Page 22 of Justice Delayed
??Hungry
??IDK Cursed or something
“Oh my god,did you see the look on his face?” I’m whispering, despite the fact that the television is on in this room and it’s at the opposite end of the hallway.
Drew grins from his spot at his desk, spinning in the chair to face me.
“He looked like he was gonna toss his cookies.”
He did indeed look like he was going to barf.
“I was so nervous,” I declare, flopping down onto the bed, unable to get comfortable or find a spot where I want to stand.
“You were nervous?” Drew laughs. “Darlin’, I’m the one who looks like the idiot pretendin' we’ve been datin' when he knows damn well you and I have never met. I expected him to say somethin’.”
“Yeah, that was weird, right? That he just let us stand there talking?”
Drew spins again, pleased as punch. “Yeah, I wasn’t expectin' him to be cool about it. I thought he’d be… uncool.”
I stretch out, getting comfortable. “To his credit, this was his master plan from the beginnin’.”
Unfortunately.
“Maybe. But you keep forgettin’ that you had a date two days ago and that he kissed you.”
Forget?
Oh trust me, I haven’t forgotten—the date or the kiss, or the way he was starting to make me feel.
I glance around Drew Colters's bedroom, taking it all in. I may have had boyfriends in the past, but I can't recall ever being inside their bedrooms. Not that Drew is my boyfriend by any stretch of the imagination. Usually, the guy comes to my house, to my bedroom, not the other way around. Call it a way of controlling the situation, but I feel more comfortable having dudes at my place.
His walls have posters on them the same way he probably had when he was ten years old. On a bookshelf are some trophies and metals. Not many books unless you count textbooks, nothing fictional as I probably would have expected. Drew seems more of the studious type, so I'm surprised he doesn't do any reading. Then again, maybe he doesn't have the time.
His bedding is gray. Walls, too.
Dirty laundry in a pile. Soda cans on the desk.
An overflowing trash can.
It reminds me of a teenage boy’s room, not a room for a college athlete.
I wonder what Drake’s bedroom looks like. I imagine that it's dark and messy, with an unmade bed and clothes on the floor. I imagine he spends a lot of time watching television and not a lot of time studying.
Down the hallway, I hear a toilet flush.
Drew lets out a loud, bellowing laugh.
“What the heck are you laughing at?”
He grins. “My brother’s in the bathroom. I thought it'd be funny if we made it sound like we were having a really good time in here.”
“Are you saying we're not having a really good time in here?” I dig my hand into the popcorn bag and take out a handful, stuffing some in my mouth.
It's stale.
I swallow it anyway because I can’t very well spit it into the trash.
He’ll think I’m disgusting even though the popcorn is disgusting and bland against my tongue.
