Page 32 of Wrong For Me

Leo

Bodhi looks up from his coffee as I slam my way back into our apartment less than five minutes after leaving it. “That was fast,” he says.

“Hilarious,” I mutter, stomping over to the kitchen. “Do we have a phone book around here somewhere?” I ask, pulling hard on the junk drawer handle.

“Phone book?” He sounds incredulous. “Do they even make those anymore? You do realize that you can, like, google things right on your phone, right?”

“My fucking phone won’t hold a charge,” I snap. “And now my fucking car won’t start.”

He winces in sympathy. “You need a jump? I think I have some cables in my trunk.”

I glance at the clock and groan. Jumping it myself would be a hell of a lot faster than waiting for a tow truck, but I’m already running late. And late is the last thing I want to be on the first day of my program.

“What’s your schedule today?” I ask him through clenched teeth, knowing I need to do something I try never to do—ask someone for a favor.

“Student teacher orientation starts in an hour.”

Well, fuck. There goes my plan to ask if I can borrow his car. I point at the phone in his hand. “You have a ride sharing app on there? If you call me a car I’ll pay you back.” Not like I can afford a ride-share right now—I’m already going to have a hard time eating until my financial aid stipend hits the bank.

Bodhi gives me an exasperated look. “Dude. I just told you I don’t have to be anywhere for an hour. Why don’t you just fucking ask me for a ride?”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way,” I mutter.

He stares at me for a long moment before he finally stands. “I can drop you off.” He sounds distinctly annoyed.

“Dude, if it’s a problem—”

“It’s not a problem,” he snaps, expression uncharacteristically angry. Bodhi is generally a pretty chill guy. Cheerful, even. But he doesn’t look the slightest bit cheerful right now.

“Then why are you pissed?”

He releases a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not mad. Give me five minutes to change.”

Five minutes will be cutting it close, but it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than a ride-share, and much faster than waiting for a tow. Of course, I’m going to feel like I owe him now, but I can’t see any other options.

I fill up a glass of water while I wait, wishing it wasn’t too early for something stronger. I had already been feeling slight pangs of nerves about the first day of classes when I got downstairs and found my car wouldn’t start. Beginning a doctorate program is a pretty big damn deal, and I’d had every intention of making a good first impression on my department head when we meet this morning.

My old undergrad professor, Doctor Hernandez, wrote me a kick-ass recommendation when I applied for the program. If that wasn’t enough, she requested me to be her TA, something I consider to be a huge honor and I don’t want to give her any reason to regret it. I’ve worked for years to get to this point and I have no intention of screwing it up.

But now I’m going to be starting my first day as a PhD student running late and worrying about how I’m going to pay for my car repairs. Just fucking great.

“I’m ready,” Bodhi announces, striding into the living room to grab his wallet and keys.

“That was a lot faster than five minutes,” I point out.

He smirks, looking more like himself. “You seemed a little stressed out. Figured I would hurry my ass up before you stroked out in our kitchen.”

I follow him outside to his newish Jeep, trying to smother the stab of jealousy that I automatically feel over the fact that his parents still pay his car lease. Bodhi has done nothing to deserve my bitterness—particularly since he’s saving my ass right now.

As usual, he insists on listening to the stand-up comedy satellite radio channel on the way to campus, laughing along uproariously. I would normally give him shit about it—I fucking hate stand-up, and stand-up on the radio is even worse—but even my irritable ass can recognize that beggars can’t be choosers.

A few minutes before we get to campus, he turns the volume down and shoots me a look out of the corner of his eye. “You remember my friend Steve?”

I scrunch up my forehead, a vague image forming in my mind. It could be completely inaccurate though—Bodhi has a shit-ton of friends.

“I think so?”

“Big 49ers fan. Comes over to watch the games with me sometimes.” He pauses. “He works at that garage over on Hampton.”