“I’m Sutton, this is Charity.” The purple-haired girl tips her head toward the brunette.
“Nice to meet you. I brought coffee.” I hold up the cardboard beverage container. “I wasn’t sure what you all wanted but the Brew House said Lucy usually drinks a sugar-free peppermint mocha. I got the fully leaded for you guys.”
“You went to the Brew House and asked what she likes to drink?” Sutton’s eyebrows shoot high onto her forehead.
Shit, have I made a mistake here? Should I have played it cooler? “Too stalkerish?”
“Too awesome.” Sutton drags me inside and slams the door shut.
“What else did you bring?” the girl with enough rings on her fingers to start a jewelry store asks. She takes the beverage holder from my hand, and Sutton reaches for the bag under my arm.
“He brought sugar-free ice cream,” announces Sutton.
The two stare at me like I’ve got two heads.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask with slight alarm. I look down to check whether my zipper is shut. Yup, the barn door is closed.
“Did you really bring over a container of sugar-free ice cream and a skinny latte with sugar-free flavoring?
I take a sip. “It tastes okay.” Fuck, coffee is disgusting but this is for Luce, so I’m suffering through it.
“What are you?”
“Are you real?”
Their skepticism is disconcerting. “I think the real question is what kind of guys are you dating that this is a phenomenon rather than an ordinary occurrence.”
Fortunately, Luce blows in before the two can dissect me any further. “Here.” I shove the drink into her hands. “For you.”
“Thanks.” She takes a deep sip and hands the drink back to me along with her backpack.
“How was mock trial?” Sutton asks.
“Terrible. Heather seems to have forgotten everything. I was off my game and kept missing objections. Emily was completely rattled and Randall had to leave the room four times to keep from yelling at us. I don’t get Heather. She’s like two different people. One day she performs flawlessly and two days later it’s like she doesn’t even remember that she’s on the team.”
“Maybe she’s a twin. My former teammate Masters has an identical twin. They used to do twin switches on us all the time.” I take Lucy’s coat and hang it on the hook, placing mine on top of it. There. It’s my jacket covering hers. Not Ace’s. Not the Ken doll’s from the coffee store. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
I’m an only child. I don’t like to share. Won’t share. Don’t believe in sharing.
Lucy shudders. “A twin? The world does not deserve two Heathers. But you know? I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s turn the television on.”
“You sure you want to watch that show?” Sutton asks in a stage whisper.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Luce responds with annoyance.
Sutton jerks her head toward me. “Because he’s here.”
“Don’t change your plans on my account.” I raise both hands.
Their version of a psychological drama is a show about wedding dresses. During the opening credits, my phone rings. I ignore it. Lucy is sitting only a half cushion away from me and I’m plotting how to eliminate the distance. With her two roommates watching my every move, I don’t make much progress.
Against my will, I’m drawn into the sad story about two women who can’t stand up to their moms and how they’re desperate for just a smile from the older women. I guess it is a psychological drama, but hell, I’d watch a dozen weepy chick flicks if it meant Lucy was within touching distance. Halfway through the second one, she’s pushed her bare feet under my thigh. For warmth, she informed me. Whatever excuse you want to give, Goldie. I’m here to warm everything from your toes to your pussy to your delicious-looking mouth. My phone beeps again.
“You can get that,” Lucy says.
“You’re sure? I don’t want to be rude.” I don’t really know the details of dating anymore. I know answering my cellphone when I was dating Megan was a huge pet peeve of hers.
“Yeah, I mean, the show’s pretty repetitive. Charity’s on her phone and Sutton’s doing homework.”
I slip out my phone. “It’s Hammer.” I turn the screen to her so she can read the ’sup?
Me: Watching TV.
Hammer: What do you think of spa day?
Me: I guess?
Hammer: Ask your panel of experts.
Me: Panel of what?
Hammer: Lucy and her friends. Ask them.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I turn to Lucy. “My roommate Hammer writes a man’s advice column for a women’s magazine. He wants me to consult you on whether his list of euphemisms for sex is any good. Feel free to say no.”
Charity slaps her hands against her face. “Oh my God. Is Harry Wright Jr., your roommate?” At my nod, she turns to Sutton and Lucy. “Harry writes ‘From My Three Eyes’ column in Monologue.”
“‘Three Eyes’? For real?” I had no idea what Hammer’s column was named.
“It’s cheeky. We know what it means.” She rolls her eyes at my shock.
Cheeky? Sounds vulgar. I realize my assumptions of women are all wrong, but that’s my own damn fault for not spending more time with them when they have their clothes on.
“I love ‘Three Eyes,’” Sutton exclaims. “I had no idea he was a football player or that he went to Western!”