AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m not sleeping with you. I don’t even like you. Now go to hell.”
“Again.”
“What?”
“You mean to say you’re not sleeping with me again. Or did you forget that we already did the deed?”
“I did forget, actually. It was such a regrettable and forgettable experience, I’d totally wiped it out of my memory.”
“So regrettable and forgettable that you came back for a second helping? That’s not what’s going on here.”
“Really? What pray tell is going on there then, in your esteemed opinion, Professor Hamilton. Please do tell me, because clearly I have no idea.”
I could tell I was really getting under her skin, and part of me almost thought I should stop, but the rest of me knew I couldn’t. If I was going to get her where I wanted her—as far away from Cygnus business as possible—then I needed to continue to have the upper hand so that she would forget whatever stupid quest she thought she was on, and leave us all the fuck alone.
“It’s simple, really. We generally expect that if we’re physically attracted to someone we also like them as a person, in some way shape or form. In fact, we’re told that it’s pretty much a prerequisite for fucking. But that’s bullshit. Back in the real world, it’s totally possible to just bang someone and not give a damn about whether they’re a “nice” person, or whether we “gel.” The fact is, you like what I’m packing, and I’m definitely not saying no to what you’re offering. What else do we need? So we can’t stand the sight or sound of each other at any other time. Who gives a crap? As long as our genitals are compatible who cares about the rest of that shit?
“Jesus! Did you want to shout the word genitals any louder? I feel like there are a few hearing impaired people in Jersey who may not have heard you”
“Well, for someone who wants to avoid the word, way to repeat it just as loud. Anyway, my point is that all the rest of that shit—love, feelings, chocolates and flowers—is a social construct we humans have designed to legitimize wanting to rub our genitals against someone else’s.”
“Okay Freud, but I thought your major was Business, not Psych. What’s your deal?” She eyed me suspiciously.
“A big part of winning at any sport is understanding the opposition. Predicting what they’ll do so that you can either prevent it, or use it to your advantage. Business is the same. It’s ninety percent psychology. More, even. I’ve taken a few Psych classes in my time. To sell to people, you need to understand people. What motivates them. What scares them. All that stuff. I need to be across that shit if I’m going to make a living parting fools from their gold.”
“My God. I thought I was cynical, then I met you. You’re so jaded, it’s scary.”
“Whatever. Are we doing this thing or not? I have a window in my schedule right now, but it’s rapidly closing.”
“Well, as inviting as that offer sounds”—sarcasm was weirdly sexy on her—“that’s a ‘no’ from me. Feel free to shut the window. And the door. In fact, close up the whole house, put the furniture in storage and throw away the key.” The dry humor was a natural extension of the sarcasm. I couldn’t say I liked it, as such, but it was kind of tolerable, and totally fitting for her.
She started toward the stairs leading down from the cafeteria. “Well it’s been real, but I’m going to ride awa—” She was staring off to her right in shock.
“What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“My bike. Really? How much of an asshole do you need to be?”
I jogged down the steps to join her, turning to look at the bike in question. It was a hot-pink retro-styled fixie with a wicker basket on the front. Of course.
I raised my hands in faux surrender. “Not that I’m saying I’ve done any of the things that you claim I have, but if I had, would you really figure me for the kind of guy who would do something like this? It’s so... low rent.” It really was. We’d cloned her computer, for fuck’s sake—not that she knew that—as if we’d bother with something as amateurish as letting the air out of her tires in broad daylight outside the busiest place on campus at lunchtime. It was insulting.
“Besides which, I’ve never seen that bike before, and even if I had I was in the lunchroom when you so rudely interrupted me. Now, I’m a damned good athlete, but I have to admit that I haven’t mastered the art of shapeshifting, so how do you propose I did this?”
I could see her doing the math in her head.
“Shit.” She bit her lip, her forehead concertinaing into a deep frown. “Well if it wasn’t you, or one of your cronies, who the fuck was it?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. Who have you pissed off recently?”
“Apart from you, you mean?”
“Yeah, obviously.”
“Nobody. Everybody? I don’t fucking know. There’s no point in worrying about that now, anyway—it’s not going to make a difference at this point in time. I just want to go back to my room.” She moved closer to the bike and started fiddling with the combination lock.
“What are you doing?”
“Is this a trick question? I’m taking my bike, and getting the fuck out of here.”
