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  Everything was cool. Everything was fine.

  Though it got decidedly less fine when she finally left their apartment building and crossed the park back to her dormitory, in what could only be described as an actual and real Walk of Shame.

  Of course, she knew what such a thing was. She’d seen her roommate Jill make enough of them to understand the concept. Basically, you smeared as much makeup around your face as humanly possible, put all of your clothes on backward and inside out, and then skulked home with a red A emblazoned on your forehead, through the morning mist.

  And maybe while said walk happened, a boob fell out. Which thankfully did not happen to her, but by God she’d seen it happen to Jill. And though this fact probably made her somewhat less of a shame walker than her roommate, though it comforted her as she stumbled home in boots that no longer seemed to fit her, sweater trailing off one shoulder…she couldn’t escape one glaring problem—

  At least Jill had never turned herself into an actual human centipede.

  Because that was clearly what they’d done. Gossip around campus wasn’t going to stay low and muted after this. If anyone saw her, and guessed—and they wouldn’t have had to try very hard, considering how cringe-y and weird she felt—it’d be everywhere before she could get to her Contemporary Literature class.

  So it hardly surprised her that she’d started running before she’d even hit the dorms. She took the stairs two at a time despite having all the lower-body strength of a tomato, fingers crossed all the while that Jill would be somewhere else.

  Like Brazil.

  But unfortunately for her, Jill had not decided to immigrate to Brazil just yet. She sat on the edge of her bed when Bobbi slid into the room, already dressed and immaculately made up—as though some party was about to start just down the hall. Or more likely, some party had just finished, somewhere down the hall.

  And she looked deeply suspicious before Bobbi had even uttered a word.

  “Where have you been?”

  She thought of her options. Most of them involved manholes and tripping over things.

  “Nowhere.”

  Nowhere seemed safest. Nowhere wasn’t a lie, exactly.

  “Don’t lie. You stayed at their place, didn’t you?”

  She clutched at the nearest thing she could find—in this case, the hem of her sweater—and tried to look as though she wasn’t holding her breath. Jill knew all the signs of guilt, and oxygen deprivation was surely one of them.

  “We…uh…”

  “Do you have any idea how wasted they are on you? A year you’ve hung out with those two, and not so much as a kiss on the cheek.”

  She thought of some very particular kisses in some very specific places, and went hot, then cold. Then back to hot again. Could you read it on someone’s face when they’d had sex? She felt as though the whole thing blazed right out of her, whenever she considered it.

  “You could at least give them my number, you know?” Jill continued, but Bobbi couldn’t make sense of the words anymore. Her phone had started buzzing in her pocket, and she had a good idea of who was calling.

  They’ve come home and found an empty apartment. As though you did something awful, like fleeing the scene of the crime.

  “I swear, I gave it to them.”

  She had, too. She’d even implied that Jill could bend her legs around the back of her head, but neither of them had seemed interested. In fact, when she really thought about it, neither of them had seemed interested in anyone for a really, really long time.

  “So how come they haven’t called?”

  She couldn’t think of an adequate answer to that. Because they’ve been busy sounded like a lie, because they want me instead like something she’d hallucinated while feverish.

  “I’m sure they will. Real soon.”

  Hell, they were calling right now. Her phone stopped buzzing, and then just started right back up again a second later. Any moment, and Jill was going to notice.

  “Are you going to answer that, or what?”

  Or maybe she was just going to notice right now.

  “It’s just my mom. I forgot to call her last night about a family…meeting.”

  It sounded reasonable, once she’d gotten the words out. Unfortunately, the shaky tone and the hand wringing she was doing likely didn’t help matters.

  “So answer it, then,” Jill said, which didn’t seem like much on its own. But all the dead-eyed staring Jill was doing meant more, she was certain.

  “I’ll answer it later.”

  “Maybe you should answer it now.”

  She imagined Sebastian’s voice coming down the phone at her, all half-concerned and just ever so slightly bullish about it. How come you left? We were going to have fun. And oh no, oh no she just couldn’t. Not in front of Jill. It would show on her face for definite then, and even if it didn’t she wasn’t sure what she’d be able to get away with saying.

  Yeah, I’ll swing by later seemed like the safest option, only then they’d actually expect her to. And she had the sinking feeling that doing so was going to prove hard. Almost impossible, in fact.

  Dear God she’d had sex with them both.

  “I really don’t feel like answering it now. I need a shower. Their shower wasn’t working.” Of course, her explanation needed more than that. It required a hint of color, and some huge lies. “They live like animals, you know. I don’t even know why you want to go out with them, in all seriousness. Honestly, they’re hugely gross.”

  She thought of the neat hospital corners on both their beds. Then of course started thinking about what had gone on in one of those beds, all over again.

  “And I’m just gonna go and wash some of the gross off. I think I slept on a pizza.”

  Man it meant a lot to get that pizza comment out. It sounded so real, so perfect, and oh the relief when the suspicious look drained from Jill’s face. For a second she’d felt like an ant under a magnifying glass, but one well-timed lie about their fake horrible habits and everything just went away.

  She was free to lock herself in the bathroom, lean against the door, and silently beg her phone to stop ringing and ringing and ringing.

