But then…kissing Blondie was different. I can’t stop thinking about her plush lips on mine, about the feel of her slender curves under my hands, and I’m not sure if I can blame that on the simple fact that I keep allowing these physical things to happen between us despite my No Repeats rule. Shit, that rule is exactly why I should cancel right now and walk away—give us both some much-needed breathing space until our hormones, or whatever it is that’s making us crazy horny for each other, have settled and we’re thinking clearly again.
Butcanceling on her would mean missing out on Phi Sigma’s legendary annualBoos and Boozeparty—the first shindig of the partying variation I’ve allowed myself to attend since our fauxmance began—and I refuse to let my costume, which I’ve been planning in meticulous detail for the past several weeks, go to waste. Sure, I could go on my own, but what kind of messagewould that send? It certainly wouldn’t help to make it look any less like we’ve broken up. And regardless of what happened last night, I’m not ready to walk away from this agreement. Not when we’ve come this far already, and there’s still a chance it can work.
No, what we need right now is a united front. And if there’s one occasion when my parents can forgive me for attending a party, it’s Halloween. So long as I behave myself, and don’t get drunk or make a scene, it’ll all be fine. And hopefully, in the meantime, Blondie and I can put these pesky break-up rumors to rest.
I tug my phone from my pocket and tap the screen, pulling up my chat thread with Blondie as I skip up the steps to Garfield Hall. Our last two messages glare at me, and though they’re no tonally different from our other texts, I can’t help second-guessing if that kiss yesterday ruined the dynamic between us.
Me
Are we still on for tonight? Where should I meet you? I can swing by at 9
Blondie
Garfield Hall. Room 237
Blondie has always been rather direct with me, but there was something so…blunt about her answer. Well, more blunt than usual. I’m probably imagining it. And if I’m not—if sheispissed at me for…I don’t know, kissing her back?—well, then things are about to get a whole lot more awkward.
I yank open the door to the building and make my way up the necessary two flights of stairs to reach Room 237, as instructed. Returning my phone to my pocket, I straighten my back and, bracing myself, rap my knuckles sharply on the door. Beyond it, I hear the muffled cadence of voices, followed by a chorus oflaughter, which bodes well for whatever mood I’m likely to find Blondie in. My heart thumps hard against my rib cage when the door opens a moment later, but it isn’t my fake girlfriend who answers.
“Damian,” Ronnie says, scowling at me from the other side of the threshold.
Right. I forgot. Blondie doesn’t live on campus, so that must mean this is Ronnie’s room.
“Well, hi there, Red.” I grip the rim of my oversized hat and tip it forward in greeting. As I push it back into place, my eyes dip, noting the shiny fire-engine red platform boots and the minuscule Union Jack mini-dress that’s barely long enough to protect her from an indecent exposure charge. “Nice costume. What are you supposed to be, some kind of British wet dream?”
“I’m Ginger Spice, dickhead. From the Spice Girls?” When I just stare at her blankly, she clicks her tongue. “Ugh, you uncultured swine. Anyway, what areyousupposed to be?” she counters, looking me up and down. “A giant yellow douche?”
I snort.Now, who’s the uncultured swine?“As much as I love the inside of a woman’s vagina, if you must know, I’m—” Movement behind Ronnie catches my eye, and I let out a disturbed yelp of shock. “Dear god, what are youwearing?”
Blondie pauses halfway across the room and looks over at me, confusion furrowing her brow. She peers down at herself—as if, in the span of the last however many minutes, she somehow forgot what she put on her body—then glances back up at me, pushing her glasses up her cute little nose. “I’m a calculator,” she answers, shrugging.
I brush past Ronnie and step into the room, gaping in horror at the ungodly sight before me. Up close, the costume is even worse than it had looked from the hallway. Blondie is basically dressed in an ankle-length black trash bag with sleeves that’sbeen decorated with the same buttons and symbols you’d find on a graphing calculator. It’s detailed…and beyond hideous.
“Listen, Dornan, I know math is your thing or whatever, but this is too far. That costume is a monstrosity.”And is taking your little cosplay fetish to a whole new uncomfortable level.
“Hey, I made that!” I hear someone whine, and my gaze shifts to where Andie sits at one of the two desks in the dorm room, dressed in a green cloak, a platinum blonde wig that is striking against her tan complexion, and prosthetic elf ears, her hand frozen halfway to her face with a makeup brush clamped between her fingers. When she frowns at me, I clap my palms together and tilt my head in a plea for forgiveness.
“My sincerest apologies. Truly,” I say before turning my attention back to Blondie. Did she run out of her cosplay fun money already or accept this as an act of charity? “Irregardless, you can’t wear that.”
“Irregardless isn’t a word,” Blondie retorts. “And why not? It’s Halloween, and last I checked, thisisa costume.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie barks. “She can wear whatever she wants, fuckwad.”
I groan. “But if she wears that thenmycostume won’t make sense.” I pull the backpack I brought with me off my shoulder and plop it down on the floor between us. Unzipping it, I yank out the treasure inside. “It’s our first Halloween together, baby,” I say with all the gusto of a man proposing marriage. “We gotta coordinate.”
Blondie reels back, her upper lip curling. “What thehellis that?”
I hold up the outfit I had specifically designed for her to accompany mine, unsure what part of it could possibly be confusing.
“It’s a monkey costume,” I answer, waving one hand at the outfit as if that will magically make them all appreciatethe genius of my idea. “Monkey,” I say again, slowly this time, pointing to the costume, and then gesturing to my own adventurer’s ensemble, complete with collared shirt, pants, brown boots, spotted tie, and best of all, a ginormous cone-shaped hat. “The Man with the Yellow Hat,” I proclaim proudly. When nobody in the room reacts, I ask, “Haven’t any of you ever seenCurious George? Adorable animated rascal of a monkey and his BFF slash owner human? No?” A devastated gasp escapes me. “What kind of childhood did you even have?”
“One I clearly grew out of, unlike you, the grown man dressed as a cartoon character,” Blondie mutters.
I pout. “Come on, Blondie. I can’t be the Man with the Yellow Hat without a George. Please?”
“You don’t actually expect me to wear a slutty monkey costume?” she says, aghast. Beside her, Ronnie nods in silent solidarity, which is rich considering the feisty redhead is one gentle breeze away from exposing her vagina to campus.
I press a hand to my chest, insulted. “The audacity,” I scoff. “It’s not slutty, it’sadorable! Look at its little tail!” I poke said tail to make it wag, but this doesn’t seem to sway her. So, I do the adult thing and resort to sulking. “And, like, not to be rude or whatever, but I refuse to be seen with you wearingthat,” I grumble, pointing at the black bag swallowing her body that’s currently masquerading as a costume.
