I would give anything to make this pain stop. If there were a pill I could take to feel better, I’d swallow it in a heartbeat.
No.No. I’mnotgoing to go down that path.
But what can I do to feel better? There must besomethingthat could dull this awful pain.
I pace across the bedroom a few times, then I grab my keys off my desk and head out the door. I get to the stairwell, but instead of going downstairs, toward the exit, I find myself going upstairs.
Abe lives upstairs—one flight up, to be exact. But I’m not looking for Abe right now. I’m looking for his roommate.
Mason.
No matter what negative things I could say about him (and there are many), that guy is very, very attractive. He has those hazel eyes and that killer grin. When he gets into the hospital as a third-year, the nurses are going to go wild for him. He’ll probably sleep with half the hospital staff.
An hour with Mason will help me forget about Landon. Mason is like the perfect rebound guy—he’s hot, and I don’t care about him at all. And he looks like he’d be up for a little no-strings-attached action. I’m pretty sure all hot guys are at least halfway decent in bed, if only because they get a lot of experience.
I stand outside the door to Mason and Abe’s dorm room, taking inventory of my appearance and working up my nerve. Okay, I don’t look amazing or anything. I don’t have a scrap of makeup on, but at least I’m showered and wearing clean clothes, even if my jeans and sweater aren’t outright sexy.
Maybe I should go back downstairs and put on some lip gloss. Of course, if I do, I’ll probably chicken out. Oh God, this is scary. How do you hit on a guy?
I knock timidly. Once.
I hear footsteps, and it’s pretty obvious that those resounding thumps belong to Abe. Crap. How am I going to explain to him that I want to hook up with his roommate? Before I have a chance to think about it, the door swings open.
Abe’s face lights up when he sees me. “Hey, Heather.”
“Oh, hi…” I wrack my brain to think of a believable reason why I’d need to talk to Mason. I draw a blank.
Abe raises his red-orange eyebrows at me. “What’s up?”
I swallow. “Is… is Mason home?”
Abe frowns. I wonder if he has any idea what I’m thinking. “No, he’s probably at the library. He’s always at the library.”
Damn.“Oh.”
Abe steps aside. “Are you okay, Heather? Do you want to come in?”
I like Abe, don’t get me wrong. But I came here for a booty call, and now that it’s not going to happen, I feel completely deflated. Still, Abe can lend a sympathetic ear, at least. And I’m clearly not going to get any studying done.
I’ve never been inside Abe’s dorm room before, and let me tell you, their living room is disgusting. I mean, really disgusting. There are two empty pizza boxes and a few half-full beer bottles on their coffee table, and I can see a partially eaten crust abandoned under the table. I scan the floor for insects or rodents and can’t find any, but I do spot a pair of boxer shorts hanging off the edge of their ratty, stained futon sofa. Abe is nice enough to yank it off.
“Sorry,” he says, blushing. “Not mine.”
I’m seriously considering asking him to put a blanket on the futon so that I don’t have to sit on it directly. Of course, yesterday, I was elbow deep in Frank’s intestines, so maybe I shouldn’t be such a diva. I plop myself down between a brownand a yellow stain and bury my face in my palms in an overly dramatic gesture.
Abe’s large hand falls on my back. He rubs my shoulder gently.
“Heather,” he murmurs. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I just shake my head. To say it will make it real.
“Come on, Heather,” he says. “It’sme.”
Finally, his kindness gets the better of me. I start sobbing, mourning three lost years of a guy I thought I was going to marry someday. I’m definitely not going to marry him now. I may even hate him.
Abe just sits with me, rubbing my back, eventually getting up to fetch me some tissues (well, toilet paper). I’m glad it’s just Abe with me, because I am not attractive when I’m crying. My eyes swell up, and my nose is clogged with fresh snot. Good thing Mason isn’t here to see this.
Abe scoops up the hand that isn’t holding snotty tissues and squeezes it in his own. He could easily crush my hand in his, but his touch is surprisingly gentle.
