The Absence of Olivia(4)
She also had rules. Rules she was perfectly up front and open about with her partners. 1) No cheating, as in no sleeping with a guy who was in a relationship. She didn’t invite, participate in, or tolerate “girl drama.” 2) No communication drama; she didn’t expect them to call her, and she didn’t plan to call them. If they called, they called, but no expectations. 3) Safe sex – always. This was one of the rules she had that I fully supported. 4) The minute it wasn’t fun anymore, it was over. 5) No one stayed the night, not at our dorm or wherever he lived. And I swear, the minute the guys got even remotely territorial, she bailed.
Even I could recognize she had a view of sexual relationships beyond her years. I thought maybe she’d watched too many episodes of Sex and the City while we were in high school.
I let out a sigh because I knew there was nothing I could say to make her change her ways, and if she did, she wouldn’t be the Liv I loved. I walked to my closet, which was just across from hers, and started peeling off my sticky-wet clothes.
“What in the world happened to you?” Liv asked, noticing my predicament.
“Some jerk ran into me at the café and my soda spilled all down my front.” I took off the borrowed shirt to show her the damage, tossing the handsome stranger’s plaid button up into my laundry basket.
“Oh,” Liv said, staring at my shirt. “I love that bra.”
I laughed, because, of course she did. “Yeah, well, so did everyone else who saw it through my drenched shirt.” I pulled the linen tank over my head, not enjoying the feeling of the wet fabric peeling away from my skin at all. “Luckily, some nice guy literally gave me the shirt off his back.”
“How gentlemanly of him. At least he didn’t just stare at your boobs,” she said as she pulled on some shorts.
“Well,” I said, taking off the rest of my clothes and wrapping a towel around my body. “I think he got an eyeful before he offered his shirt. But he was a gentleman. He let me keep the shirt.” I grabbed my shower caddy and turned to her just as she pulled her top over her head. “I’m gonna grab a shower. Are we still doing dinner tonight?”
“Sure thing. I’ll meet you here right after my last class.”
“Okay. Try not to be in the middle of a sex act next time I come home.”
“How about I just lock the door?”
“I’ll settle for that,” I said with a laugh, then paused before heading to the shower. “See you later. Are you headed to your lit class?”
She smiled wickedly. “Yeah. And it should be a lot more exciting now that Brandon’s, um, unsatisfied.” She continued to smile as she adjusted her hair in the mirror. Hair that looked like sex hair but also fantastic. I rolled my eyes and left the room, shaking my head all the way to the shower.
It had been three weeks since the soda incident and I would have been lying to myself if I didn’t admit to looking at every guy I passed on campus for the first two weeks trying to find Devon. I wasn’t sure what I would have said to him had I seen him on the sidewalk or as I walked to class, or in line at the bookstore, or even back at the café where we had met. And I couldn’t help that my eyes roamed to every face, searched the back of every guy I saw for those wide shoulders and too-long blondish hair.
So, I struggled with both surprise and relief when I finally laid my eyes on him, as he approached me, Liv’s arm threaded through the crook of his elbow.
“Evie,” she said, her words slurred, most likely from the copious amounts of vodka she’d consumed. “This is Devon.” She motioned toward him then swung her arm toward me. “Devon, this is my best friend and roommate, Evie.”
I should have said hello, should have reached out to shake his hand, but all I could manage to do was stare at her hand on his forearm.
“Oh yeah, hey, Evie. Nice to see you again.” His deep voice accosted me just like it had three weeks before.
“You know Evie?” Liv asked with a little too much drunken enthusiasm.
“We met a few weeks ago when some douchebag spilled her soda.”
My eyes managed to tear themselves away from where her hand rested on his arm, which was causing me to feel things I wasn’t used to, only to see Devon’s eyes dart back to my breasts, obviously remembering what I looked like in a wet white shirt.
“You’re the guy who gave her his shirt?” she squealed. If the music hadn’t been so loud, it surely would have been deafening. “She sleeps in that shirt sometimes,” Liv offered, much to my complete embarrassment.
“Liv!” I shouted, mortified. I immediately heated, starting in my cheeks. I knew I was blushing furiously. My eyes darted up to Devon, but I couldn’t look at him. I did sleep in his shirt, it was true. It was also mortifying.
“You sleep in my shirt?” His voice, even over the music, sounded soft and sort of gentle. It wasn’t critical, or even playful. He wasn’t making fun of me. So I answered him honestly.
I shrugged. “It’s pretty big, so it works as a nightie.”
Before he could respond, I steeled as Liv curled up around his large, muscled arm. “Devon was just going to take me to the dance floor.” Her eyes were dreamy, probably a mixture of lust and drunkenness.
“Well, have fun dancing. I’m probably going to head home soon.”