Page 23 of Me Three
But this unhealthy obsession with both of them needs to stop. Right? Nothing good can come of this.
Then again, look at Freddy and Harry. They met in class. Harry was Freddy’s teacher for a semester. And they seem to be doing well.
Or Beau and Gordon.
Why is it so wrong to dream about my teachers when so many of my friends have hooked up with their own?
What terrible fate did it beget them? That they’re perfectly happy dating some gorgeous men? Why can’t I date my two gorgeous men?
That’s right. Because Carter doesn’t do repeats, and he and Everett are just friends with benefits.
But if I just got Carter to admit he wants me again, maybe I can get them two to date me, and we can be a kickass throuple. Right?
Dream on, Tru.
When class is over, I go over to Everett and jump on his desk.
“Hey, you,” I say and tease the tie on his neck when what I really would love to do is rip it off him and pull that shirt open to bury my face in his hairy chest. Yu-um!
“Hey,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he says.
Crap, did I do something to offend him? Am I already acting like a psycho ex when we barely know each other?
“Nothing,” he repeats and looks away from me, opening a drawer on his desk and searching for something.
Oh well, I’m already sitting on his desk and he’s being awfully distant for a guy who spent all weekend giving me double entendres, so I reach for his cheek with one hand and turn his head so he faces me.
“Come on, Ev. What happened? Are you not talking to me?”
“I am,” he says.
“But…”
“But?”
“If you’re gonna play stupid, I might as well go back to your friend. He’s much better at it than you.”
Ev pulls away from my touch and turns his attention back to the drawer.
“Well, you said it,” he mutters.
“Huh?” I lean even further on his desk trying to get him to look at me until I’m practically lying on it when it clicks. “Oh my God. Are you jealous?”
Everett blows raspberries, and I feel even more invigorated by this turn of events.
“OM-dear-G, you are!” I drool. “That’s so cute.”
“Yeah, whatever. I get it,” he says.
The fact that he doesn’t laugh, hell, or even smile, yet sulks even more makes me sit up on the desk and cross my arms yet again.
“You get what?” I ask him, crossing my legs, too, for good measure, hoping I look every bit the femme fatale I’m feeling right now.
“Why you’d be attracted to him. He’s fit and handsome,” he mumbles. “And I’m fat and ugly. I get it. You wouldn’t be the first to turn me down. I’ve put a lot of weight on since we moved here—”
