Page 4
Oh fuck.
2
Cut the Shit, Lou
The Bronx, NY
Louisa
Oh fuck. Hasan’s roommate was a total snack. His hair was clipped short on the sides, long enough on top that I could tell it was dark, and he was sporting what looked like three-day scruff for a white boy. A fitted black t-shirt highlighted his trim waist, where it was tucked neatly into his slacks. This was somehow both adorable and fuck hot. My absolute kryptonite.
“I’m Lou. It’s so nice to meet you!” I said brightly, waving wildly. The expression on his face was unreadable, and it threw me off. Was he pissed? Should I be pissed that he’s pissed? As if remembering his manners, he closed his eyes, wiped a hand across his jaw, and held it up briefly in greeting.
“Nice to put a face to a name, Lou.” He hung his head and shook it. “You aren’t what I was expecting, based on what Hasan’s said—and not said.” He shot a quick glare at Hasan, who was grinning maniacally. Will was bending slightly at the knees, looking over Has’s shoulder like a dad watching him transfer photos off a thumb drive. The similarity was uncanny, and a laugh bubbled up at the thought.
“Weird. What did he say about me?” I said. “Pretend he’s not here. I do it all the time.”
“Well, for one…” He winced and ran his thumb along his bottom lip. “He definitely let me believe you had a dick.” He side-eyed Hasan. Of course he did.
“I just might, Will. You don’t know me,” I said primly. “And before you get any ideas, it would be rude of you to ask me to prove it, so…”
He let his eyes roam all over my face and shoulders—like he was watching Has play Pong. His lips twitched. “Maybe I’ll have to be rude later, then,” he said.
My stomach flipped. That’ll do, Pig.
Hasan cleared his throat dramatically, and Will straightened like he’d been caught. His face was off camera now, and he immediately shifted away.
“Oh yeah, carry on,” I said sarcastically. “Has keeps my video up when I’m alone in my apartment…I still live in New York. We aren’t really paying attention on these calls. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He wasn’t even listening.
“Good to know,” Will called out as he walked away, untucking his shirt and—I sucked air through my teeth—pulling it off from between his shoulder blades with one hand. Boy Magic. He threw a clean towel over his shoulder, and Hasan turned his laptop away to save me from embarrassing myself with an audible whimper or something worse I was liable to do. Hassi knows my limits.
“I don’t think he’s being a dick, he’s just in a rush,” he whispered, putting his headphones back in, eyes twinkling. “I have to live with him, Lou. Off limits.”
“He can be a dick all he wants. I don’t need another unavailable, highly fuckable boy in my life. I’ve got you for that, baby,” I said, batting my eyelashes at him.
He burst out laughing, waggling his brows and bouncing his pecs simultaneously. “I am pretty fuckable, aren’t I?”
“I need to get to the studio if I want to be able to walk back before dark,” I told Has a few minutes later. I had thirty ceramic lampshades to make, and time tended to get away from me.
“We both know that’s not going to happen. What’s your backup plan?’’ he grumbled.
“Hassi, no. I swear.” I crossed my heart in front and my fingers behind my back. “It’s a beautiful day in New York, but even though Desi returned Scooter McGavin in working condition, I’m not totally ready to ride him again after he trashed me so publicly—‘’ I paused, blinked a few times, and wiped a finger under my eye for dramatic effect. Nothing? Really, Has?
“Cut the shit, Lou,” he said dispassionately.
I’d wrecked my scooter into a metal trash can while doing a sick kickflip by the elementary school a little over a month ago. My shoes fell off and everything—it was ninety percent hilarious and ten percent snot-crying into my old principal’s bosom while the school nurse bandaged my knees. Then we shot the shit in the teacher’s lounge until Has arrived to piggyback me home.
Scooter McGavin was stolen a few days later, and I’d only recently tracked it down and bribed a child to steal it back for me. Hasan won’t admit it, but he’s secretly pissed because he was the one who took it in the first place.
“I’m planning to put in a respectable four hours throwing bowls at the studio—I’ll set my alarm…”—and snooze it 97 times—“and I’ll end the sesh by deep cleaning my wheel,” which happens to be my go-to euphemism for masturbating.
He eyed me like the lying liar I was, but it would be a cold day in hell before I admitted it. Hasan’s expression of Smug Satisfaction looked like he was smelling his own farts, but at least I had a backup ruse. This wasn’t amateur hour.
“Okay, look, if time gets away from me, I promise I’ll catch the train back before nine. I’m meeting my friend at Savoy for dinner, remember?” I’d already canceled on his ass, but Hasan didn’t need to know that, and my buddy would cover for me… we always made plans together and never actually hung out. It was one of my most honest and treasured friendships.
“You’ll see. I’ll send photo updates along the way.” I won’t.
Has was thoroughly unconvinced, but the bathroom door opening distracted him. Steam billowed out around Will like Han Solo unfreezing in Return of the Jedi—actually I have no idea, I’ve never seen it. He wore a towel around his waist, his abdominal V popping as he dried his face off—and oh my god, is that a little bit of shaving cream behind his ear? ¡Ay, caramba!
