“Please,” Bevan whispers, and I have no idea what she’s asking for.
Without bothering to even cook or clean up the dinner I started, I flee from the kitchen and retreat to my room, locking myself in. I’m not even hungry anymore.
No, fuck that, I’m starving, except not for anything resembling food.
My body craves her so much that I shake uncontrollably for almost two hours, an addict denying himself the hit he really wants.
16
BEVAN
I hate that I love you, even if I don’t want to.
The words have been rattling around my head like loose change for days, the sentiment both giving me hope and absolute despair. I actually still can’t believe that Callum blurted that out, and with the way shock had colored his face, I knew he didn’t mean to do it. Just like I can’t help the way that he’s given me more hope than I should ever have.
Because with the declaration that he still feels the exact same way, plus the kiss that could have beaten a thousand kisses, came the news that he absolutely doesn’t want to love me.
Now he sits three seats down at Lotso’s Laugh Room, a comedy club near campus that Scott dragged us to tonight. Apparently, he’s been hooking up with a chick who is doing stand-up here, and I’m surprised he even agreed to attend one of his fuck buddy’s functions outside of the bedroom.
“That guy was pretty funny. Middle of the act, got some decent laughs, he should be proud,” Gannon assesses like he’s some judge at this amateur, Upstate New York stand-up bar.
“The bit about eating his wife in a plane crash survival situation was hilarious.” Taya giggles, chewing the straw of her tequila and soda.
I’m drinking the same, though I’m one up on her and almost finished with this second drink. There is a three-drink minimum to sit at these tables up front, a fact Scott conveniently forgot to mention. And even though I’m pissed, I have to spend money to be here, I can’t be that mad. These tequilas are dulling the hurt of Callum’s words and his rejection after our kiss.
“Um, this screwdriver is like all vodka.” Amelie scrunches up her face after drinking.
“Good, we’re paying enough for them,” I bite out, sending a scathing look at Scott.
Callum is pretending to ignore me, much like he’s done all night. All around, this night feels like a powder keg ready for a match. Someone is going to end up fighting tonight, I can feel it. It’ll probably be me, because it usually is. I’m the feisty friend who wants to fight random bitches when she drinks, rather than the happy-go-lucky type who ends up dancing on tables.
“My girl is almost up.” Scott rubs his hands together. “You guys better cheer loud.”
“If she’s not funny, I’m not cheering.” Callum reads my thoughts.
A lot of people thought I was the one with the attitude in the relationship, but he was just as sarcastic as me. He just hid it better.
“How many bogus events have I gone to for you? I got dressed up in a penguin suit for your sister’s wedding two years ago,” he hurls back at Callum.
“And ended up banging one of her friends. Are you really complaining about that?” Callum scoffs.
Scott backpedals, “Well, no. But I like this girl. And I’ve always been there for you guys, even with all your relationship bullshit. You know how awkward it is being the seventh-wheel all the time?”
“Only six people live in our house,” Amelie points out.
“Yeah, but then Austin comes around and Taya can’t stop sucking face.”
That has Taya laughing. “I mean, he’s not wrong. I would love to be sucking face with my boyfriend right now.”
“The point is, I’ve supported all of you. So just be nice to this girl, clap for her. Okay?” Scott pouts.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him even be a little serious about a female, so I nod. A lot of people think Scott is all goofball and no substance, but he took care of me when Callum left. I’d find dinner beside my door that first week, and he drove me to and from two doctor’s appointments when I came down with the flu last year. He’s as much a part of our little dysfunctional family as any of us, and so I’ll support him.
The host, a college kid I think I took a class with sophomore year, announces the next comic and does a little intro. The girl’s name is Sabrina, she’s a science major, and has aspirations of one day performing on The Tonight Show. Of course, her favorite comedian is Jerry Seinfeld. The girl sounds super basic, but I push my bitchy judgments to the side and clap when a tall, willowy brunette walks out onto the stage.
“You know when you’re fucking a guy and he just can’t come?” the girl starts off after greeting the crowd, and I know we’re in for a raunchy set. “You’re basically doing a backbend to juggle his balls, calling him daddy, screaming your head off like he’s the champion of orgasms when really you’re just chaffing and want to pee then pass out?”
A chuckle runs through the underbelly of the crowd, and I know most of us have been there. Callum is the only guy I’ve ever slept with, and usually our sex life was great, but some nights I just wanted to sleep. Whereas, he was a horn dog all the time and couldn’t nod off after a night of drinking without screwing me. Except drinking was like his Viagra, he could last and last. Callum had the opposite of whiskey dick. And since he was so large, having sex for long periods of time was rough … literally. I’d orgasm and then minutes would go by. Then it would seem like hours. Sometimes I’d throw in a blow job just to give my poor vagina a break.
My pussy throbs uncomfortably under the table, thinking so much about our sex life. Not only had so many of the comedians joked about sex, but sitting this near to Callum after days of him avoiding me is like torture. That kiss had been molten, and I’d been so swamped with desire after that I walked around throbbing for hours. The way he could make my body light up is like nothing else I’ve ever felt.
“Yeah, well, I realized the secret solution. Tell him your boyfriend is coming home in three minutes so he better finish and get the hell out of there. Either that, or that the Knicks game is going into overtime and LeBron just signed with them right this second.”
She gets some laughs for that one, but it’s a little disorganized and I could have told it better.
I tune out for a minute until all heads are turning my way and the lights shine in my eyes. Some spotlight operator, probably a freshman who was paid for internship time to come to this, points it directly in my face.
“You there, in the leather jacket.” She’s pointing at me, and my smile flattens. “Oh, shit, biker chick is mad that I put the spotlight on her.”
She has no idea who I am, but if she knew I was Scott’s roommate, she probably wouldn’t call me out like this. Or maybe she would, chick seems like she has big balls. I kind of respect that.
It’s always hilarious to me that people think I’m a biker chick or something, like leather is exclusively on their wardrobe list. If they found out I was a law nerd with a mind for sports analysis and typically drank very little now that the only guy I’ve ever slept with broke my heart, they’d be surprised.