The Studying Hours

“Nothing!” I protest loudly.

Maybe too loudly, because my roommate’s smile widens into a full-out grin.

“Hmmm.” Her green eyes scan my ribbed navy tank top and plaid pajama pants. Sid taps a finger to her chin in mock thought. “Come to think of it, he did seem to fixate on your wardrobe. He brought up your cardigans twice. I told him all about your cardigan collection.”

“Shut up Sydney!” I grab a damp washcloth from the shower and lob it at her. “I do not have a cardigan collection, brat!”

Just one of every color in the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue… Purple. Pink. White, black, and gray.

And a few patterned ones.

But big deal—who doesn’t?

“But you kind of do. Don’t bother denying it,” she teases, calling off the colors in my closet. “Red, pink, yellow, green.”

I stick my tongue out. “I hate you sometimes.”

“No you don’t.” Sydney goes back to removing her makeup. “So you don’t care if he asks me out again?”

“What? Please. No. Why would I? It’s not like I’m going to date him. Haha. No. Be my guest—he’s just some guy I study with at the library.”

Seriously, I need to stop talking.

Fiddling with a container of moisturizer, not turning to meet my eyes, she dubiously nods. “All right, if you say so. But…you know, if you change your mind, say something, okay? I don’t want it to be weird if Oz and I start dating.”

“Oz Osborne dating?” I roll my eyes but she doesn’t see me. “Okay Sydney. Good one.”

This time she does turn to face me, her brows furrowed. Hurt. “Why would you say it like that?”

“Please. The guy screws everyone—I saw him getting a hand-job at a party in the hallway. It’s probably a good idea to stay away from a guy like that, no matter how good looking he is.”

“First of all, there is no way he screws everyone. Every athlete has a reputation simply by being an athlete; they’re not all pigs. Oz could be guilty by association. And secondly, why wouldn’t I want to date him? It’s Oz Osborne. If he asks me out, I’d be a fool to say no; do I look like a fool to you?”

No, dammit. She doesn’t.

She’s not.

I cross my arms stubbornly. “Fine. Just don’t let him lead you on—no doubt he’s run out of room on his bedpost for notches.”

She levels me with a stare. “You don’t honestly believe that garbage, do you?”

Well, no. I don’t. So why the hell did I say it?

My sigh is palpable. “No. But I also don’t think you should get involved with him.”

Sydney considers this for a few moments, swiping a hand through her long blonde hair. “James, it’s a few dates, nothing more. I’m not going to marry the guy.”

Her face turns a suspicious shade of pink—one she tries to hide behind a white terrycloth towel.

“Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. And make sure you wear a condom.”

She giggles prettily. “Him too?”

“That goes without saying,” I tease when she sets down the towel to slather on moisturizer.

I wait as she brushes her teeth, braids her hair, and scuttles back to her bedroom.

I wait for the telltale sound of her door closing before I exhale a shaky breath and revisit our earlier conversation.

Sebastian talked about me the entire time they were on their date? Then asked for my phone number?

What does that even mean?

A knot of uncertainly forms in the pit of my stomach, along with a pang of something else.

Jealousy.

I’m jealous that I’m not outgoing in the way Sydney, Allison, and Hayley are. Jealous that guys don’t find me sexy because outwardly, I’m conservative. Jealous that I can’t just let loose. Jealous that…

Ugh, stop it, James. Stop!

He’s not my type, he’s not my type, he’s not my type, I chant to myself.

Oh god, I’m doing it out loud.

Rising from the toilet, I walk to the counter, bracing my hands on either side of the sink, breathing in through my nose and exhaling out my mouth to curb this wave of nausea.

Nausea at the thought of my roommate dating Sebastian.

Me. Jealous.

Is this what that feels like?

This is a new low, and I groan miserably.

Sebastian

“I reserved us a study room.”

I stand over James’ table, looking down at her open textbook. Her blue gaze hits me square in the gut when she glances up, and I shift uncomfortably on the balls of my feet.

“You what?”

I straighten to my full height. “I reserved us a study room. Upstairs, room 209.”

“You reserved us a room?”

“Yeah, then we can talk and study and no one will hassle us.”

Her lips tip into a smile. “Oz, I don’t want to talk, at all, let alone when I’m studying.”

“Oh James. Jim, Jim, Jim…the many dirty ways I could respond to that.”

She bites the inside of her cheek to stop her smile from spreading, and a dimple I’ve never noticed appears in her left cheek. “Haha, very funny.”

“You’re no fun.” I sigh, setting my red and black backpack down on the edge of her table. “Fine, no study room.”

“Wait. You’re not sitting here.”

“Why not?”