“Okay,” I say, and then add, because I feel like I need to show him mine now that he’s shown me his: “I’m demi. Essentially, I don’t feel attracted to people sexually. Not unless we’ve—."
“I know what it means,” Carter interrupts, glowering at me.
“Okay.” I run my hand over the bedspread again, nervously. “So, anyway. To answer your question: no, not dating anyone, and probably won’t be.”
It’s my turn to ask a question, but I’m drawing a blank. I don’t usually bring up being demisexual on the first day I meet someone, and it’s not as though Carter inspires a lot of confidence. It’s hard not to judge this particular book by the cover. He seems to be as equally unsettled as I am—arms crossed tight over his chest and a glint of violence in his blue eyes. If he’s looking for a fight, he’ll have to look elsewhere.
“So—."
“I think I’m going to crash,” Carter interrupts.
“Oh, sure. Right. Sorry.” I climb off the end of his bed and hover there uncertainly. He hasn’t moved, but is reclined back with arms still crossed, watching me. “Sleep tight.”
There is a very small twitch at the corner of his mouth, like I’ve almost teased a smile from him.
“Sleep tight,” he murmurs toward my back, as I make my way to my own room.
???
“I can’t believe you’re living with Carter Morgan. The third.” Jefferson, my best friend, adopts a queenly British accent when he adds that last part. “Is he awful? He looks like he’d be awful. There’s probably a reason he’s letting you live there for free.”
Sighing, I adjust the strap of my backpack. It’s heavy, and I can feel sweat forming on my back where it rests against me. There is little difference between early September and summer in South Carolina; it’s just as hot and muggy today as it was in July. Reaching up to brush my hair out of my eyes, I glance at Jefferson.
“He’s not awful.”
I’ve been living with Carter for two weeks, and he’s been anything but awful. In fact, other than his propensity to treat doors roughly, he’s been remarkably quiet. Even when he’s downstairs working out, he does so with his headphones on and not a loudspeaker. There have been several times where I hadn’t even realized he was home until I almost physically ran into him in the hallway. He’s not half as unpleasant as his sour expression might indicate.
“He’s actually really nice,” I tell my friend, and he snorts.
“I’ll have to take your word for it. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends,” Jefferson notes, as he holds the door of the science building open for me, both of us blasted by a wave of air-conditioned air. It’s an old building; high-tech labs tucked into brick classrooms that are too hot in the summer, and frigid in the winter. There always seems to be a vague smell of burning, depending on which corridor you’re walking down.
“No,” I say, slowly. “I don’t think he does have a lot of friends, actually.”
Unlike the rest of the student athletes, who only seem to traverse the campus in large packs, Carter is a loner. In two weeks, he’s not had anybody come over to his house to hang out. The few times I’ve seen him on campus he’s been alone—glowering and striding across campus purposefully—like he was on the way to settle some scores. I wonder if he feels a little bit lonely and out of place, but hides it behind a mask of indifference and bravado. I wonder why someone who has enough money to not charge rent would want a roommate at all.
“Are you going to go to any of his games?” Jefferson asks, as we climb the stairs.
“Yeah, I think I will. You should come with me.” Please god do not make me go to a hockey game alone.
“Sure. Maybe I’ll see if Tessa wants to join.”
Tessa was Jefferson’s high school girlfriend and will probably one day be his wife. They unofficially lived together with Tessa spending most nights at Jefferson’s shared apartment, and are the kind of couple that make other people vaguely uncomfortable. They are always touching each other—hugging, kissing, sitting on each other’s lap—in a way that makes me feel a little ill. I cannot imagine liking another person so much that I would do any of those things in public. I have to bite back a sigh; not even a crowded hockey game will be enough to keep the PDA at bay. Still better than going alone, though.
It’s Friday which means that I’ve got an early end to the day today. This is my last lecture before I head over to the library to get some independent study in, and that’s it for my plans for the weekend. Jefferson, who is the extroverted friend of our pair, has plans to go to a party tonight and tomorrow. Me, being the introverted and, frankly, antisocial one, declined. I’d rather stay home and read my astronomy textbook.
We sit down in the lecture hall, early as usual, and Jefferson pulls out his phone to text Tessa. Tapping my finger against the edge of my desk, I think about Carter. Does he have any plans for the weekend? We’re still trying to get a read on one another, figure out each other’s schedules. So far, from what I can tell, he leaves the house only for class and practice. Before I can change my mind, I bring up Carter’s text message thread on my phone.
Zeke: Hi! What are you up to tonight? Got any plans?
Carter: Practice.
Zeke: After that?
Carter: Why are you asking?
Sighing, I look over at Jefferson, who’s grinning down at his phone and completely enamored with whatever his girlfriend just typed. I go back to my own conversation with a brick wall.
Zeke: I was going to see if you wanted to hang out? I don’t have any plans.