud. “Your confidence is attractive.”

“It does not say that.” I laugh and he hands it to me.

It really does say that.

Once we’re finished stuffing our faces, he moves to sit on the living room floor with his back against the couch. He hands me a controller and begins pressing buttons on the game console. I lower myself onto the floor beside him.

“So Mortal Combat or that racing game you like?”

Skylar makes a pouty face at me. “What is it with you and Mortal Combat? You know the 90’s have passed, right?”

“Says the guy who still calls sex boning. Anyway, it’s the only one I can beat you at,” I admit. “So it’s my favorite.”

“For now, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and hands me my controller. “Well, last week that fucking annoying ass Justin Beiber song was your favorite. Then yesterday you changed the channel when it came on—said you were sick of it. Not that I’m complaining.”