Page 9 of Studs Up
The threat of literally being attached had us bolting out of the room.
Nolan
Charlemagne was happy to pack up and leave.
“I love Alex,” the Frenchman said. “He’s so fun. Loves his little video games. You love-” Halfway through packing his extensive collection of obscenely tight underwear, he turned to look at me. “What do you love, Nolan Reed?”
“Peace and fucking quiet,” I mumbled from the chair in the corner. Dread wasn’t quite the right word. Despair didn’t quite do it either. Some word that expressed how much I detested this parent trap bullshit. Whatever that was, that’s what I felt.
I did not want to be any closer to him than was absolutely necessary, and the Coach decided that it was necessary for him to be all up in my business.
Charlemagne was a good roommate. He was mostly quiet, and his accent was at least palatable. When Monroe opened his mouth, I would do anything to keep him quiet.
“Ah,” he nodded as if he understood, but I didn’t think he did. “Well, it has been wonderful sharing a room with you.” He gave me a friendly wave and left.
Instead of waiting for him to turn up in dreaded anticipation, I got my noise canceling headphones and did what I always did, watched replays and made notes.
He didn’t turn up for fucking hours. Five minutes before curfew, the door opened, and the nightmare began.
“Oh my god,” Monroe stopped. “Why is it so fucking cold?” He looked around at me.
“Because I got here first, and that’s the way I like it.”
He stole over to the thermometer, and I snapped at him just before he reached out to mess with it.
“Touch it and die.”
“I’ll die of hypothermia,” he threw back.
“Oh no,” I deadpanned. “What a tragedy.” I almost laughed at his scowl, but somehow, I found the strength to keep it together.
Jaw clenching and teeth gritting, Holden drew back and dropped his suitcase on the other bed. He kept his back to me as he opened it up and pulled out whatever shit he had packed. He laid out his clothes for the next day on the dresser that housed the coffee pot and accompaniments.
I watched him without realizing it. The proximity was new. In a closed space with nothing but him and me and his attitude, I couldn’t help but notice things.
Things like his scent. Fresh and woodsy, like home. The way he bent over to tuck his suitcase under the bed made my heart flutter, confusing me. I wanted to touch him, and I had no fucking clue where that urge came from.
“If you could not stare, that would be wonderful,” he said tightly.
“If you could not be here, that would be even better.”
“Do you think I’d be here if I had a choice?” He rounded on me. “You think I’m enjoying this. I would love to be literally anywhere else than be stuck in this shitty hotel room with the biggest asshole on the planet.”
“Then go,” I pointed to the door. My body was hot, and my blood rushed. “No one is stopping you!”
“If you weren’t such a dick, I wouldn’t be here.”
“This is not my fault.” I was out of my seat. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but sitting wasn’t doing it. “Your fucking ego gets in your way, and I called you out on it. Don’t be pissed at me for your own failing at the final.”
“Fuck you,” he bellowed.
This was going great. Awesome. Perfect. Thank god there were only three days left of this horseshit.
“Not in this lifetime!” I bellowed back. Monroe turned red, grabbed his coat, and was two steps toward the door when we got the group text. Curfew was in effect. We were officially stuck together.
“Fuck,” he groaned and let his head fall back. After suffering for thirty seconds, he gathered himself, dropped his coat, and spun the dial on the thermostat, turning it to a balmy sixty-five degrees.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked in awe of his audacity.
