It was much easier for two girls to sneak into the boys’ residence than it was for one boy to sneak into the girls’ residence. We slumped into Clarin’s assigned room and Poison dragged herself right over to the empty bed, flopping down with a groan. I struggled after her, dumping a few of Clarin’s bags onto the floor and falling down beside her, my head against her thighs, my legs hanging off the side of the bed.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” an amused voice said from the other side of the room, “but is this going to get explicit anytime soon? Because I have my parents on video chat…”
I shot up, locking eyes with a guy on the other side of the room. He was in a desk chair, half turned to face us, and his computer screen was displaying the uncomfortable faces of an older couple.
“It seems you are busy, Charles.” The older woman sounded uncomfortably formal, but it might have been the British accent. “We will touch in with you later.” She leaned forward on the screen, and seemed to be attempting to end the call, with little success.
Poison was still lying down. She hooked her legs around me, tightening them in a punishing grip, a smirk that I was familiar with falling over her features.
“Take your top off,” she whined, using her leg-grip to shake me. “Hurry up, baby, my boyfriend will be here soon. I need time to shower after.”
The older woman pretended she wasn’t listening, her frown deepening as her husband cleared his throat awkwardly. He got up from his seat and walked away, disappearing off-screen.
“Ouch,” Clarin said, still standing in the doorway, “dick move.”
The guy—Charles—finally took pity on his mother and ended the call himself, folding his arms behind his head and spinning in the chair to face us fully. He quirked an eyebrow at Clarin.
“Are you coming in?” he asked. “Or just dropping these two off? My birthday isn’t until next month.”
“Trust me, these two aren’t present-material.” Clarin finally entered the room, tossing his bags at the foot of his bed and sitting down beside me, capturing one of Poison’s boots and loosening her death-grip on my midsection.
“Hey!” Poison kicked out at him, sending him tumbling from the end of the bed. “I’m totally present-material.”
“What about me?” I slapped her stomach. “I could be present-material.”
“Nope,” they both said at the same time.
I jumped off the bed, picked up one of Clarin’s bags and lugged it at his head. I picked up another one, intending to toss it at Poison, but it was plucked from my hands.
“Alright, firecracker, how about we stop trying to injure people, hmm? You’re totally present-material.” I turned to face Clarin’s new roommate, having momentarily forgotten that he was there, and stared at him.
His British accent was kind of cute, and he had hair that looked like it could have come out of a commercial. It waved in little curls about his forehead and tickled his ears, shining with a luster that should have been chemical, but was probably natural.
Whoa. We needed to introduce this guy to Blossom. They could be the Ken and Barbie of the school.
“Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked aloud, still staring at Charles.
“Absolutely,” Clarin answered. “Unless he’s gay. Are you gay?” He directed this question to Charles.
“He’s not,” Poison answered, propping herself up.
Charles seemed confused for a moment, but then his eyes passed from me, to Clarin, to Poison—who was still on the bed, and a kind of mortified understanding took over his features.
“Look, I’m flattered,” he managed, holding out a hand and accidently dropping the bag that he had confiscated from me. “But, ah, I’m not really into foursomes. I mean, I’m in a twosome right now… so…”
Poison’s face cracked into a huge smile. “You have no idea who we are, do you?”
Charles’s face screwed into confusion and he passed his eyes over us yet again. How many times did people need to do that?
“N—” he started to answer, but the door opened, cutting him off.
Quillan walked inside, his brows shooting up as he assessed the situation. Charles was now staring at Quillan in much the same way as Blossom had stared at Clarin and Poison, but Quillan was used to it; he didn’t even bat an eyelid.
“I see you enlisted help to carry your bags,” he said to Clarin.
“I didn’t realise you were for hire,” Clarin returned, moving back to the bed and picking up Poison’s legs to make room for himself again.
“I’m not.” Quillan’s lips twitched, and he turned to me. His kind eyes became immediately assessing, travelling over my boots and up my leggings, to the knit cardigan that fell past my thighs and hung off my arms. He reached out, catching the scarf that was haphazardly clinging to my neck. “I came to give you a lift back, Seph.”
I pushed his hands away before he could fix up my scarf like a hired caretaker.