obvious to even Toph Beifong that Jamie was not 'fine' like he claimed.

Before we slept together, we'd been close during the days and distant during the nights.

The common room was always alive with residents coming and going. This semester, I shared a Toxicology paper with Krista and Jake, so we'd study at the coffee table in the afternoons before dinner. Jamie would usually sit nearby, working on his techy assignments or playing a video game. As for the distance during parties, everyone had implicitly known to give me appropriate space to look for prospective lays.

Now it was like our relationship had done a complete one-eighty.

Jamie was distant during the days and shadowed me at parties like a mosquito—if mosquitos were six-foot-tall. Ugh. Disturbing image.

Anyways, now Jamie was only ever around the dormitory for dinner. He and Jake were long gone before sunrise for their conditioning sessions, though while the latter came back to the dorm for lunch service, the former simply took a packed meal with him.

Each day Jamie studied somewhere on campus, went to football practices and arrived home drained amd taciturn. I knew he had friends and commitments outside of our main accommodation group, but he'd never been so detached last semester. Despite living in the same place, it felt like I barely saw him.

The Jays and I still partied with our usual frequency, but Jamie never tested his limits anymore. Once I could have counted on him to clear all the alcohol in the room, but now he refrained and lingered around the floormates with annoying lucidity. Like he was watching over us. Or watching over me.

Maybe it wasn't our drunken hookup that had warranted this change of tack, but nonetheless, it was frustrating.

I hoped Jamie wasn't harbouring any unsaid feelings.

I hoped we'd said everything we'd needed the morning after.

I hoped this wouldn't come to a head sometime later, and ruin my peaceful senior year.

Tonight, I had two reasons to celebrate. I'd completed two interviews for med school with Tufts and Boston University over the last two weeks, which meant two road trips away from and back to Halston. Then again, long car rides with Mom yapping in my ear about interview technique weren't my usual definition of a road trip.

I had yet to hear back from about half of the medical programmes that received my secondary applications, but I tried not to dwell on the length of time it was taking. Everyone said the application and interview process was unpredictable so there was no point stressing about knowing until you knew.

The majority of the schools I applied to were east of—and including—Chicago but I really hoped I would get into specific acclaimed ones. Sadly, Harvard, John Hopkins and Columbia were all mute at this point. I'd heard nothing from them. But my two interviews had done well, and now it was a matter of waiting—and filling that time with alcohol.

The second reason I had to party was that the Halston Foxes had just won their most recent away game, and the campus was raving in celebration. Granted, I didn't give a shit about football, but victories were victories, and an excuse to drink was an excuse to drink.

The Foxhole, Halston's student bar in the Quad, was throbbing with high spirits and drunken fervour by the time midnight rolled around.

"—was completely revolutionary! His positioning of the audience's eye drew attention to our usual complicity in the male gaze, except now we were all aware of it," a tall, handsome Applied Arts major told me excitedly. "The whole exhibition was confronting, to be honest."

"Agree." I smiled, sipping slowly from the straw in my rum-and-coke. "Do you go to art shows often?"

"Yes," Arts major answered. "It's kind of an obligation since I'm part of an art outreach program with the local middle schools." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle coupled with a shake of his head. "Except usually, the calibre of that art is along the lines of murals made with hot-glued bottle tops."

"How sustainable."

A feminist. A volunteer. A cultured, worldly artist-to-be. Breathtakingly beautiful on top of that. Check, check, check.

Now, if only I remembered his name, I wouldn't feel so guilty.

"Yeah," he sighed, his eyes falling to my lips.

Devin! His name was Devin. I think.

We'd started talking about sexism in the entertainment industry after I'd downed my fourth drink—vodka raspberry, paid for by Devin—but the liquor had only kicked in halfway through the conversation. Now my head throbbed in time to the music, and a tingling sensation had settled into my fingertips.

"Did you want to find somewhere we can... talk more privately, Devin?" I gazed up at him with pure desire and walked my fingertips down his chest.

"Yeah," he exhaled.

"Great—"

A familiar silhouette caught my eye.

He wasn't particularly conspicuous. But somehow my gaze had identified and locked onto him one moment, despite my short stature and the crowd of people that shifted between us.

"Actually," I held a finger up apologetically. "My friend looks like he's about to vomit. Let me just make sure he's alright."

Devin smiled good-naturedly. "Don't be too long."

