“He assaulted you?!” Melissa exclaims.
I scramble to cover my laptop’s speakers with my hands. “No, you crazy person. He didn’t touch me! Er…well…not like that.” I look to the door to ensure it’s still closed, then I listen for any noise out in the hall. Confident no one will hear me, I fill them in, enunciating my words better this time.
“He asked me out.”
“Oh jeez,” Kristen groans.
“Do not say yes,” Melissa warns. “I know he’s hot, we’ve established that, but you have to look past the package. Literally—don’t look at his pants. It’ll only distract you.”
Kristen wholeheartedly agrees. “Yeah, he’s obviously up to something. I bet he’s going to stand you up. God, he’s such an asshole.”
“Or he’ll do something worse. That guy has no morals.”
I wince. “Okay, ease up.”
“What? Why? I thought we hated him,” Melissa says.
“We do,” I quickly clarify.
“Then why do you seem so conflicted over there? Do I have a poor connection or does your face really look like that? Oh my god! Are you about to tell me you actually said yes to a date with Noah Peterson, spawn of the devil?”
“Yes.”
The cacophony of sound produced by the two women I call my best friends is nothing short of embarrassing. I have no choice but to slam my laptop closed. Someone knocks on my door.
“You okay in there?” Ashley asks.
“Yes! Fine! Sorry.”
My phone immediately starts blowing up.
Melissa: What does this mean?!
* * *
Kristen: Are you playing the long game here or something? Conning him? Bring us in, girl. We can help!
I never thought roping my family and friends into my war with Noah would come back to bite me in the ass, but now, here I am, in the weird position of having to defend him. I never thought I’d see the day…
Audrey: I think he might genuinely be into me.
* * *
Melissa: Don’t be na?ve!
* * *
Kristen: This is NOAH we’re talking about! DO NOT FALL FOR THIS!
Right. Well. This isn’t going to be easy. I’m not surprised by their reactions. They don’t know everything that’s transpired between Noah and me in the last week, it’d be impossible to fill them in on everything via text message, and, clearly, they can’t be trusted on FaceTime. Also, it seems a little early to be waxing poetic about Noah. We haven’t even gone out yet. How dumb would I look defending him now and then getting played? I mean…I really don’t think he’s out to hurt me, but still, it’s not worth making myself look like an idiot in front of my friends.
So I tell them what they want to hear.
Audrey: Don’t worry. I know who I’m dealing with. My eyes are wide open.
* * *
Melissa: You believe her, Kristen?
* * *
Kristen: Nope. Famous last words if I ever heard them…
I sigh and turn my phone over so I can’t see the screen anymore. If they’re going to keep texting me, I don’t want to know about it. Besides, it’s getting late and I need to get ready for bed. I take my toiletry bag and pad down to the communal bathroom.
Someone’s showering when I go in. It happens often enough with five of us sharing the bathroom, but still, everyone seems to stick to their own schedule. Early birds can’t comprehend why people shower before bed and vice versa. I have no stake in the game. I’m an equal opportunity shower-taker.
I make it to a sink and plop my little bag down on the counter just as the water cuts off and a muscled arm reaches out for a towel.
Interesting.
Guess Noah’s back from his run…
I’ve never had the pleasure （or displeasure, depending on if you asked me this week or last week） of getting to be in here while Noah’s showering.
I busy myself with my toothbrush and toothpaste. Was the cap always this hard to untwist? Focus, Cohen!
The curtain rings clink together as he pushes the curtain to one side and steps out. Now, listen, I’m going to paint this picture to the best of my ability, and I’ll probably still come up short, but here we go: Noah wears nothing save for one of the school’s white towels slung low around his hips. Drops of water sluice slowly down his abs. His body? It’s a masterpiece. Someone revive Michelangelo and tell him we’ve got his next muse. He’s chiseled and…wait, did someone just dim the lights and turn on ’90s R&B or am I losing it?
My body temperature shoots up ten—no, twenty degrees. I don’t even bother trying to hide it; I straight-up fan my face.