“I wouldn’t know. I honestly don’t date much.”
She nods. “I can understand that. I swore to myself when I got to college that I wouldn’t get into a relationship. Bad high school sweetheart breakup.”
Gretchen is chuckling at her revelation, but if only she knew how much worse mine had been. I don’t want to bring up Bevan tonight, so instead I just roll with the levity of our conversation.
“Yikes. Well, if you need to use me as a hookup buddy rather than date me, I completely understand.” I go for a wolfish smile, but it comes off more playful than anything.
“Something tells me you’re way more of a relationship guy than a manwhore.” She clocks me.
“Why do you say that?”
“You have the whole fuckboy exterior, but you opened my car door and let me go first while ordering and had no problem when I ordered for the both of us. Honestly, it’s rare a college guy would even take a girl on a date. You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you, Callum?”
“Busted.” I laugh and shrug. “I guess I never saw the fun in a different partner every night.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only red-blooded male to ever say that.” She chuckles.
“Pizza and beer with a beautiful woman is definitely better than guessing which venereal disease you caught.”
Gretchen takes another bite. “Touché. You flattering me?”
“I only state the obvious.” I wink at her.
We finish our pizza and conversation, and eventually ask for the bill.
“Want to come back to my house?” I ask, pulling out my credit card.
“Kind of presumptuous, isn’t it?” But I can tell that her eyes spark with interest.
My heart thumps. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean like that. You probably think I’m an ass. No, we’re having a party, one of the first of the semester. They’re usually pretty crazy, so maybe we can go and have a drink, hang out some more …”
“End up in your bedroom? Hm, somehow even with the pervy ask, I don’t think I’d say no.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
And though it one hundred percent should, my dick doesn’t even jump. Uh-oh.
Ignoring that, I get the check back, sign it, and we’re up and off to my house. On the walk over, Gretchen tells me about her plans to work for her mother’s company, some kind of financial analysis firm that is way too high for my pay grade. This girl is epically smart, and I wonder why the last two girls I’ve been interested in are even interested in me. I’m a C plus student at best, who seems to end up with women that could kick my ass around an AP course.
Prospect Street is lit up like a Christmas tree once we turn onto it, and the smell of alcohol and rabid partiers is pungent in the air. This is the wildest road near campus, known for its epic parties and turn up attitude. Our house is almost at the other end of it, and Kid Cudi is blasting out the front windows as I climb onto the porch.
“Welcome to the madness.” I laugh, pulling open the front door.
“This is your house? I came to a party here last year.” Gretchen is a year younger, which is probably why we haven’t met until now.
I’m definitely not touching the fact that I didn’t live here last year with a ten-foot pole. Good thing any response is swallowed by chaos as we enter the living room. People spread every which way, cramming onto the couches and dancing in front of the speaker system Scott typically sets up.
Winding my way to the kitchen, I get us both good beers from the fridge rather than the crap in the keg and feel Gretchen lace her hand in mine as she pulls me back toward the dance floor. I smile as she turns back to look at me with lust in her eyes and I follow.
With drinks in hand, we begin to dance, our bodies flirting closely before they brush up against each other. Her hips twitch to the beat, moving against my groin in a way that should have me hard as a steel pipe. The only problem is, I’m fucking soft. I try to get into it, winding my free hand around her hip, cupping her abdomen.
Gretchen’s lips meet mine, and I close my eyes. I focus, trying to feel the rush of energy or spicy tingles gathering at the base of my spine. I give in, trying my hardest to get into the moment.
And I feel … nothing. Absolutely nothing. Here is this beautiful girl totally willing to fool around. She’s sexy, witty, and we just had a drama-free date where I laughed more than I have in a long time.
Yet, there is zero spark. Even when she pushes her tongue inside my mouth, working it like a skilled kisser can, I’m simply not into it. There is no jolt, no desperation to pull her up to my bedroom and slide our naked bodies down each other.
Pulling away, I lay my hand over my stomach. “Hey, I’m actually not feeling so hot.”
A total lie, but I need to get out of here.
“Oh, shit, is it the pizza?” Gretchen is completely sympathetic, and clearly, she hasn’t caught on.
“Sometimes dairy just isn’t for me.” I grimace and shrug like I did this to myself.
Which I did, just not with the pizza. I forced myself to go on a date when I’m clearly still stuck in a relationship I ended two years ago.
“Okay, do you want me to get you some medicine? Or tea, maybe? I don’t know what helps in this situation.” She starts walking us off the dance floor.
“Unfortunately, I don’t need any of those and you probably don’t want to stay for what’s going to be an … uncomfortable night.” I avoid going gross, hoping she gets the memo.
Recognition turns on like a light bulb in her eyes. “Oh! Um, all right. Well, I’ll head home. But I’ll text you to make sure you’re okay. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”
I hear the note of hope. Despite her nonchalant exterior, I know Gretchen thought this night would end in my bedroom. Any other guy would have loved it too and would be thanking their lucky stars. I’m just too fucked up to notice a good thing when it’s literally kissing me on the mouth.
“No, it’s better for your sake. Text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe. I had a great time.”
She pushes up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Me too. Can’t wait to do it again.”
The smile on my face as I watch her leave the party is so fake and forced that it hurts my cheeks. Jesus, I’m an asshole. It’s not a lie that I feel queasy, even if it’s for different reasons than the one I gave Gretchen. So I’m headed upstairs, over all the chaos down here.
As I make my way through the party to my room, I spot almost all of my roommates. I wave to Amelie, who is sitting on the counter with Gannon standing between her legs. Scott is in the hallway near the dining room, pressing some chick up against the wall shamelessly as if no one else is in the house. Taya is on the phone as I crest the second level and mouths that she’s saying good night to her boyfriend, Austin.
The only one I haven’t seen is Bevan, and it makes me wonder if she’s even here. Did she leave on account of me having a date? Is she out at another party, or down at the bars, looking for a guy to make her pain go away?
The thought makes my blood boil. If she brought a guy here, if I had to hear them in her bedroom? I might kill the motherfucker.
I’m shocked as hell that I couldn’t feel anything during that kiss downstairs, but the image of Bevan with someone else would make me commit murder. It’s at this exact moment, when I’m seeing red, that I hear the crying.