Page 61 of Boyfriend
“Let’s just say I’m hoping that tomorrow’s interviews go better. But enough about me.” I squint at the screen. Behind a shirtless Weston is a white tile wall. His tattoos stand out in the bright light. “Where are you right now? It almost looks like you’re in—”
“The bathtub!” he says gleefully. “I’m giving my roommate some privacy.”
“Why?” I blurb. “Wait, never mind. Maybe I don’t need to know.”
He chuckles. “He’s just talking to his girl on the phone. Or at least that’s all they were doing when I left. Now that I think about it, I should probably be afraid to leave this bathtub.”
“I thought you guys would be partying in the lobby.”
“No way,” he says. “Coach is very firm with his curfew on game night. Once a year somebody sneaks out and does something stupid. And then they usually get caught. It ain’t pretty. But some people have to learn lessons the hard way.”
I smile at the tiny screen, and feel lighter. Weston is like sunshine on a cloudy day. “Tell me one dumb thing that somebody did.”
“Well, one time—during spring playoffs—there was a Dutch women’s field hockey team staying in the same hotel…”
I start smiling again before he’s even finished the sentence.
Twenty-One
Is That a Euphemism?
Weston
I tell Abbi a funny story involving a four-way room rearrangement that once became necessary just to give two couples some privacy. “There were more bed swaps that night than in a British sexual farce.”
Abbi giggles. She’s lying on a bed, wearing flannel PJs with little bunnies all over them. And I just wish I were there.
“Speaking of hotel beds…” I say, sounding about as subtle as a freight train. “This is a travesty. We’re both in hotels. If it were the same hotel, we could be having hotel sex right now.”
“That would definitely improve my day,” she admits, propping her cheek in her hand. “If anyone is going to stare at my chest, I choose you.”
“See? That’s why all the lust-filled thoughts I have about you are okay. I’m on the VIP list. You just invited me to stare at your tits.”
“It’s a very short VIP list,” she says with a smile. “With just one name on it.”
“Yeah, I like it that way.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how true they are. Abbi and I are supposed to be just a casual thing. But I feel a little possessive of her, which really isn’t fair. I have nothing to give her for the long term.
And yet, if she met someone new tomorrow—some guy at her new job, who wanted to go the distance—I wouldn’t like it one bit. This school year still has three months left, and I plan to take advantage of every one of them.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Abbi asks suddenly. And I realize I’ve been lost in thought for no good reason.
“Your tits, of course.” It’s not strictly true. But seeing as I think about them with some frequency, it might as well be.
Abbi unbuttons just one button on her PJs, and suddenly I can see the soft swells of her cleavage. “There. Now you and the mortgage banker have the same view.”
My body tightens deliciously. The bathwater has me feeling warm and loose already. “You’re killing me right now. When am I going to see you next—for real?”
“Hard to say,” she says. “I work a double on Sunday.”
“When do you get off?” I ask. By which I mean, when can I get you off? Making Abbi whimper and sigh is my new favorite hobby.
“Eight,” she says. “A double shift on Sunday means you don’t have to close.”
“Come over? We’ll be hanging out at the hockey house, drinking some beers and unwinding.”
“Maybe I can,” she says. “What’s the vibe at the hockey house, anyway? What’s it like?”
“Not as skeevy as you’re probably thinking,” I say and she laughs. “I mean—we have some killer parties. But on a quieter night it’s comfortable. Our alumni landlords make sure the place has a weekly cleaning service and every TV channel under the sun. The kitchen is actually pretty sweet. We’ve got a giant blender that we use all the time, and a big mixer that we never use, but it looks very sophisticated.”
