The footage rolls on mute, of course, but my breathing shallows as his muscles enclose the fan-girl into the corner, trapping her beside the hot, wet tiles.
Laughing erupts, and my head shoots up from the computer, my face flaming in retaliation.
No one stares at me.
In fact, eyes plant on the professor. He makes another joke about Ke$ha and glitter, a humorous digression. I swallow, okay, my mind is playing tricks on me. I minimize the porn and expand my notes again.
Lo gnaws on the end of his pen, not aware of the students or the professor. He reads the latest X-men comic on his iPad and nurses a thermos in his other hand.
“You’re not borrowing my notes,” I remind him in a whisper.
“I don’t want them.” He takes a large swig of his alcoholic beverage. I think I saw him concocting an orange, lemon and whiskey mix this morning, something nauseating.
My brows scrunch. “How do you plan on studying?”
“I’ll wing it.”
That’s what he always says. I hope he fails. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. Sort of. While I’m saddled with anxiety, he leisurely relaxes in his seat.
“You really want to piss off your father?” I ask. At last week’s luncheon, Daisy told me his father took Lo aside and laid into him about grades and being safer with me. She said she saw “spit fly,” which could be entirely true. I’ve seen Jonathan Hale grab the back of Lo’s neck like a pup, pinching so hard that Lo squirmed in pain until his father released the hold. I don’t think he realized the amount of strength he was using or the hurt in Lo’s eyes.
“He’ll find something to be angry about, Lil,” he whispers. “If it’s not school or you, it’s my future and Hale Co. He can’t send me to fucking boot camp if I flunk, not when I’m an adult. So what is he going to do to me? Take away my trust fund? Then how will I support my future wife?”
I can’t see that future. The one where our lies go as far as marriage. And by his bitter tone, I doubt he pictures it too. I lick my dry lips and return my attention back to the professor. I’ve missed a good chunk of information with that one conversation, and I don’t have any friends in the class to ask for notes. I start typing hurriedly again.
After a couple minutes, Lo sighs in boredom and nudges my side. “Have you had sex with anyone in this room?”
“Why do you care?” I try to multi-task and concentrate on the lecture too. The little tab at the bottom of my screen also distracts: Pro Pleasures Fan, Watch Full Video HERE.
“I’m about to fall asleep.”
Huh? I concentrate on highlighting a line in my notes. “Then why’d you even come?”
“Attendance counts ten percent. I can actually control that part.” He leans his shoulder into me, his warmth entering my space, his hard bicep on my soft. A breath dies in my chest. “You didn’t answer my question.”
My eyes dart around the hundred bodies compacted into the auditorium-styled room. I land on a short guy with a fedora, brown hair peeking beneath. Two years ago. His apartment. Missionary. I spot another with nearly black hair tied into a tiny pony. Five months ago. His beat up VW. Reverse cow-girl. The moments bleed into my brain, replaying. My heart quickens at the images, but my stomach sinks at the answer to Lo’s question. In a hundred person class, I at least slept with two guys. What does that say about me? Slut, whore. I hear the condemnation.
Yet, I glance back at that little tab on my computer, my chest fluttering in excitement.
“So?” Lo presses.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
An eyebrow quirks. “You don’t know?” Before I can unmask his expression, he smiles with that familiar bitter amusement. “That’s hilarious.”
“You need to get laid,” I shoot back. Think about your nonexistent sex life for a change.
“And you need a drink.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“You started it.”
I bang on my keys and he edges out of my space, the weight of his arm gone. The warmth replaced by cold. I inhale strongly and try not to think about the emptiness in my belly or the spot between my legs.
My finger slips, hitting a random button.
“Ahhh, baby, right there, right THERE!”
The entire room goes silent. And heads turn to the back, towards the source of the sexual noises, towards me.
Oh my God. My porn stays in the tab, but the sound heightens as the pro-athlete reaches his climax. Her moans. His groans. I click buttons as fast as my finger will allow, but my computer expands the porn window and says Not Responding every time I try to exit out.