Page 37 of My Roommate from Hell
“I get that. I’m sorry.” He chews his bottom lip. “From now on I’ll tell you, okay?”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Would it be possible to have the room this afternoon?”
I blink. I am aware this was my idea. But I thought it was obvious it was a once-in-a-while kind of thing, something that he could use, like, once a week. If he’s going to use it today, does this mean he’s just going to shift his nightly hookups to afternoon hookups, and I am going to find myself constantly booted out of my room?
I should’ve seen this coming, and now I’m the one who is in the wrong if I’m upset. It was my idea, I can’t exactly be mad if he takes me up on it.
“Does one work?” I ask, already thinking I could have lunch in the dining hall, then read in the library. It actually doesn’t sound like a bad afternoon.
“The guy is really hot. Look.”
He gets up and drops down on the couch next to me. I kind of hate noticing it, but he smells really good. It’s not like cologne, but it’s a nice and clean scent. He sits so closely his arm brushes against mine.
He shows me his phone, which has the social media profile of aguy who, if all his posts are any indication, is really into being shirtless. I feel like this person—who I am guessing is named Brayden since his username is @Braydenliftsthings—and I would have absolutely nothing in common other than we both like guys.
“Hot, right?” says Zarmenus.
“Yeah, really hot.”
He locks his phone. “Speaking of, I hear you’ve been hanging out with Tyrell.”
The question catches me off guard. It’s not like me hanging out with Tyrell is a secret, but I didn’t think Zarmenus had been keeping tabs on me.
“How do you know about that?” I ask.
“You know how gays are,” he says. “We’re all keeping tabs on everyone. Adam saw you and Tyrell get smoothies at the mall the other day. Were you helping him with his TikTok?”
“No, we’re kind of friends now.”
“So it wasn’t a date?”
“He has a boyfriend.”
“Quite a few of the people I’ve hooked up with so far have boyfriends.”
My horror must show on my face.
“It’s all aboveboard,” he says, trying to recover. “As long as they’re open, it’s all good with me.”
I go quiet as I process that. I don’t have a problem with any kind of relationship; I figure everyone should be able to make their own rules, but if Zarmenus were some kind of home-wrecker that would bother me.
“I double-check,” he says. “I don’t want that hanging on my conscience. Have you ever had a threesome?”
I’m glad I haven’t been drinking anything, as I would’ve spit it out.
“I take that as a no.”
I feel this conversation veering into uncomfortable territory, and now what I want is an escape. I’ve had conversations like this at parties, where people talk openly about what they’ve done. And even though I’m not ashamed that I haven’t even kissed anyone yet, Idon’t like disclosing that. It makes me feel weird, vulnerable, even when I know it shouldn’t.
Some people have no interest in hooking up, and that’s totally fine. But I do, and yet, I haven’t. It makes me feel like there must be something wrong with me, something that is glaringly obvious to everyone else, something that I’m missing.
Zarmenus is watching me. His expression is soft, and not unkind. It’s more he’s puzzled by me, which I don’t really get. I think it’s obvious that I’m insecure about not having much experience with guys, and I don’t want him to judge me because of it.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
“Just trying to figure you out,” he says. “You do know that pretty much every queer guy on campus is talking about how hot you are, right?”
