Page 64 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Sexy I’m not.
But Zach Harrison doesn’t seem to mind.
I put a palm over my fluttering stomach. Zach and I have stats and Introduction to U.S. Politics together this trimester, so I’ve seen him in class this past week, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk.
And we definitely haven’t had a chance to talk about the almost-kiss the night before we’d gone home for break.
I can hear the music coming from my and Corrie’s room all the way down the hall, and as I’ve grown used to, there are like six, maybe seven people crammed into our tiny shared space.
But my eyes only land on one person.
Zach Harrison is this really beguiling combination of cocky jock, and sweet, smart guy. That combination is pretty much the epitome of my type. Plus, he’s got this crazy-good wavy dark hair, blue eyes, and always has just the slightest bit of scruff to keep him from looking too pretty.
Since we live in the same coed dorm (he lives in the room right above me), I sometimes get to see him in his PJ pants and glasses, both of which he’s wearing right now. Corrie says he’s got a Clark Kent/Superman thing going on, and she’s not wrong. In other words . . . Zach Harrison is smart and gorgeous.
“Hey Annie,” he says, sitting up when he sees me. He nudges my neighbor Tammy on the leg to move over so there’s room for me. And for a split second, I think she gives me the stink eye, but then she grins and pats the seat between them. “Sit!” she says. “I haven’t seen you like at all since December!”
“Uh-uh,” Corrie says from the other side of the room, as she kicks the door shut with her foot. “Don’t get too comfy over there. I have an idea.”
“Because Corrie’s ideas always work out well for everyone,” Zach says in my ear.
I hide a smile. Corrie is definitely the idea girl—most of them leading to trouble. But harmless trouble. Not the weird jail-variety trouble I was talking about earlier.
My roommate is rummaging around in her desk drawer, bending over at the perfect angle to give Matt and Ian a perfect view of her tiny butt.
Finally, she pulls out a wine bottle. “Ta da!”
“Yay,” Zach says drolly. “An empty wine bottle.”
She points it in his direction with a warning glare. “Don’t be that guy, or you won’t get to play.”
“Play?” I ask stupidly.
I’m not the only one staring at my roommate in confusion, but then I see the slightly predatory gaze she is giving Matt—Matt who thus far has been impressively immune to Corrie’s come-ons—and I put the pieces together at the same time as everyone else.
Tammy groans. “Corrie, tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“Spin the bottle!” Corrie announces, oblivious to everyone else’s horror. “I haven’t played spin the bottle since eighth grade.”
Zach gives her a dark look. “Nobody plays it after eighth grade, and for good reason. It’s ridiculous.”
I relax a little, realizing that everyone else is seemingly reluctant to get on Corrie’s creepy time machine and go back to middle school. But then I realize that Tammy’s already scooting forward to sit cross-legged on the ground, and even worse, Zach is also moving to join the circle.
“Tell me you have some sort of alcoholic beverage to make this more tolerable,” Tammy says, tucking her short black hair behind her ears.
Corrie is one step ahead of her, already digging out a
bottle of her favorite vanilla vodka from her sock drawer.
“Is that all you have?” Ian asks dubiously.
“Take it or leave it,” my roommate says, waggling the bottle at him.
He takes a quick glance around the room, and apparently his potential kissing partners are unappealing enough to warrant the girly drink, and he shrugs and reaches for the bottle. “Got nothing better to do.”
“Gee thanks,” Tammy mutters.
I swallow nervously, wondering if there’s any possible way to get out of this. I’d played spin the bottle before. Once. And I’d been kissed before. More than once.
