I hear one of them say, “oh, shit,” as I leave the kitchen.
Marching onto the dance floor, I see Landon, a guy I made out with at a Halloween party last year. He’d been a good kisser, wasn’t too inappropriate, and is a brunette. I’m not going to get hung up on a brunette since those guys generally aren’t my type.
He’s going to be it tonight. I am going to take him upstairs and make Austin jealous.
Jeez, I am doing this to make him jealous. Not get off, or have a good time. The alcohol reasons with me and wonders why I can’t do both. I can, and I will.
Landon is wearing a polo, oh, God, it’s way too preppy, and I grab the lapels of it. He looks shocked for a moment but then registers it’s me and his mouth instantly dives for mine.
I rear my head back, dodging him because, well, do I really want to make out with him?
Instead, I turn into him, grinding my butt to his crotch as the rap beat blares overhead. Landon is uncoordinated at best, and my buzz is starting to wear off. He probably is not that great in bed …
My thoughts wander, and this idea seems worse with each passing second.
I feel Austin’s eyes on me from across the room. The redhead is gone, not attached to his hip anymore, and those chocolate brown eyes are annoyed and taunting.
You’re really going to do that? His gaze says.
So stop me, asshole. I raise an eyebrow.
He turns his hands palms forward and shrugs his shoulders as if to wave the white flag. As if he’s saying, if you want to do that, not my problem.
I hate this. The whole thing. The push and pull he’s been giving me since the day he moved into this house. The fact that I’m allowing myself to be so malleable and weak after all these years of inattention.
Landon has begun sucking on my neck, and not in a good way. The flirty buzz, the lustful anticipation I’ve been feeling all night has completely burned out.
When I look back across the room, Austin is no longer there. I shove off of Landon, who I think yells what the fuck at my back, and head for the stairs.
What started out as a night full of possibilities has now dwindled down to none. And I’d rather spend it in bed than facing any more drama downstairs.
11
Austin
“Got it.”
My voice is so tight, I can feel the lump forming in my throat.
“I’m serious, Austin. We expect you to make the drive home for the celebration. Your grandfather is retiring, the local newspaper will be here. We need each generation present. Especially you. You’ll be the face of the Van Hewitt’s in this town someday, and they need to be familiar with you. This is your duty.”
As if being some medium-sized suburban town’s weird non-mayor is all I’ve ever wanted. I wish I could reach through the phone and punch my dad. He’s a condescending prick on a good day, but today he’s in full Lester Van Hewitt mode. Preachy, self-righteous, acting like Webton is London or Paris when really, the Van Hewitt name could disappear and no one would fucking care.
“I told you, I have some radio shows I’m doing that morning and then I’ll try to be home.” Because going back to my hometown on a Wednesday isn’t inconvenient or anything.
“A show about what? Speaking on the radio? Jesus, Austin …” I hear Dad sigh in his pissed off, haughty tone.
There was no way I am getting into this fight again. How many times over my four years at Talcott has my father, or my family in general, mocked my choice of degree. There have been more fights once I expressed my desire to go into sports radio or broadcasting for a specific team.
If they found out that I was actively searching for jobs to do just that, behind their backs, they’d freak the fuck out.
Which is why I’ll placate him and drive all the way to Webton in the middle of the week next month for my grandfather’s retirement party. Not that it means much more than formality. The old man will never take his meddling hands out of the business until the day he kicks the bucket.
And now I would have to walk straight into the lion’s den. Events where my whole family was present? They are awful, at best. A catastrophe at worst. There is always some family feud going on, with someone not talking to someone. The latest was over my Aunt Mary’s will, and three of my uncles were fighting each other for who would get to keep her priceless jewelry collection.
The lot of them are vultures, and I can’t stand a single person. Even though he probably would have pitted against each other growing up, sometimes I do wish I had a sibling simply so I could mock everyone in the corner with another person.
“I’ll be home that Wednesday.”
Angrily, I hang up the phone and throw my cell away from me on the bed. He’ll be pissed off that I hung up on him, but right now, I don’t care.
Suddenly, the idea of doing this paper on AM/FM theory and the rise of radio in history is so completely unappetizing. Not that it was enthusing to begin with, but now I definitely can’t concentrate.
I leave the attic in search of some food or the random beer on a Monday night. I’m typically not a drinker this early in the week, but I think that phone call warrants one.
The house is quiet, with the roommates out at their nightly activities. I know that Callum and Scott play intramural floor hockey in the fitness center tonight, and Amelie works at the library as a student job and internship for her major. I’m not sure where Bevan is, but I know right where Taya is as I pass the living room.
Pausing because she hasn’t seen me yet, I sip on the beer I located in the fridge just before.
It’s been about three days since I’ve truly seen her. She always seems to be coming when I’m going. The other day I asked if she wanted to get coffee at the Sunrise like we did that one morning because I really enjoyed it. And she turned me down. Said she was too busy.
Except, she didn’t make eye contact. I wonder if I did something, but have been wracking my brain and can’t come up with a thing. I thought something might happen at the party we held the other night, but then I saw her with that guy on the dance floor.
Now is as good a time as any to corner her.
“What are you studying?” I walk into the living room and ask, genuinely curious.
And very turned on as she sucks a lollipop into her mouth.
Taya looks up, clearly not realizing I’ve come into the living room and seems caught off guard.
“Nuances of the written Arabic language.” She blinks.
I snort a laugh. “Sounds enthralling.”
“To me it is.” She somewhat scowls.
I hold up a hand. “Oh, shit, no, I didn’t mean … I was just teasing.”
I always seem to say the wrong shit to this girl.
Then Taya’s expression splits into a sly smile. “I’m just fucking with you.”
My heart skips a beat. “Oh, jeez, you really got me. Made me feel like a total asshole.”
“Don’t, it probably is extremely boring to anyone else. But I’m a languages major, and so this is my bread and butter.”
She swirls the stick of the lollipop, and I swear a bead of pre-cum drops into my boxers. Fuck, she should not be allowed to so innocently eat that candy.
Taking a seat next to her on the couch, we’re now just an arm’s length away. “You are? I didn’t know that.”