Page 83 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“Didn’t sound that way.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Listening pretty closely there, Bates.”
“Shut up. I was trapped.”
“Uh-huh.” His attention flicked down to the comforter covering my lower half and terror stabbed through me.
But when I followed his gaze, I could see the bunched-up covers made it impossible to see what I was hiding beneath them. I scooted farther up my headboard anyway, shifting the comforter with me.
Malcolm crossed the invisible line that separated my half of the room from his and grabbed my desk chair. The air shifted with him, bringing his scent with him—Irish Spring soap and the lingering smell of that chick’s perfume. I wanted to wipe her flowery crap off him. He swung a leg over the chair and straddled it, leaning his forearms along the back of it. “So now I’m wide awake.”
I rolled onto my side. “Sounds like a personal problem.”
“No, the only personal problem I have is that I’m leaving for Thanksgiving break tomorrow and you’re being a douche and refusing to come with.”
“I’ve got stuff to catch up on here.” And I have no reason to go home and be thankful. “And my dad is going to be working eighteen-hour shifts all week.” Trying to forget what Thanksgiving used to be like at our house when my mom and sister were still here. “It’d be useless to go home.”
“Screw that. Your dad is . . . being your dad. You don’t even have to tell him you’re in town if you don’t want. Just come with me and hang out at the farm. You know my mom is going to be pissed if I leave you here. And I’ve already got a bunch of people from high school coming over tomorrow night for a bonfire party.”
“Fun,” I said dryly. I could already imagine how that would go. Malcolm would find some girl to bring to the barn, and I’d end up fielding all the sympathetic looks from people who knew too much about my family. At least here I was just another student, a face in the crowd. Not that kid who lost half his family when their car careened off a road and into a creek last winter.
“Come on, what the hell are you going to do around here with everyone gone? Study and jerk off?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Malcolm reached to smack the back of my head, but I ducked in time. We’d known each other too long. I could anticipate his moves.
“Sorry,” Malcolm said with a shrug. “Not gonna happen. I don’t care if I have to tackle, hog tie, and throw you in the back of my truck. You’re coming with me.”
He had no idea that made me want to resist even more. God, I was pathetic. I rolled over, putting my back to him. “I need to get some sleep.”
Malcolm gave a heavy sigh, and I could feel him staring at me. “Fine. But I’m taking that as a yes. Wake-up call is at seven A.M. I want to get on the road early.”
“Still not going,” I mumbled as I pulled the covers over my ears, blocking out any further attempts at conversation.
No way was I trapping himself with Malcolm for the next week, sharing his bed in his old room. I’d done it a hundred times before. But that had been when we were kids, staying up late and talking about Nintendo versus Xbox, when things were simple and easy and normal. Everything was different now. I was different. And I’d rather sit in this damn dorm room alone, eating microwaved turkey pot pie, and watching Netflix for the week than subject myself to the torture that awaited me back in that Alabama bedroom. Our friendship wouldn’t survive it.
I wouldn’t survive it. Our friendship was the only thing I had left in my life that meant something to me. If that went to shit, I’d have nothing left.
I closed my eyes, planning to sleep until noon. Maybe if I slept long enough, I wouldn’t even have to say good-bye.
Two
SO MUCH FOR best-laid plans.
I wasn’t sure what had finally done it—what had marked my utter defeat. Maybe it was the seven A.M. wake-up call of having my sheets ripped off and a bottle of icy water dumped on me, or maybe it was my roommate putting me in a neck lock and tossing me into the shower, or perhaps it was when he stole my key to our room and left me in the hallway in only my towel until I agreed to get dressed and get in his truck. But whatever it was, somehow I found myself cruising down the I–10 in the passenger seat of Malcolm’s F–150 with country music blaring through the speakers and a McMuffin sitting in my lap.
Epic. Fail.
“So everybody’s coming over tonight,” Malcolm said between bites of biscuit. “Mom said there’s no family stuff to worry about until Wednesday, so we can do what we want.”
“Great,” I said with zero enthusiasm.
Malcolm gave me
the side eye. “Come on, time to get the stick out of your ass. You’re here. I won. Get over it.”
I grunted and took a sip of my Dr Pepper.