"I won't." I winked back. "Wait up for me."

Jamie looked hot tonight. I could admit that objectively, as a science major. His baggy graphic t-shirt belied the well-oiled athletic machine that rested beneath. The shirt hung from his broad shoulders without accentuating his torso at all, but anyone could tell from the veins cording his tanned forearms and his sculpted legs that he was fit.

He arched an eyebrow when he noticed me approaching. I had to bat my way through the crowd. Being short meant I was at risk of being trampled if I didn't take offensive measures against it.

When I broke through, coming to stand a foot away from Jamie, I asked him, "Are you having fun?"

"Yep. Lots of fun," he answered succinctly. The roaming strobe lights attached to the ceiling of the Foxhole cast a flash of blue light across his side profile. Suddenly his face looked even more devastating than it did in the daylight; the elegant slope of his nose, the carved hollow under his cheekbones, those full, plump lips—

"Oh, great. I must have confused you with another man baby sulking alone in a corner," I derided him. "Without a drink, might I add."

"Firstly, I am not in a corner." Jamie swung his head towards me with a mirthful smirk. "I'm against a wall. Secondly, I've had drinks. Maybe a bit too much."

"Since when was there such a thing as too much to the Jays?"

"Since now." He glanced away again.

Oh, darn. This numb-nuts was being such a party pooper. Jake was here drunk out of his ever-loving mind and challenging strangers to dance-offs—even though he couldn't dance. Sometimes he would pull out a photo of Avalon and brag about his hot girlfriend to whoever would listen.

That was the level of heartwarming, cringe-worthy drunkenness to which Jamie should have been aspiring.

"Well, you can at least chat to some people if you're not going to drink," I advised, nudging his arm suggestively. "Find a nice lady to talk scrimmage with, amiright?"

Jamie shook his head, seemingly pressing his back closer to the wall. "I'm not going to hit on a lady at a party. That's creepy."

"It's not creepy for you! You're attractive, and this whole bash is in your honour—"

"—the football team's honour—" he corrected.

"—collectively. This is literally your night."

When I first met Jake about two years ago, he immediately struck me as a fuckboy. There was just that look about him, you know? Incredibly masculine, slightly dumb. No offence, but people did judge books by their appearance. It was an evolutionary trait.

In the same vein, when I met Jamie at the house party Sushmita dragged me to, I could have sworn he was angling to hook up with me. But maybe I had read both of them wrong. Jake was as relationship-inclined as could be, and now Jamie wasn't even bothering to check out the many girls that were shooting sly looks at him.

And there were many.

I scanned the bar thoughtfully. "Look," I pointed subtly when I caught a particularly keen woman checking Jamie out. "Nine o'clock. Blue shirt."

Jamie glanced for a split second and faced me again. "So? Yeah, she's pretty, but she's not interested."

Pfft. Was this boy stupid?

One didn't just look for an instant before writing a potential conquest off.

There was a tacit rulebook; a game of eye contact. Matching a tentative gaze with a curious gaze. A curious gaze with an intent gaze. Intentness with warmth. Warmth with desire. Of course, she wouldn't be obvious at first. Did he expect her to strip her shirt off and wave it around in the air like a giant racing flag?

Go, go, go.

"Wait for it," I reassured him. Boom. "Did you see that?"

She had very intentionally thrown her hair over her shoulder, skimming her eyes up and down Jamie's body. It had lasted altogether two seconds, and then she was back to dancing with her friends again. A first step, very recognisable to me—the prima ballerina of the flirting dance.

"See what? Are you nuts? Have you done drugs tonight?" Jamie asked half-jokingly. "Because I can take you home if—"

I rolled my eyes. Placing my hand firmly on his shoulder, I angled him so that he could get a better look at the woman. "Just look again. Wait. Wait for it." When she looked over her shoulder again, even I caught the intrigue and attraction flaring in her eyes. "Boom! Did you see that?"

"So she looked over," Jamie shrugged. "Probably because you're acting so shifty."

"Ha, ha. You're not funny," I chuckled dryly. A wave of dizziness washed through my head, and I clutched Jamie's shoulder tighter. I grinned encouragingly, slurring, "Jamie, this is our senior year. What happened to the plans you had for a wild, sordid year with our floormates?"

"Nothing happened to them. I'm doing plenty of wild things this year."

"So do one more."

