Beautiful Player
Page 42
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Holy shitballs. Any drowsiness I’d felt immediately evaporated. I was going to imagine what it would be like to watch Will get himself off for the rest of the night. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to sleep again.
He walked me downstairs, kissed my forehead at the door, and stood watching as I walked to the curb, climbed into the cab, and drove off.
My phone lit up with a text from him: Tell me when you get home.
I lived only seven blocks from him; I was home in minutes. I climbed into bed, curling into my pillow before answering, Home safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The promise of crowds was always a reality, living near the Columbia campus, but, mysteriously, the Dunkin’ Donuts nearest my building always seemed busiest on Thursdays. Even during a slow stretch, though, I probably wouldn’t have recognized Dylan in line, just ahead of me.
So, when he turned, eyes widening in recognition, and let out a friendly “Hey! Will, right?” I startled.
I blinked, feeling caught off guard. I’d just been daydreaming about taking things with Hanna in a different direction than I had two nights ago, when she’d come to my apartment in the middle of the night and ended up beneath me, both of us coming with our clothes on. The memory of that night was a current favorite, one I’d pulled out in almost every quiet moment since, to play with, take down a different path, warm my blood. It had been years since I’d dry-humped a girl, but f**k, I’d forgotten how dirty and forbidden it felt.
But the sight of this kid in front of me—the guy Hanna was dating—felt like an ice bucket dumped over my head.
Dylan looked like every other Columbia student in the place: dressed down to the point he was toeing the line between pajama-clad and hobo.
“Yeah,” I said, extending my hand to shake his. “Hi, Dylan. Good to see you again.”
We stepped forward as the line moved ahead, and the awkwardness hit me slowly. I hadn’t realized at the party how young he looked: he had that silently vibrating, feet-bouncy thing going on, where he seemed constantly excited about something. He nodded a lot, looked at me as if I was someone to be treated as a superior.
Looking between us, I registered how much more formal I looked in my suit. Since when was I the guy in a suit? Since when did I have little patience for stupid, twenty-something grad students? Probably the same day Hanna jacked me off in the back room of a grad student party and it was the best sex I’d ever had, I reminded myself.
“Did you have fun at Denny’s?”
I stared at him for a long moment, trying to remember when I had last been to Denny’s. “I . . .”
“The party, not the restaurant,” he prompted, laughing. “The apartment belonged to a guy named Denny.”
“Oh, right. The party.” My mind immediately went to the image of Hanna’s face as I slid my fingers beneath her underwear and across her bare skin. I could remember with perfect clarity her expression just before she came, like I’d done something f**king magical. She looked like she was discovering sensation for the first time. “Yeah, the party was pretty great.”
He fidgeted with his phone, looking up at me, and seemed to be working up to something.
“You know,” he said, leaning in a little, “this is the first time I’ve run into someone who’s sort of dating the same girl I’m sort of dating. Is this really weird?”
I bit back a laugh. Well, he certainly had blunt-force honesty in common with Hanna. “What makes you think I’m dating her?”
Dylan immediately looked mortified. “I just assumed . . . because of how it seemed at the party. . . .”
Giving him a sly smile, I chided him, “And yet you asked her out anyway?”
He laughed as if he, too, couldn’t believe his own audacity. “I was so drunk! I guess I just went for it.”
I wanted to punch him. And I registered that I was the world’s biggest hypocrite. I had absolutely no right to feel so indignant about any of this.
“It’s fine,” I said, calming down. I’d never been on this side of a conversation before, and for a beat wondered if any of my lovers had ever run into each other in places like this. How awkward. I tried to imagine what Kitty or Lara—all sparkles and sunshine—and Natalia or Kristy—who would barely crack a smile even in the best of moods—would do if they were put in this kind of situation.
Shrugging, I told him, “Hanna and I go way back. That’s all.”
He laughed, nodding as if this answered all of his unasked questions. “She said she’s just dating right now. I get that. She’s a really fun girl, I’ve been wanting to ask her out for ages, so I’ll take whatever I can get, you know?”
