Jack woke up staring at a ceiling that wasn’t his own. He peeked under the bed sheets—he was naked, and his skin had returned to its normal color. The nurse had done a thorough job of cleaning him last night. She stirred beside him, and Jack sighed.
This was the hard part. The wake-up call could go one of three ways.
One: The girl he’d slept with didn’t care that this had been a one night stand with no possible future. (This was the best-case scenario.)
Two: The girl did care, but pretended she didn’t to either save face or to try to convince him she was cool to date. Still good.
Three: The girl did care and was a crier and/or a screamer. Criers and screamers ranked equally bad on the scale of unpleasant, morning-after talks, beaten only by a combination of the two.
Jack really wasn’t in the mood for a shouting match. His head was throbbing, and he needed another hot shower—alone this time. Maybe he could sneak out before she woke up. Pity he was trapped against the wall and not on the easy-escape side of the bed. He could try to climb over the nurse without waking her, but it didn’t seem likely.
The nurse stretched. “Morning,” she said.
Jack sighed again. Time for the talk.
The girl got up immediately without trying to cuddle—a promising sign. She got dressed, and Jack did the same, taking in the whole room as he searched for the exit door.
“Stop acting like a trapped animal,” said the nurse, who was no longer dressed as a nurse—she was wearing a pair of black leggings and a Harvard sweatshirt. “I’m not going to make a scene if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll make you a cup of coffee—if you want it—and send you on your way. No drama.”
Jack was surprised. He thought he’d seen it all, but this was a new level of unconcernedness. “I’ll take the coffee,” he said.
“Milk, sugar, black?”
“Black is cool.”
The studio apartment was tiny. The bed doubled as a couch, and the kitchenette was stuffed in a small corner with barely a bar and two stools. Jack sat on one.
The nurse placed a steamy mug on the countertop. “Here’s your coffee.”
“Thanks, mmm…”
“Becky. The name’s Becky.”
“I knew,” Jack lied.
She raised an eyebrow. “No need to pretend here.”
Jack couldn’t help asking, “So, we’re cool?” He usually avoided these questions like the plague.
“Yeah.”
“How come?” And here he was asking one after the other.
“I’m too busy with school to have or want a boyfriend. Alice told me you’d be perfect for a night of fun, so this”—she flipped a finger between them—“is it. Plain and simple. No strings attached.”
Jack grimaced. “Great!”
This should’ve been Jack’s dream morning-after speech, but somehow it depressed him. He felt used. Jack slapped his face with his hands to get a grip on himself; he was turning into a girl. What bothered him the most was that Alice had told this girl—Becky—he was one-night-stand material. It hurt, even if it was true. And why had Alice pushed Becky into his arms? After her stunt at the library, it made little sense.
Yesterday afternoon she’d tried to kiss him, and he suspected there were feelings involved. He was sure it wasn’t by chance she’d somehow showed up at the same Halloween party just a few hours later. Had she wanted to make him jealous? He would have assumed that was the case, except the whole night she’d acted as if nothing had happened between them. She’d barely spoken to him, pushed him to hook up with another girl, and then she’d left with Peter.
Jack’s blood boiled. If this was all a perverse plan to make him jealous, it was working. The thought of Alice and Peter together made his seat too hot. He’d never been jealous of Alice’s boyfriends, but for some inexplicable reason, Peter was different. Jack had to know what had happened, or, hopefully, what hadn’t happened between them last night.
He finished the coffee and stood. “Well, Becky, thanks so much for the coffee”—Jack stroked the back of his head with one hand, embarrassed—“and everything else. I’ll get out of here.” Jack peeked out the window; he had no idea where Becky lived, or how they’d gotten here last night. “Err… Where’s ‘here?’”
“We’re on Litchfield street. It’s a quick walk to campus.”
“I’m making it a morning run.” He was still wearing his sporty shorts and an old sweatshirt. Mornings in Cambridge in November were viciously cold.
Becky stared, unimpressed. “Even quicker.”
She walked him to the door and opened it for him; she was kicking him out. It was a weird novelty for Jack.
“Do we hug goodbye?” he asked.
“Sure.” She gave him an unconcerned hug and waved him goodbye.
Jack jogged home. He beat his roommate to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower followed by a huge, alcohol-draining breakfast. By the time he was done, it was already mid-morning. It was time to make a call. He scrolled through his contacts with his thumb and tapped on Peter’s name.
Peter picked up on the second ring. “Sullivan, my man, what’s up?”
“Hey, Captain, you up for a one-on-one game later?”
“Can’t do,” Peter answered, and alarm bells went off inside Jack’s head. “I have a date,” he added, confirming his fears.
Jack oh-so-casually asked, “Someone I know?”
“Yep, that girl from your concentration, Alice Brown. I’m giving her a behind-the-scenes of the Lavietes.”
Jack ground his teeth and tried to speak in a normal voice. “You guys hit it off, then?”
“Nah.” Relief washed over Jack as Peter continued, “Turns out the blue paint was great to attract the attention, but a big turn off for the ladies. How did it go with your nurse?”
“I had her bathe me first,” Jack replied smugly.
“Ooooh, my man!” Peter hollered. “I should take that page out of your book. You’re a genius.”
“So you went to bed early? It wasn’t even midnight when you left.”
“No, the kitten kept me up talking until her roommate came home wasted.”
Jack stared at the phone, not sure he’d heard right. “You were up all night talking?”
“Yeah. Your friend was cool, and the paint was too weird anyway. We’ll see how it goes today.”
Jack was tense again. “What, do you plan to have sex on the court?” he snapped. “If the coach catches you, you’re dead.”
“Not on the court.” Peter chuckled. “Maybe later. Anyway, your Alice seems more of a slow burner.”
Exactly, his Alice. “And you’re okay with waiting?”
“I kind of like this girl.”
Why, of all girls, did Peter have to walk the line for Ice? “That’s a first.”
“Who knows, my man; maybe she’ll take one look at my face and decide I’m gross.” Jack doubted it. “She kept saying she was bothered she couldn’t picture how I looked under all the paint.”
“I’d run for the hills if I saw your ugly face,” Jack joked.
Peter laughed. “All right, buddy, I’ve gotta run too. See you tomorrow at practice, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later.”
Peter hung up.
Jack stood up and hurled his phone at the bed. It bounced off and landed on the carpet unscathed. Jack kicked it under the bed. What the hell was happening to him? Peter was behaving, and it made him angry instead of relieved. Why was he so mad? Who was he mad at? Alice? Peter? Himself?
On impulse, Jack picked up his gym duffel bag and decided to go to the MAC and work off some steam. Staying home and brooding definitely wasn’t an option. Instead, he’d do some cardio to sweat out the hangover, and maybe also some weight training. Homework would keep him busy for the rest of the afternoon. Jack couldn’t afford to fall behind, not with the basketball season kicking off next weekend.
An evil grin spread on his lips as Jack studied the practice schedule hanging over his bed. He wouldn’t have much idle time in the coming months, but neither would Peter have much time to woo Alice. Aha!