I didn't usually take this much interest in Jamie's private affairs. But he didn't usually act so celibate.

Last semester, more than one attractive lady had come home with him. On several occasions, I made pleasant chit-chat with them when they came out of his room to get water. I knew he could read a room of prospects. I knew he knew he was desirable.

There was absolutely no reason for him to be alone right now. The sooner he got over this weird phase of his, the sooner we could return to normality and I could stop feeling so darn responsible for the downturn in his sex life.

Jamie pushed off the wall. A relieved smile broke on my face, but then he spun around and caged me in his arms. The still-warm wood came up against my back, and green eyes pinned me on the spot. He didn't touch me at all, but I was aware of every inch of him. The distance between his hands and my waist, his chest and mine, my lips and his...

"I think I already did," Jamie muttered. A sudden urge to grab him and press him against me thrummed in my core. "Be honest, you would rather fuck that limp, pot-smoking hipster wannabe over me?"

"Actually, Devin vapes, not blazes," I shot back smoothly. I recalled, "He's trying to wean his nicotine addiction." Somehow my drunk brain flagged that statement as the most pressing thing to respond to, and I slapped myself internally. "And I didn't think you were an option."

From the way his eyes widened and his tongue swept unconsciously across his lower lip, I knew I'd stoked the right emotions in him.

I smirked and laughed, "Ha! Loosen up, please. I'm checking on you because I want to know you're having fun before I leave. Like the good friend I am."

"Answer the question," Jamie insisted.

"You," I replied truthfully, without hesitation.

Jamie and I had nothing in common except the place we lived. Devin and I could at least hold an intelligent conversation. But there was no denying the inexplicable physical chemistry between us, even if it would never go anywhere. Especially when I was drunk.

"But like I said. It's not an option."

Jamie's eyes narrowed. I thought he would step off, but his hands threaded through the sliver between the small of my back and the wall. He pulled me into him, and a sigh escaped me when his body pressed deliciously against me. My reaction gave him the incentive to go further, bringing his head down to meet my waiting mouth—

I shoved him back and spun him around. Without pausing, I marched Jamie into the crowd and up to the blue-shirted lady dancing with her friends.

"Wha— hey! Viv," he growled my name angrily. "I swear to God—"

"See, you've got plenty of game," I yelled over the music. "Just bottle all that machismo you have around me and save it for her."

I tapped the lady on her shoulder, keeping Jamie from running away with his shirt gripped firmly in my hands. "Hi, there! I just wanted to say, you look stunning tonight. I love that shade of blue on you."

Her eyes crinkled with a genuine, happy smile. "Oh, really? Thanks. It's actually my older sister's."

"She's got great taste! And go you for wearing second-hand."

She flicked her wrist playfully. "Fuck, I'm blushing."

"I'm Viv."

"Farrah," she smiled.

I grinned in response. "Did you watch the game?"

"I did. It was one of the best matches I've seen Halston play." Her voice was melodious and warming, and I felt some of the tension leave Jamie's body.

"Well, my friend here is number eleven. He seems to have misplaced his teammates," I lied. "Care to keep him company?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, as if she couldn't believe the luck that had befallen her. Her eyes ran over Jamie with obvious intrigue, but it seemed she didn't want to jump the gun.

"I'll see what I can do." Farrah smiled up at Jamie, "I remember you. Nice play in the final quarter, by the way."

Jamie and I turned to each other, closing off the outside world from our conversation. I tiptoed to say in a hushed voice, "Any objections, Jamie?"

"No," he gritted out. "Just— stay safe, okay?"

Of course, I would stay safe. Did he think I was an amateur? I had one night stands down to a science. I had my own rulebook for both staying safe and staying single. Not wanting to aggravate him and dampen his rising mood, I nodded.

"I will. You too, tiger." When Jamie stepped towards the woman, my hand shot out of its own accord and slapped his ass. "Use protection. Go get 'em."

Jamie shook his head helplessly, but eventually smiled softly.

In ten seconds I darted to the hazy back of the bar with Applied-Arts-major, nicotine-addicted, ethereally-gorgeous Devin, slipping my hand into his as I tugged him out of the building.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

There was lots of strong signalling in this chapter. Viv has such a distinctive way of thinking but that means she doesn't catch everything. All of my first person stories don't have reliable narrators.

What do you think is going through Jamie's head at the bar party?

Please vote, comment and follow!

Aimee x