Page 65 of Collision
“Don’t you want me to tell him you came by?”
“H-huh?”
He pushes a lock of brown hair off his forehead and repeats, “Ifyou tell me your name, I’ll text him and tell him that you are looking for him.” He licks his fingertips with an expression of pure delight.
Should I tell him he has crumbs in his hair?
“No. No message, thank you. In fact, do me a favor and don’t tell him I stopped by. It’s nothing important. Sorry I disturbed you while you were…doing whatever you were doing.”
“I was just finishingFull Metal Panic.”
“Okay…” I say, pretending to know what he’s talking about. “Sorry again.” I back away and leave. This guy really is weird…
Before I get into the car, I text my mother and ask her to bring me two scoops of pistachio ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream.
I would go and buy it myself, but I didn’t bring my wallet with me when I had the brilliant idea of jumping out of this plane without a parachute.
My mother confirms with an emoji.
Great, I’ll need all the calories I can get to swallow the humiliation I have just subjected myself to.
In just two days, I found out that I was cheated on, broke up with Travis, had sex with Thomas, and now I am washing my hands of him as well. Well, not that there was anything real between us, just…ugh! Two scoops of ice cream will not be enough! I send another message to my mother and tell her to get a pint.
Arriving home, I take off my jacket and shake off the chills. I tie up my hair haphazardly and scroll through my music app. Now more than ever, I need pining and pain. I scroll through the various songs included in my “Recovery” playlist and hurl myself onto the couch with the lights off. I listen to Sum 41’s “With Me,” followed closely by “Echo” by Jason Walker and a long series of heartbreaking songs while I ponder the mess my life has become.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. Finally, my three scoops of pistachio bliss and regret has arrived. I go to the door with my head still bent over the phone, intent on choosing another song. I’m ready to go back to the couch, but something snaps me to attention. Orrather, someone. I look up from my phone and stare incredulously at the person in front of me.
Sweet. Merciful. God.
He’s here.
Eighteen
Thomas Collins stands in my doorway wearing a gray sweatshirt that clings to his powerful shoulders. He worries his tongue piercing between his teeth and has a lit cigarette in his right hand as he looks me up and down with those eyes that make me so uncomfortable, so intimidated. Because when Thomas looks at you like that, you can’t help but feel a little naked and a lot vulnerable. The fact that he actually does know what I look like naked doesn’t make it any better.
With an evil grin, he drags his gaze from my pink PJs with the teddy bears all the way down to the fuzzy unicorn slippers I’m wearing. He pauses for a moment on my hair, which looks like a bird’s nest. I blink repeatedly, still incredulous, as I try to get my bearings.
“Are you going to stand there and stare at me much longer? I mean, I know I have a certain allure, but I’m starting to feel violated here.” His smug insolence brings me back to my senses. I had hoped I’d be getting the nice version of Thomas now that I know such a person exists, but apparently, I’ve got his asshole twin instead.
“Thomas, wh-what are you doing at my house?” I try to hide my astonishment but fail miserably.
“You were looking for me?” he asks calmly, taking a drag from the cigarette.
“What?” Earth to Vanessa. Wake up!
“On campus,” he specifies impatiently. He must still be mad atme for yesterday morning’s meltdown. “Larry, my roommate, said a girl with dark hair and gray eyes came to see me.” He gives me a wink. Wait a minute, did he seriously just wink at me? So he’s not angry with me, then? “He said you were blushing pretty hard, reminded him of a giant Red Vine.”
What is this guy’s deal?
“So, what did you want?” he asks.
Oh my God, why couldn’t Mr. Red Vines have kept his mouth shut like I asked him to?
“Nothing, I was just in the neighborhood.”
“You were in the neighborhood,” he repeats, making air quotes. “Of my dorm. Alone. On a Sunday night?”
Well, when you say it out loud, it sounds more ridiculous.
