Not even close.
Not after the three weird texts messages I’ve gotten this morning, all within the past forty-five minutes that have my mind reeling.
Hey hottie. I hear you need to get laid. Call me.
You mite not be hot, but I’d do you anyway.
How do you feel about threesums? My rommates and I would pop your cherry
Two of the three are from people who can’t even spell—not even with autocorrect. I delete them, wondering why the fuck they were sent to me in the first place.
My eyes cast a cursory glance at the pile of newspapers by the register, the stainless-steel garbage can in the corner as my hand tugs on the door handle.
Above that? A giant corkboard full of advertisements. Student club signups. Meetings. Tickets to on-campus attractions. Campus ministries. Roommate ads. Furniture and textbooks for sale.
In the center?
A light green sheet of paper, flopping haphazardly, held up by one staple.
I squint, zeroing in on the black and green photocopied face staring back at me.
Me.
My face.
Mine.
My fucking face, photocopied onto a dull green sheet of paper with the words GET RETT LAID in a dark, bold scrawl across the top.
Beneath my picture, in Rex’s sloppy chicken scratch—the same sloppy writing he uses to sign his rent checks—are the words:
Are you the lucky lady who is going to
break our roommate’s cherry?
Him: socially awkward man with
average-sized penis
looking for willing sexual partner.
You: must have a pulse.
He will reciprakate with oral sex.
Text him at: 555-254-5551
I read the caption, then read it four more times, eyes frantically scanning the page, barely registering what they’re fucking seeing.
Socially awkward man with average-sized penis…
You: must have a pulse…
“What the actual fuckkk?” I utter in a horrified whisper, grabbing it with trembling fingers and ripping it from the bulletin board.
Jesus. The idiots didn’t even spell my damn name right.
“I am gonna kill those assholes,” I say as I exhale harshly. “Fuckin’ kill them all.”
My gaze scans the perimeter of the board for more sheets of green paper, and when I don’t find any, I backtrack away from the building, eyes searching for any and all within walking distance.
I stalk down the narrow sidewalk in the direction of our house, halt when I hit the corner crosswalk, smashing the walk button with a closed first.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
“Come the fuck on,” I growl. “Hurry up.”
After two endless seconds, I can’t stand waiting anymore.
“Fuck it.”
I look left, look right. Bolt into the street, jaywalking, barely dodging a gray minivan full of teenagers. Flip them the bird when they honk.
Little pricks.
Easing into a light jog, I pant in and out to control my breathing.
Calm myself.
Four minutes later, I dump my backpack on the kitchen table and storm to the living room, knowing I’m about to find them both lying casually like cockroaches on our huge couches.
I fill the doorway, clenching my fists, clenching the wadded-up sheet of green paper in my hand, staring down at them both.
“What the hell is this?” I hold up the flyer. “Have y’all gone bat-shit crazy?”
Rex yawns loudly, stretching to his full length, arms above his head. His eyes stay glued to the TV. “Dude, why didn’t you wake us up? We missed conditioning this morning.”
I ignore him. “First tell me what the fuck this is.” I toss the ball of paper onto his chest.
Rex smirks, snuggling deeper into a black, fuzzy Iowa blanket. “Only the best idea we’ve ever had.”
In my pocket, my phone vibrates with one notification, then another—no doubt more girls wanting to fuck me.
“When did you have time to do this?” My teeth are clenched and my jaw feels like it’s about to crack.
“Last night?” He coughs then sighs. “Man, we were so shitfaced.”
“Dude,” Johnson agrees.
“You did this last night? We were together all night—when the fuck did you do this?”
“After you passed out. Remember how we got to talking about how you could use a good fuck? You’ve been really edgy lately.”
“I didn’t fuckin’ say that.”
“Yes you did. You were telling us it’s been so long since you’ve gotten laid that you can’t remember how a pussy feels.”
“Shut up, Gunderson.”
“I’m not making it up.” He nuzzles the blanket. “You said you’ve only had sex once.”
Shit. Maybe I did tell them that, ’cause how the fuck else would they know I’ve only done it once?
“I’ve only lived here for three months.” I unclench my fist and point to the unfurled piece of paper in the palm of Rex’s hand. “How could you have been sober enough to use a copy machine?”
“Man, it was hilarious. Johnson went all idiot savant. We went to the dorms and he bribed the RA at the desk to let us use the copier—you know the one with the big rack?”
I do.
“What time was it?”
“I don’t know man, one-thirty, maybe?”
Eric rolls over on the couch to point the remote at the TV, flipping through all the goddamn channels while I stand there, outraged. He turns the volume up three octaves while prattling on with the story.
“Fucking Gunderson sits on the printer when the RA walks out and made a print of his ass. I thought the whole machine was going to bust in half. Hilarious, man. You should have seen it.”
Rex yawns again. “You were the one tripping over your pants on the south lawn when you stopped to take a piss. I had to help you up.”
Jesus Christ, these two.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.” Eric scrolls through the channels absentmindedly. “Well, yeah. Some drunk chicks saw us hanging up a black and white of Gunderson’s balls and wanted a copy.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. “Unfuckingbelievable.”
“It’s not a big deal. He has really nice balls.”
Rex nods. “I manscape.”
My eyes narrow. “What were you idiots thinkin’ hangin’ pictures of me? Seriously, what the fuck?”
“You need to get laid, bro. We’re trying to help.”
“I’m not fucking desperate! My goddamn face is on those!”
Rex hiccups. “Have you seen yourself lately? You’re not winning any beauty pageants, sorry to tell you.”
Why am I arguing with these two idiots?
Johnson chimes in. “Dude, the only way you’re getting any tail is giving it away for free.”
“You need all the help you can get.” Rex’s voice turns soothing. “Buck up, New Guy—be glad we didn’t hang all forty-five.” He laughs at my horrified expression. “Johnson printed off forty-five! The printer just kept going and going, it was so fucking funny.”
“Oh, well in that case, I feel so lucky!”
This has him scowling. “Don’t get your tampon in a twist, Rabideaux. Have you checked your phone? I bet you have fifty text messages by now.”
As if on command, my cell vibrates again, making my butt cheeks clench with irritation.
“Focus Gunderson. How many flyers did you hang?” I need to find them and yank them all down.
“It was only like…” Rex glances at Eric for help. “How many was it?”
Johnson squints at the ceiling, counting them on his fingers. “One, two, seven…fourteen? No, fifteen.”
Rex laughs, throwing his hands up. “There, see? It was only fifteen. It’s not like we hung hundreds of them.”
“Where are they? How far did you go?”
“I don’t know dude, who cares?”
“I fucking care!”
“We were drunk.” He twists his body, angling for the orange juice sitting on the coffee table. “Around campus. The quad. Freshman housing. I don’t freaking know, we were drunk!”
Johnson laughs. “We are so fucking brilliant—so goddamn brilliant I’m kind of jealous of ourselves.”