Riley growled. For real, growled. “Don’t make me come down there, Alissa. Talk to your roommate and stop scaring people. I mean it.”
I lifted a hand and brushed a wisp of hair off my forehead. She was right. I knew that. I needed to be less… Liss-like. Might be tough, though. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d let into my life in the past ten years and still have enough fingers left over to flip everyone else off. I just… didn’t see the point. Plus, I didn’t like small talk or pleasantries, all that get to know each other stuff. I was a straight-talking, cut the bull-crap kind of girl. But despite the nickname, I wasn’t cold, more discerning. It just didn’t always come off like that, and I didn’t care to correct it.
“Fine.” I huffed.
“Ok, good. I’ve gotta run. Unlike you, I’m not trying to terrify the crap out of well-meaning freshmen. I’m going on a study date with a few girls from my dorm.”
I whistled through pursed lips. “Calm the fuck down, Van Wilder.”
“Shut it, you!” She made a mwah sound. “Love you, babe, and speak soon. Make friends, Liss!”
“Yeah, yeah. Back at ya’.”
Two minutes passed by before I caved. Dragging the laptop across the comforter, I lay down on my stomach and pushed open the lid. The screen blinked to life.
Don’t do it. Don’t you do it…
Shit. I did it.
I jumped up and crossed my legs, staring down at the laptop as a montage of images filled the screen.
And there he was. In all his glory. A pillar of blonde-haired, blue-eyed testosterone.
Pretty Boy.
I barely even balked at my reaction to him these days; I was used to it and he was a safe distance away. I could look my fill without fear of judgement. Well, other than my own.
Damn, he was hot. Too hot. And at a party. With girls draped around his neck, and a cocky smirk adorning his face. My lips twisted. The ball of fire forming in my gut was enough to give me heartburn. I scratched at my forehead, as if I could scrub away the irritation, or maybe the pictures that had now embedded themselves into my brain. A glutton for punishment, I scrolled lower, and lower. Another girl. Another smirk.
Lower. Same goddamn thing. The fire in my stomach climbed like a blazing vine soaked in gasoline, burning my chest and throat. My teeth crunched together.
What the fuck did this asshole do with his life other than socialise with a harem of octopus-armed hussies? Nothing, apparently. Pretty Boy was just living the dream up there in Claremont. I’d heard he was working construction all summer. Those long hours outdoors, soaking up the sun and lifting bricks, had done absolutely nothing good for that out-of-control god-complex. Jesus.
I punched my finger against the pad and the screen went dark.
Inhaling slowly, I closed my eyes and dropped my head back. I could count the heartbeats pounding in my head. This was ridiculous. With a gentle shake of my head, I placed my hands on my bent knees and inhaled.
Bradshaw could do whatever the hell he wanted. His whorish antics and cheesy-assed, big-toothed mother-fucking grin would not bother me. I was fucking zen.
“Hey. Who’s the hottie?”
My eyes flung open, shooting to the sound of my roommate’s voice then back to the screen where a dozen Leon’s and a gazillion hoes stared back at me. Damn, it must have come back to life. I narrowed a glare on all of Leon’s smug faces, then lowered the lid. “Hugh Hefner’s even hornier protégé, apparently.”
Olivia, the roommate I’d admittedly made next to no effort to get to know, tucked a section of chestnut brown hair behind her ear and smiled. “Do we have some history with baby Hef?”
My eyes rolled back as I stood and crossed the room, snatching the half empty bottle of Gatorade up from the desktop. “Nope,” I said, before taking a healthy swig.
Olivia clucked her tongue and lifted a brow. “Boy’s living rent-free in your head, huh?”
I turned and tossed her a withering glare, fitting the cap back on the bottle.
Her wide blue eyes crinkled at the corners and she shrugged out of her jacket, then moved to hang it up in the closet. “I don’t mean to pry—”
“Pah!”
She tilted her head to the side and dropped to sit on her bed. “If you want to talk about it, I might know what you’re going through, is all.”
She looked a little hurt, and I felt a nugget of shame. Man, I really was a dickhead.