  Chapter Four

  By the second day, they had resorted to low blows. They knew her weaknesses well, and when “hey, just come over and we’ll talk” failed, they went for her hard. After Feminist Theory, she opened her phone to the following message—

  “Hello…Roberta. We have recently discovered that you—just shut up, Tobe, shut up—left a book of yours here. We believe it’s a book you like, full of cool things you probably really need for class. And if you were to stop by tonight and pick it up, you would be welcome to a slice of this giant carrot cake we made. Yours sincerely, your totally awesome best friends Tobias and Sebastian.”

  Lord. A formal mode of address with almost no hint of sex, a book she couldn’t remember leaving that likely had vital information in it, and carrot cake. They really knew how to lure her into their web of probable depravity.

  And yet somehow she still found herself in their hallway, unable to just knock. It sent her right back to the first time she’d ever walked up the narrow, wooden stairway to their perfectly tasteful apartment, with its varnished green door and its little brass knocker, and then inside—all the heavy wood everywhere. The huge sash windows with the ornamental frames, the fireplace she could have lived inside, the tiles on the bathroom floor.

  Old money, she’d thought, even though they weren’t, and then an intense feeling of intimidation had gone through her—just as it did now. They were both so…clean and bright and perfect. Even when involved in slightly perverted threesomes, they remained clean and bright and perfect.

  Whereas she was…someone who couldn’t even knock.

  She raised her fist a dozen times before stopping just short, every conversation starter she could possibly go with prancing through her head. How’s training going? was a big one, but it had the slightest sexual undercurrent.
After all, what was training but a form of physical activity? And what was sex, but that said same thing?

  No. No. She couldn’t go with that. And she couldn’t go with the weather, either, because it hadn’t rained for days and what could you really say about a sort of sunless gray nothing?

  Oh, I see it’s really wintry out today, again. Awesome.

  She put her head in her hands right there, outside their door. She could hear one of them talking—little more than a metallic hum, really—but it felt like some special form of torture. They were just through there, her two best friends, and she simply couldn’t go in.

  Lucky, really, that Sebastian made the choice for her. He just flung the door open about halfway into her agonizing, and almost caught her trying to rub the memories out of her head by massaging her temples vigorously.

  “Bobbi,” he said, as though surprised. Of course she knew he couldn’t be, because he wouldn’t have opened the door in such a big rush if he’d just heard Mrs. Finnerty stomping about in the hallway.

  He would have shouted, All right, Mrs. Finnerty, we’ll stop walking around on our massive feet through the door, and then she could have just snuck away and not had to face this. Oh God, why couldn’t she be Mrs. Finnerty?

  “How are you?” he asked, and that was even worse than the breathless Bobbi he’d just uttered. It sounded like the message he’d left on her phone, all carefully formal and straightforward. Funny, but somehow not, at the same time.

  She felt like replying, Oh I am particularly resplendent this fine evening.

  Instead she went with her old standby, “Cool.”

  And then found herself rooted to the spot, one hand twisting and twisting at the strap of her bag. It didn’t matter all that much, however, because Sebastian hardly seemed capable of anything further. He didn’t invite her in, or step aside, or inquire as to her health. He just stood in the doorway, expression tense.

  Clad only in a bathrobe.

  Of course her immediate instinct was to ask him why he’d answered the door dressed in barely anything. But she rejected the urge because…well…what if he actually answered? There were only so many things he could possibly say, and “I felt like getting into my bathrobe early today” didn’t seem like one of them.

  They’ve got a woman in there, her mind threw up. A woman who’s actually willing to do threesomes with them.

  And then she just wanted to puke all over his big, stupid, crooked feet.

  “You want to come in?” he asked, and some of the other woman fear abated. After all, he wouldn’t invite her in if they had someone else there, would he? They would never rub it in her face like that, even if they were mad that she hadn’t answered them for a few days.

  Or at least, she hoped so. She could hear Tobias talking to someone in the kitchen the minute she walked in, and Sebastian was behaving in a very awkward, uncharacteristic sort of way. When he stepped aside to let her past, he made such a wide circle he had to hold onto the door with his fingertips.

  And once she was safely inside, rather than squeeze by her to get to the kitchen he went all the way around the couch and both armchairs. As though somehow she’d contracted cooties in the intervening days, and he was doing his level best to avoid catching them.

  It made her heart sink, while her mind rejoiced.

  Hooray! No complicated, terrifying threesomes for us! He’s disgusted—now we can go back to being buddies who bash each other so hard on the shoulder we knock each other unconscious.

  She wrung at the strap of her bag harder, and strained to hear what was going on in the kitchen. Not that she had to strain very hard, however, because a second later Sebastian’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Hey, you know who’s here, Tobe? Roberta Tomlinson!”

  In fact, it came through a little too loud and clear. As though he needed to signal something to Tobias, and could only do so through big bold words and the use of her full name.

  Her mind stopped rejoicing. She wasn’t sure if it would ever rejoice again, when Tobias came out of the kitchen with his arm slung over Christian Carter’s shoulder. Christian Carter—computer whiz, jerkface, and owner of the blog entitled “Sordid Things People Do At Brier”.