He walked me downstairs, kissed my forehead at the door, and stood watching as I walked to the curb, climbed into the cab, and drove off.
My phone lit up with a text from him: Tell me when you get home.
I lived only seven blocks from him; I was home in minutes. I climbed into bed, curling into my pillow before answering, Home safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The promise of crowds was always a reality, living near the Columbia campus, but, mysteriously, the Dunkin’ Donuts nearest my building always seemed busiest on Thursdays. Even during a slow stretch, though, I probably wouldn’t have recognized Dylan in line, just ahead of me.
So, when he turned, eyes widening in recognition, and let out a friendly “Hey! Will, right?” I startled.
I blinked, feeling caught off guard. I’d just been daydreaming about taking things with Hanna in a different direction than I had two nights ago, when she’d come to my apartment in the middle of the night and ended up beneath me, both of us coming with our clothes on. The memory of that night was a current favorite, one I’d pulled out in almost every quiet moment since, to play with, take down a different path, warm my blood. It had been years since I’d dry-humped a girl, but f**k, I’d forgotten how dirty and forbidden it felt.
But the sight of this kid in front of me—the guy Hanna was dating—felt like an ice bucket dumped over my head.
Dylan looked like every other Columbia student in the place: dressed down to the point he was toeing the line between pajama-clad and hobo.
“Yeah,” I said, extending my hand to shake his. “Hi, Dylan. Good to see you again.”
We stepped forward as the line moved ahead, and the awkwardness hit me slowly. I hadn’t realized at the party how young he looked: he had that silently vibrating, feet-bouncy thing going on, where he seemed constantly excited about something. He nodded a lot, looked at me as if I was someone to be treated as a superior.
Looking between us, I registered how much more formal I looked in my suit. Since when was I the guy in a suit? Since when did I have little patience for stupid, twenty-something grad students? Probably the same day Hanna jacked me off in the back room of a grad student party and it was the best sex I’d ever had, I reminded myself.
“Did you have fun at Denny’s?”
I stared at him for a long moment, trying to remember when I had last been to Denny’s. “I . . .”
“The party, not the restaurant,” he prompted, laughing. “The apartment belonged to a guy named Denny.”
“Oh, right. The party.” My mind immediately went to the image of Hanna’s face as I slid my fingers beneath her underwear and across her bare skin. I could remember with perfect clarity her expression just before she came, like I’d done something f**king magical. She looked like she was discovering sensation for the first time. “Yeah, the party was pretty great.”
He fidgeted with his phone, looking up at me, and seemed to be working up to something.
“You know,” he said, leaning in a little, “this is the first time I’ve run into someone who’s sort of dating the same girl I’m sort of dating. Is this really weird?”
I bit back a laugh. Well, he certainly had blunt-force honesty in common with Hanna. “What makes you think I’m dating her?”
Dylan immediately looked mortified. “I just assumed . . . because of how it seemed at the party. . . .”
Giving him a sly smile, I chided him, “And yet you asked her out anyway?”
He laughed as if he, too, couldn’t believe his own audacity. “I was so drunk! I guess I just went for it.”
I wanted to punch him. And I registered that I was the world’s biggest hypocrite. I had absolutely no right to feel so indignant about any of this.
“It’s fine,” I said, calming down. I’d never been on this side of a conversation before, and for a beat wondered if any of my lovers had ever run into each other in places like this. How awkward. I tried to imagine what Kitty or Lara—all sparkles and sunshine—and Natalia or Kristy—who would barely crack a smile even in the best of moods—would do if they were put in this kind of situation.
Shrugging, I told him, “Hanna and I go way back. That’s all.”
He laughed, nodding as if this answered all of his unasked questions. “She said she’s just dating right now. I get that. She’s a really fun girl, I’ve been wanting to ask her out for ages, so I’ll take whatever I can get, you know?”
