Page 13 of Wildfire
He shakes his head, trailing his hand across my shoulder and down my arm until his fingers thread through mine. “Buzzed, but not drunk.”
Russ’s hand makes mine look tiny and our linked fingers are what I watch as he leads me through the crowd toward the stairs. Drunk people are draped over the banister watching the events in the living room, presumably waiting for a bathroom or something, but they all turn to look at us with interest. I keep my head held high and try to not let it show that I know this will be on the UCMH gossip page tomorrow.
I pull out my cell phone as he taps the door code, pulling up my chat with Emilia, and follow him into the room.
EMILIA BENNETT
Bedroom at the top of the stairs
Door code is 3993
Russ?
Yeah he’s awkward
It’s charmed me
I knew I shouldn’t have left you unattended
You sober enough to be making good choices?
When do I ever make good choices?
But yes
Remember we have breakfast with your parents tomorrow
And a flight to catch
Do you have condoms?
Yeah
Please manifest him knowing what he’s doing
The universe doesn’t care about your orgasms, Aurora
Be safe
Remember to share your location
“Sorry,” I say to Russ, putting my cell back into my purse and setting it down on the bedside table. “I was just letting my roommate know where I am.”
“Responsible.” He smiles and sits on the edge of the bed. “My old captain made us use a tracking app, but it was mainly in case anyone’s location pinged at a police station.”
“You don’t seem the pinging-at-the-police-station type…”
“Uh, thank you… I think.” He laughs, deep and warm; it tugs at my stomach in a weird way.
I finally take in the room, wandering aimlessly, looking for pictureframes or something about him, but finding nothing. I’m not joking when I say this is the tidiest bedroom I’ve ever been in, mine included. Even the empty cardboard boxes have been collapsed and lined up next to his wardrobe. His bed has more than one pillow. And they even look like nice pillows. They all have pillow covers on them and don’t look like they’ve been run over by a sixteen-wheel truck, unlike many of the guys on this campus.
I reach his desk, and other than some engineering books, there’s nothing personal. No signs that it’s him who lives here. He watches my tour of the room quietly, eyes following me from corner to corner. Turning to face him, I slide myself onto his desk, pushing his textbooks out of the way. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
My question catches him by surprise, and his mouth twists in confusion. “No?”
“Your room is really clean. There’s nothing about you in here: no pictures, hobbies…” I wouldn’t even know he played hockey if he didn’t live here. There isn’t one piece of dirty, smelly equipment littering the floor. “And you have pillows. With covers.”
The last one makes him snort, and he stands, strolling over to the desk. “Is the bar really that low? Pillows with covers makes you think I have a girlfriend that I’m cheating on?”