  Of course, her mind was almost definitely exaggerating the name of his little gossip column. And in truth, it wasn’t even really a gossip column. He just liked to talk about college business, and if the occasional juicy tidbit wandered its way onto there, well.

  Who could blame him?

  And who could blame her for losing all the oxygen in her body, in one big whoosh?

  “Bobbi, you remember Christian Carter, don’t you?”

  She didn’t like the way Tobias said the kid’s name. It sounded as though he was really saying, Bobbi, you remember this dangerous asshole, don’t you?

  “Sure I do. Hello, Christian,” she replied, which roughly translated into, Oh my fucking God, our threesome is showing on my face. His next blog post is going to be “Human Centipede Living Within Brier’s Walls”.

  Christian said, “Oh, hey…you.”

  It came out like a casual backhand from Christian’s mouth. She didn’t mind, however. The less he noticed her, the better this whole thing was going to go. Hopefully he’d just shove past her on his way out, and not even remember she’d been there.

  Or maybe he’d remember her and write about what a giant, threesome-having whore she was.

  Yeah, maybe that would happen.

  “Christian’s just here to deliver his quarter of our assignment,” Sebastian said, and it chilled her blood to hear him so big-voiced and over-explanatory. He was verging on panicked, and that just didn’t suit him.

  “We didn’t even know he was coming over,” Tobias added, which only made things worse. If they kept loudly signaling to her like this she was going to need a paper bag to breathe into.

  “Yeah, well thank God I did because you two have made a mess of this,” Christian said, and then horror of horrors he actually sat down in one of their armchairs and started going through a bunch of papers on the coffee table.

  For a long moment, everyone who wasn’t Christian didn’t seem to know what to do. She saw Sebastian shoot a look at Tobias, and Tobias stared open-mouthed at the back of Christian’s neck, but beyond that it was simply a game of sleeping statues.

  Everyone froze. As though if any of them moved, evidence of their sexual shenanigans would leak out and spill all over Christian.

  “Look, Chris—we can talk about this tomorrow,” Sebastian tried, but he was shot down immediately. And not even with something constructive or relevant to whatever project they were all doing together.

  “It’s Christian,” he said. “Not Chris.”

  She would have punched him, if she’d had a magical punch-erasing time machine about her person.

  “Okay,” Sebastian said, which sounded pleasant enough. But she saw his upper lip disappear into his mouth, and those big arms fold over his chest. If Christian kept this up, tension was going to make Seb escort him out of the building.

  Through the nearest window.

  “Why don’t we all have some cake?” Tobias suggested, but he looked just as mad as Sebastian. And when he glanced at her his eyes said it all—One wrong move and we’re busted. “Bobbi—you want some cake?”

  She thought about saying no. The best thing would be to just grab her book and go, but if she did that, would it seem suspicious? As if she just had to get out of there right away, before something untoward happened?

  Possibly, but then how would it look if she sat down for cake? Worse, most likely. Christian didn’t seem bothered right now, but who knew how he’d feel in five minutes when she lost all control of herself and attacked Sebastian’s face with her vagina?

  “Bobbi?” Tobias asked again, because somehow she’d lost about three minutes to more agonizing, and probably looked insane. Tobias was certainly eyeing her like that was the case. “Do you maybe want a slice of cake?”

&
nbsp; He said it carefully. Like the way you might speak to a feral wolf-child.

  “Oh. Uh. Sure. Cake.”

  God, no wonder he thought she’d just escaped from the woods. Even her words came out as though she’d never experienced civilization.

  “Okay. Why don’t you sit down?”

  He pointed to the couch, just to make it extra clear. She wondered if it was possible to die of a mixture of embarrassment and terror.

  “Here, Bobs—I’ll take your jacket.”

  Yeah, definitely possible.

  She tried to communicate to Sebastian with her eyes. Please, do not come over here and take my jacket. Just stay there, with your arms folded.

  But he didn’t get the message. He just shrugged with his eyebrows instead, and approached her like Frankenstein’s monster. Arms out. Hands reaching. Everything about him screaming, I am going to touch you now, because I can.

  She tried to go neither stiff nor limp when he put one barely there hand on her arm and urged her to turn around. Both tasks proved impossible, however. She went stiff and limp all at the same time, because it wasn’t like some random person ushering another person out of their jacket. It felt as if he wanted to put her into a certain position, like the other night when he’d sort of…manhandled her.

  Only manhandled wasn’t the right word. His touch was too gentle, too deliberate, and even when he stood almost right up against her body like some immense new shadow she’d grown, she didn’t feel intimidated.

  Her body had turned to liquid instead.

  And then he slid a hand under her collar and ohhhh Lord. She almost jerked away, the swell of sensation was so intense. He’d barely done anything at all, really, but it came nonetheless and carried on all the way through him sliding the jacket down, down, over her arms.

  She could almost feel his heavy knuckles grazing her through the sweater she’d worn, as he eased the whole thing off. And once he’d done it she could still make out the imprint of his fingers on the nape of her neck, the shadow of his body almost against hers.

  It made her ache. She could admit it now. It made her ache in ways she’d never fully experienced before.