The Studying Hours

I wait.

I’m leaning against the wall outside his door when she comes out, wearing nothing but his tee shirt. His fucking tee shirt. I’m reminded of our trip to Utah—of her wearing nothing but my gray wrestling shirt—and almost lose my shit all over again.

I count to five, noting with satisfaction her startled gasp when she sees me, a gasp not unlike the one I heard a half-hour ago when she was screwing me over.

Screwing my roommate.

“Hi!” Spiteful, my high-pitched and cheerful greeting is anything but pleasant. “What’s up?!”

I’m sure I sound psychotic, but I’m just so fucking pissed.

She looks left, looks right for a rescue. Sorry honey, no one’s coming to save you. “If you have to take a pee, or gee, I don’t know, toss a condom in the trash, the bathroom is down the hall to the left.”

Aren’t I just the goddamn welcoming committee? Tone it down a notch, Osborne.

Instead of making her way to the bathroom, Jameson leans against the wall, mimicking my stance. Ramrod straight, back against the wall, left knee propped up, foot touching the drywall.

“You’re back early,” she says pleasantly. “How’d the wrestling meet go?”

Arms crossed, I study her. Flushed cheeks, tousled hair, eyes a little wild…the post-gasm look is unbelievably sexy on her.

I cut to the chase. “How long has this been going on?”

Her head hits the wall behind her with a soft thump. “Just this once. But it was our second date.”

“Since when?”

“We’ve been casually texting since the house party.”

Sonofabitch. That was at least two weeks ago. Or has it been three?

“When were you going to tell me?”

An ironic laugh leaves her throat. “I wasn’t.”

“Why? I’ve been chasing you around for weeks; you’ll fuck him but you won’t fuck me?”

“This isn’t a contest, and please lower your voice.”

“Why.”

“Why what?”

“Why would you let him…” I swallow, unable to get the words out. Goddammit if this whole thing isn’t making me feel like complete and utter shit.

Her answer is a dry laugh. “Oh please—don’t tell me this bothers you. You who won’t commit. You who get hand-jobs and blowies from anyone with a pulse.” An unladylike snort. “Give me a flipping break.”

I stab a finger in her direction. “You’re fucking nuts if you think I’m going to be okay with this.”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“Bullshit. This has everything to do with me! You moaned my name. My. Name.”

Her only response is a nonchalant shrug that makes me want to pin her to the wall and show her what she really means to me.

“Did you sleep with him to make me jealous? To bring me to heel? Because I’m telling you right now Jameson, it won’t fucking work. All it did was piss me off.”

A long, soft sigh. “He’s a nice guy, Oz. I like him. We might not be dating or a couple, but at least he’s not going to make me feel used and cheap in the morning. He won’t make me feel like a number. I’ll still have my dignity when I walk out of here.”

“What are you fucking talking about?” I poke a thumb into my chest. “I treat you with respect.”

“Calm down and lower your voice,” she hisses. “God, Sebastian, everything isn’t always about you. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be with someone who wants me to ride him to sex town?”

I silently count to ten and take a deep calming breath, clenching my fists at my sides. “Why won’t you let me fuck you?”

She studies me, cool, calm, and collected. Shoulders back and dignified, as if she’s already thought this through and knows the answer. “Because you say things like ‘why won’t you let me fuck you.’ You think I don’t want you? You’re wrong. I do. I lie in bed thinking of you every night; I dream of you Sebastian. But I’m not a fool. You will break my heart.”

“So this is your solution? Sleep with someone else? My freaking roommate, of all people.”

“I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that! How could you do this to me, Jameson? Tell me! I didn’t screw your roommate when I had the chance.”

Her face falls. Shoulders sag. “I guess I…wanted to feel good. I wanted pleasure. I wanted an orgasm. I haven’t had sex in forever, and Elliot was the safe choice.”

“Oh my fucking god.” My fists clench, wanting to punch the wall behind me. “This is such horse shit.”

Jameson crosses her arms. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“I’ve never lied to you about who I am.”

“And I love that about you, but—”

“But what?” I can’t keep the bitter taste out of my mouth.

“Wonderful and awful,” she whispers. “Beautiful and forgettable. That’s how you make me feel, all at the same time.”

“How can you stand there and say that? I adore you! I think you’re beautiful. I can’t go a minute without thinking about you, the way you smell and the way you’re always pulling your hair back, or tapping your pen when you’re concentrating. You drive me crazy.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Don’t do this Jameson; don’t say that shit. Please, you’re breaking my heart.”