“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s ok. If I creep you out again, just don’t punch me in the stomach.”
“Orlando, you didn’t creep me out. It just . . . it just didn’t work.”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, “well, you’re a nice guy for saying that.”
Down the hall, somebody was blasting Korn, and two guys stumbled out into the hall headbanging and screaming.
Over the blare of music, Auggie said, “I guess we’re neighbors.”
“I’m not going to bother you, Augs.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Orlando’s dark eyes fell, and he fiddled with the flaps of the cardboard box. “Ok, well, I gotta finish bringing up my stuff.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah, I mean, sophomore year. Last year, my parents, my brothers and sisters, they were climbing all over each other to help. This year, I guess I’m an adult and I’m supposed to handle things myself. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Auggie said, but he was thinking of Fer driving halfway across the country with him. “Let me put on some clothes and I’ll help you.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, it’ll just take me a minute.”
“Augs, that’s weird. You don’t have to be nice to your psycho ex-roommate.”
“I’m not being nice. I mean, I guess I am. But you’re not psycho. And you’re not just my ex-roommate. I thought we were friends.”
Orlando played the cardboard flaps. When he looked up, his eyes were dark and heavy. “God, you want me so bad, don’t you?”
Auggie stared at him.
A tiny grin played at the corner of Orlando’s mouth.
“You are such a dick,” Auggie said.
Orlando burst out laughing.
“Let me change. Oh, hold on. Do you want to do something fun? Like a move-in video? We could do like . . . well, let’s see if Ethan wants to be in it. We could have him move your stuff every time we bring up more boxes. Or something like that.”
“And I have to pretend to be mad,” Orlando said.
“You’re shit at being mad. Maybe you should just pretend to be dumb.”
“Hey!”
Auggie grinned.
“Go change,” Orlando said, “before I forget how generous I’m being by providing you with free content.”
Over his shoulder, Auggie flipped him the bird as he went back into his room. He changed and went next door. As soon as Ethan heard their plan, he wanted in on it. He was good looking, too, which helped—dark brown skin, huge eyes, a nervous smile that Auggie’s audience would eat up. Not as good looking as Orlando, and that was a good thing too. You had to balance that kind of thing, or it started looking like a Gap commercial.
They were on their third trip up, both of them with arms full of boxes, when a familiar voice called out, “Little bro, you’re missing the house meeting.”
Dylan was leaning against one wall, blond curls spilling over his forehead, an unreadable smirk on his mouth as he watched Auggie. He was in a blue paisley tank top that showed blond stubble on his chest. He had massive legs.
“Hey,” Auggie said, smiling—too big of a smile, he realized. Then he stumbled, and he would have fallen except Dylan caught his arm and steadied the tower of boxes. Dylan’s grip was solid. He still had that smirk that Auggie couldn’t decipher.
“Careful,” Dylan said.
Sweat beaded on Auggie’s nape.
“Augs,” Orlando said from the stairs.
“Yeah,” Auggie said. “Coming.”
“See you around, little bro,” Dylan said, releasing Auggie’s arm.
“Who’s that douche?” Orlando said when they were passing the second-floor landing.
“He’s actually pretty cool. His name’s Dylan.”
Orlando shook his head.
“What?”
“I just forgot that sometimes you’re kind of dumb.”
About the Author
Learn more about Gregory Ashe and forthcoming works at www.gregoryashe.com.
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