Page 13 of Kill Sleep Repeat

I should have been back at my dorm studying, trying to graduate early, trying to save my dad some money. But I wasn’t.

“Excuse me,” a thick voice said from behind me. “I can’t get by.”

When I turned around, that thing they say happens, happened. Deep in the pit of my stomach, something took hold and refused to let go. He didn’t look like a student, but by then I’d had several drinks, and I wasn’t much of a drinker.

I moved aside to let him pass.

“Have we met?” he asked.

I shook my head and tried not to look him in the eye. I wasn’t there to meet anyone, and he looked like precisely the kind of trouble I was trying to avoid. He looked like there would be three kids and a minivan in my future.

“Are you sure?”

I shrugged.

“You’re Erin’s friend?”

Sipping my beer, I moved out of the narrow hall and into the living area, thinking I might suffocate. When I made it to the sofa, which was covered in happy drunks, he met me shoulder to shoulder.

“Erin—have you seen her?”

I had no idea who he was talking about. I motioned toward the stairs and glanced up toward the second floor. “Maybe check up there?”

“I have,” he said, clearly annoyed. “Twice.”

Scanning the room, I searched for a way out. “Sorry, I just got here.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “She called me for a ride but I can’t find her anywhere…I might not even be at the right house, for fuck’s sake. She’s drunk and the music was loud. I think I got the wrong address.” He glanced at the drink in my hand. “Could be any house on this stre

et.”

“Good luck.” I started walking away. “I need to find my friend.”

“Sisters,” he said with a scoff, following close behind. “Do you have one?”

“No.”

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

I asked if he wanted to take a shot. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Something about his fingers made me realize I just wanted to fuck.

“Will it get me your name?”

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe I do.”

I took his hand and led him toward the kitchen, where Jell-O shots were lined up on the counter. Eyeballing the spread, he said, “I think I’m a bit too old for this.”

I handed him a small plastic cup and took one for myself. “My grandma eats Jell-O. Is she too old?”

He smiled and then slurped it down like an oyster on the half shell. I watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed and felt a chill down my spine. Then I placed the plastic to my lips and followed suit. “Olivia,” I said after the third round.

“Olivia,” he repeated, surprised or suspicious or both. He leaned forward and pressed his thumb to my lip. When he pulled it away, he held it up. A bit of Jell-O was stuck to the tip. He popped it in his mouth and sucked the tip. “You wanna get out of here?” he asked glancing around the kitchen. He leaned in and lowered his voice even though the music was loud. The way he smelled made me weak in the knees. I mentally calculated how long it had been since I’d gotten laid. “I’m sorry,” he added. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

I grabbed a handful of Jell-O shots, conveniently lidded, and shoved them in the pocket of my coat. With only a slight nod, he motioned toward the door. “What about your sister?”

He smiled. “I don’t have a sister,” he said, and I think I fell a little in love.

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