He closed the distance between them. “Charlie,” he exhaled, standing close enough to touch. Desire surged up her spine like an electric shock.
She wasn’t imagining it, she knew that now. He used to look at her just like this, the two of them dancing to MGMT in his backyard, horny and drunk.
Twenty-two and hers for the taking. Twenty-seven and afraid of her, even as she knew that he wouldn’t walk away from this.
Remember that first night at Acronym when you went down on me in the bathroom, she wanted to ask, or demand. Remember how much you used to want this.
She turned her hands behind her and flattened her palms to the cinder block. She’d gone molten inside, speechless and pink. This had the ache of history. She knew exactly how brutal and tender it would be. This was college lust, no-tomorrow lust, take-me-here-and-kiss-me-hard-and-do-it-now lust. She’d honestly forgotten what this felt like.
Manhattan felt very far away, the map of her responsible adult life smudged. She couldn’t imagine the stack of Roger’s correspondence waiting on her desk. Everything that happened since graduation had been an interruption, a commercial break. She was not a cog fetching kombucha for billionaires who wanted to solve the problems of her generation without asking for their permission.
She slipped into the life of that girl again, the one she’d forgotten, the one she’d been before Roger and Brooklyn and Ben. Charlie Thorne, thorny bitch, torn jeans from Goodwill and peroxide from the box. Portraits to draw and term papers to draft and injustices to fight. She felt herself again, alive and dark and electric.
Reece still stared at her, the picture of pure want. She could tell that he was just barely holding on. She could step forward, take what she wanted and meet no protest. She knew exactly what would happen, how he’d grab her hips in his big hands and open her up. How he’d gasp her name. Reece always said her name with a certain tremor of worship.
His hands hung empty at his side, fingers twitching.
Let’s go back in time, Charlie.
Her phone trilled in her back pocket. Reece jerked, his hand curling into a fist. He frowned as she reached for the device on impulse, her fingers prepared to swipe and accept the call. She squinted through the haze of her arousal and read Roger’s name on the screen.
She sent it to voicemail, but the spell was broken. Charlotte licked her dry lips. Reece’s face had closed to her again.
Heating bill electric bill wifi bill health insurance dental insurance credit card bill art department transfer you idiot you disgrace—
What was she doing? She had so much riding on this weekend, she couldn’t afford to get distracted. She couldn’t afford to be anything but fine.
“Let me walk you home,” Reece said again.
When they reached her door, he pulled her up against him, forcing her onto her tiptoes. His face pressed against her bare neck as her hands rose to grab his shoulders. It was so much more than a hug. This was a desperate cling of if only and I want. He clutched her so tightly that she thought she might faint.
His breath caught on her neck while they clung to each other, his mouth a little open.
When he let her go, she could practically taste him, chocolate chip cookies and flavored seltzer. But just as suddenly, he stepped back. Then he turned and walked away.
She waited for him to glance over his shoulder, to steal one last look at her before he fled, but he didn’t. Reece disappeared into the stairwell, and she heard his feet hit the steps all the way to the third floor.
Charlotte wanted to sink against the door and down to the carpet. She wanted to wallow in this feeling, this abstract painting of bloodred attraction and violet regret. She wanted to go over every detail of being in his arms again.
Instead, she fished out her keys and opened the door to her and Jackie’s room. She toed out of her shoes and felt her way through the darkness to her twin XL bed. She crawled between the sheets provided by the R&C committee and shuddered with shame and unfulfilled want.
She was here to work. That’s all.
Her phone screamed in her hands again. Seeing Roger’s face on the display, she shoved off the covers and threw the device across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying smack before falling to the floor, the screen threaded with lightning cracks.
SLACK MESSAGE FROM ROGER LUDERMORE TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 11:13 PM: found the dropbox password
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:02 AM: I HAVE LANDED. HEIN UNIVERSITY, GET READY.
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:03 AM: WOW I’m just getting all of your texts!! sorry my phone died and I packed my charger in my suitcase like a DOOFUS
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:04 AM: of course Reece is there, he’s our class secretary you goober
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:05 AM: I’ll bet my entire 401k that Thomas accidentally sinks that boat
Friday
Chapter 3
SLACK MESSAGE FROM ROGER LUDERMORE TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 6:06 AM: did you reorder business cards
SLACK MESSAGE FROM ROGER LUDERMORE TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 7:31 AM: I wanted cream cards not eggshell
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 9:25 AM: you awake yet? I’m getting McDonalds!
“Chaaaarrrlotte!”
A hand rumpled her hair. Fingernails lightly scratched her scalp. The scent of greasy food wafted through her subconscious.
“It’s ten a.m.,” Jackie purred. “Time to get up and hang out with me!”
Charlotte jolted awake to find her best friend perched on the side of the bed, her hair trapped in a messy topknot. Frizzy brown tendrils kissed her forehead. Charlotte hadn’t seen Jackie since Thanksgiving, and she looked reassuringly herself—cozy but alert.
Charlotte lunged at her and dragged her down onto the mattress. She mushed her nose against Jackie’s back and took a big whiff: sugary perfume and just a hint of fried food. “Oh my god, finally.”
Jackie poked her on the nose. “Boop! I got you this. Go on, drink up.” She retrieved a Gatorade from the bookshelf that served as a bedside table.
Charlotte dragged herself upright and took the bottle. She screwed off the top and reluctantly took a sip. “Ugh, thanks, I hate it.”
