My heart rate ratchets up again, but now it has nothing to do with his hands or his lips or his body. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sterling?”
The cursing turns him on like a switch. In a flash he spins me off of him and onto the couch. He leaps up, his face contorting in the moonlight and shifting to that of a stranger. Dangerous. Cold. A shiver runs through me. What have I done?
“I went to find you earlier. Here, in the pool house.”
I remember. I was talking with Ava and Darcy. They were trying to get me to dish about Sterling.
“You promised you’d share me,” he jogs my memory when I don’t respond. “I just want to know what that’s like. Do I sleep with you sometimes, but maybe if you’re busy I throw them a bone?”
“What the…” Bile rises in my throat. I’m not sure if it’s the idea of them touching him or the idea that he might be into it. Why else would he bring it up? I want to puke.
“You went along with it!” he rages. I try to interject, but he’s already off again. “I don’t get you people. Everything in your lives is just a toy waiting for you to get bored with it. Including me. Why not share me now? Didn’t they teach you that in school?”
“That’s not fair. You know I didn’t want any of this to happen. It was supposed to be just us.” I’m ashamed when my voice quavers. How could I have been stupid enough to let him get close enough to hurt me?
“Don’t be mad at me for finding out, Lucky. I’m smarter than you’re used to.” He turns to go, but stops at the kitchen door. “Admit it, I was supposed to be your birthday present. Because of course you are the type to get herself something. So let me spare you the trouble of re-gifting me.”
My heart crashes inward like a black hole. When I look up, he’s gone. Some days are diamonds.
But those days are never my birthday.
8
Sterling
I decide to major in philosophy.
It’s a worthless degree, but one I can do on my own time. No classes required. So far, I’m working on what I call the invisible man theorem, which basically means that if I act invisible, I will be invisible. I’m testing it using two different methods.
The first is by skipping class. It turns out that in college, unlike high school, no one gives a shit if you don’t show up to classes. No one. Not the professor. Not the administration. Not even your friends. I know, because I’m on my second week of testing the theory, and no one has even checked in, except Cyrus, who only stops by the room to grab shit a couple times a week. If I pretend I’m not there, he goes right along with it, only speaking when spoken to.
The other method of testing involves social invisibility, or the belief that if I show up at a party, say nothing to anyone, grab a bottle of booze, and take off, no one will even notice. But is this because I’m invisible or because people are shit-faced? I don’t know. But I’ll keep testing the theory until I can be certain.
There’s one more theory, but I haven’t given it a name yet. It’s basically that a son can’t ever escape becoming his father. I might not be the first to think of that one. I’d ask a professor, but I can’t be bothered to actually enroll in a philosophy class. Not if it means skewing the findings of my first theory, which I’m dedicating myself to completely, and have been since the night of Adair’s birthday party.
The door cracks open and Cyrus steps inside. His gaze sweeps over the room before landing on me.
“Hey,” I grunt, grabbing a t-shirt off the couch and pulling it over my head. Today, we’ll talk.
“I just needed to grab something,” he says, as if it’s some sort of revelation.
“Cool.” I pick up a few bottles to check their contents, but each of them is bone dry. Cyrus stands there, watching me.
“When was the last time you even went to class?” Cyrus asks. “I haven’t seen you in Econ in two weeks.”
“What do you care?” I drop onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. If he noticed I wasn’t in class, it undermines my working theory. He shouldn’t notice my absence, and he definitely shouldn’t care. I’m going to have to reconsider some things.
“No reason. I just thought you were on scholarship.” He waits for me to respond, when I don’t, he continues, “You okay, man?”
“Don’t worry about me,” I say flatly. “I’m living my best life.”
“I can see that.” He looks around our dorm room. “You want me to have my maid stop by?”
“Doesn’t bother me,” I say.
“I can see that, too.” He sighs, and it’s a sound I recognize. Disappointment.
I must have achieved a new standard of disappointing, if full-time party animal and part-time roommate Cyrus Eaton thinks I’m underachieving.
“Look, have you talked to…” he trails off as my phone begins to buzz on the coffee table. “Your phone is ringing.”
“I hear it.”
“Are you going to answer it?” he asks.
“Nah. It does that a lot. Nobody I want to talk to.” I shift away from him, considering a nap.
The phone stops ringing, but then I hear Cyrus say, “Hello? Yeah, hold on.”
I roll over and glare at him. So much for my nap.
“It’s Francie,” he says, holding it out to me.
It’s too late to pretend that I’m gone, and he knows it. Cyrus is putting me on the spot. So much for being the cool roommate who’s never here. Now he’s definitely sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
I jump off my bed and swipe the phone from him. “Hey.”
“Sterling!” Francie’s voice
