I checked Hudson’s text again to make sure I was at the right place before I knocked on the heavy door covered with magazine cutouts of superheroes and villains. Two name tags adorned the top, obviously made by the RA on the first day. WESLEY H. and his roommate, STEPHEN J., but Hudson’s WESLEY was covered by a picture of a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, because of course it was, and his last name had been handwritten in marker. There was a picture of puppies in a wheelbarrow below that, along with another of a hamster eating a tiny doughnut. The most interesting was a picture of a half-naked girl holding an Xbox controller.
“What’s this?” I asked when Hudson opened the door, my finger on the picture of the half-naked girl. In fairness, it was closer to Stephen J.’s side of the door so it probably wasn’t an addition made by Ice Cream Sandwich H., but still.
“That’s Trisha,” he said without missing a beat. He stepped out of the doorway, ushering me inside. “She’s working her way through law school.”
“Aren’t all strippers?” I shot back.
“Actually, they prefer the term exotic dancers,” he said, rocking onto his toes.
“So how did Trisha, Xbox enthusiast and exotic dancer working her way through law school, end up in a magazine that was then taped on your door?” I said, shifting my weight as my stomach fluttered. I was in Hudson’s room. We were talking about something totally stupid, but I was there and he was there.
“Now, that’s a great story,” he said, taking a step toward me.
“I’m sure it is,” I said, watching him. He took another step toward me until we were nearly chest to chest. His eyes were heavy, like he’d been meaning to sleep for days but just hadn’t gotten the chance.
His room was cleaner than I expected. It was cleaner than most college guys’ rooms. His side of the room was sparse. His desk was spotless; a laptop sat closed in the middle with only a pen to keep it company.
The only thing on his wall was a giant whiteboard calendar/corkboard, each block filled in with an event, but on the corkboard side, displayed for the world to see, were my three sketches pinned evenly, one next to the other. Well, maybe not the world, but at least anyone who walked into this room.
“You seem to be just full of good stories, Wesley Hudson,” I said, batting my eyes at him teasingly.
“I really am. It’s just one of my many talents,” he said with a yawn as he ran a hand through his hair.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, I’ve got loads of them.” He brought his thumb to his mouth, biting at the skin around his nail.
“Stories or talents?” I asked, pulling my bottom lip through my teeth. I wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt.
“Definitely both,” he said, breathy, his eyes on my mouth.
I closed the gap between us as I spoke. “Prove it.” I looked up at him, fisting his shirt like he’d done to my scarf at the party.
“Shit,” he whispered as my lips pressed into his. He pushed his hand into my hair, cupping the back of my head, and I melted into him.
I pulled him closer, one hand holding his shirt and the other snaking up his chest and around his neck.
“We can’t,” he said against my lips, his breath hot on my mouth.
“We can.” I nodded as he took a step away, his shirt pulling out of my hand. My fingers instinctively moving to my lips.
He breathed out deeply, his eyes on the floor as he shook his head. He looked up at me before moving to his bed, patting the spot next to him. “I want to, trust me, I really want to.” He pressed his eyes closed tightly, resting his head against the wall.
“But you can’t because I ruined it,” I said, deflating.
He patted the spot next to him again, and this time I moved. I climbed onto his bed and sat next to him, our backs pressed into the wall.
He slid his hand across the bed and into mine. “I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, too. “Where’s your roommate? Where’s Stephen J.?” I asked, trying not to focus on all the mixed signals I was giving off.
“Stephen J. is not here.”
“Clearly,” I said with a laugh.
“I kicked him out like twenty minutes ago and told him to get lost,” he said with another yawn. “I told him that you were coming over and that I wanted to be alone with you.”
I turned toward him slightly, my left shoulder against the wall. “For how long?” I asked. I brushed his hair off his forehead, my fingertips grazing his face.
Finally. I’d been waiting so long to do that.
“How long do I want to be alone with you?”
I nodded.
“Forever, of course.”
“I really want to kiss you right now, but that was the corniest thing you could have said.” I searched his face as his eyes closed and another yawn escaped.
“Being corny is one of my many talents,” he said.
“I’d love to see more of your”—I cleared my throat—“talents, but after that joke, I don’t know, you might be too corny for me.” I brought his hand to my mouth, pressing my lips into his knuckles.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. I can’t have this back-and-forth. Either we can touch each other or we can’t. You’re saying no, but you’re acting yes.”
I dropped his hand, my face turning into a frown. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just be honest.” He pulled my hand into his lap. “Because I don’t want this whole will-they-won’t-they thing. The whole we can’t be together because I’m leaving and blah, blah, blah. Either you’re in or you’re out.”
I sighed.
“Listen, this isn’t do or die. How much trouble could we get into? Let’s just do what feels right and figure it out later.…”
“But still…,” I said with no intention of finishing the thought.
“But still what? You want to keep it strictly business. I don’t like that, but fine. We can keep it strictly business. I just can’t have it both ways.” He shook his head, his eyes drifting to his lap, his voice faltering slightly. “I can’t do it.”
When I didn’t respond right away, he looked up at me. My eyes were already on him, searching for the right answer.
“Can you just kiss me, and we’ll overanalyze it later?” he asked, his words so soft that I would have missed them had I not been looking at his face.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I can,” I whispered as I leaned into him. He held my face in both hands, his thumb grazing my bottom lip as he moved closer.
“So, how do you like outer space?” he asked, his breath hot on my face. “It’s nice this time of year, right?”
“It’s perfect this time of year,” I whispered as my lips brushed his.
“Perfect for second and third kisses?” he asked, pressing his lips to my jawline.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I smiled against his lips. “But, yes, to both.”