CHAPTER NINE: BOOZY RED VELVET
The pink and blue highlights in Stephanie's dark hair make a pattern down her back. It took her less than ten minutes to pull all the curls back and fishtail braid them. She's using her hand as a visor as she surveys the crowd in front of us, but unlike me she doesn't have to stand on her tip toes.
"Ugh," she groans as she whirls back around to face me. That's how I know she isn't looking for Savannah or Megan, but rather the guy she is supposed to meet up with. "He said he was going to text me, but the service down here sucks." She glances down at her phone while I attempt to glue myself to the cement wall beside us as people continue to spill out of the doors a few feet behind us.
Sneakers squeak and scuff against the floor while the clicking of people's heels is swallowed by the music. I do take note of some cute boots. Some have buckles, some have heels, and some have buckles and heels. Stephanie was going to wear her tan booties but opted for sneakers last minute when she saw I was wearing mine.
"Well, look who it is!" Zack's head pops up behind Stephanie's shoulder, backwards baseball cap, plaid shirt and all. "Peas and Steph-a-knees."
"Far left table," Stephanie mumbles as she glances up from her phone. Her gaze completely bypasses Zack as she stands up on her tip toes. She emits a little squeal as she waves before she turns back around and gives my wrist a quick squeeze. "Wish me luck!"
"Good luck." I smile. "Be careful!" I yell over the music for good measure.
"Whoa, hold up." Zack reminds me of his presence, and that's when I finally catch on to the dirty blonde wisps of Trent's hair behind his back. "Peas can't stand alone. They come in a pod."
I laugh and even go as far as to shove his arm a little because the joke and nickname are getting old, but then I pull my hands back and tap my fingertips against the wall. "I'm Stephanie's wing-women tonight."
"Whoa, hold up." Zack's head rears back this time as he repeats the phrase. His eyes ping-pong between me and the crowd of people in front of us a few times before he yanks Trent in front of him. "Not on my watch." I only hear Zack's words before Trent gets shoved into me face first.
"Zack!" I shove my hands into Trent's chest to keep it from colliding with my face.
Trent's sneaker covered feet only continue to stumble forward, and I grab a fistful of his navy-blue thermal with one hand and grip his bicep with my other hand to keep him from falling on top of me. What makes it worse is I can feel the vibrations of his chuckles through the waffle-patterned cotton material of his shirt. It's those uncontrollable chuckles paired with his haphazard attempt at shuffling his feet that make me realize that there must be more than blood running through his veins. The thought forces me to finally maneuver him so he's propped up against the wall beside us. It's only when I know he's not going to collapse that I finally let go.
"Vanilla!" His eyes are all glassy and unfocused, and his cheeks are flushed.
"Hi," I say but find myself leaning closer only because a new song begins to play, and it's filled with more heavy words opposed to a heavy beat. "Are you okay?"
"I," he starts but pauses to push his right hand into the wall and nudge his shoulder a up little further. "I am wonderful." He throws his hand out as if to prove it, but his shoulder just ends up slipping again. "How are you?" he coos out the "you" as he slides himself not only up, but closer to me.
I pass a glance to my right and catch on to some cheering from one of the tables, but all I can really see is people and their backs and their arms and their shoulders and their necks. Too many people. Too many backs. Too many arms. Too many shoulders. Too many necks. All this alcohol and sweat.
I reach into my tan cross body bag to try and catch the time on my phone, but glance back up because Trent's gaze is unwavering. His lips are tilted up which is nothing new, but they are contoured by freshly shaven cheeks that are sheen with sweat. He has another beauty mark on the side of his nose, right between his nose and his eye, that matches the small, round brown one above his right eyebrow. Under different circumstances I maybe would've questioned why it's another thing I haven't noticed before, but Trent's eyelids keep fluttering and he's still teetering on the wall like a broken tree branch.
I reach into my bag again and send Stephanie a text.
Trent's drunk going to help him to his room.
I make sure it sends before zipping my bag back up and turning around to face him entirely. He attempts to mimic my motion but ends up just leaning the side of his head against the wall instead of his hands.
"Come' on," I say more to myself than to him. I gently grip onto his arms and attempt to pull him forward. He not only gives me no resistance, but also no help as I manage to guide him to the double doors leading upstairs.
We almost get trampled by some people coming down the first set of stairs, but I pause to wrap his left arm around my shoulders once we make it to the first landing.
"Where's your dorm?"
"My room," he hums.
"Yes, your room." I almost laugh.
"You're taking me to my room."
I see the slightest flash of his teeth, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes by tugging him forward. "Yes, you nasty. Where is it? Is it in this building?"
"Second floor," he hums again, while I can't seem to catch my breath as I continue to drag him alongside me up the stairs.
"You're heavier than you look," I grumble when we make it to the first-floor landing, but Trent only continues to hum.
He even flops his right arm onto his head and allows his elbow to drag against the wall as I pull him up the last flight of stairs to the second floor. I drop his arm from around my shoulders and go back to tugging once we make it to the beginning of the hallway.
"Do you have your ID?" I walk backwards in front of him but have to slow down when I realize he's stumbling.
"I'm close enough, okay? Just a couple more months."
I stop in my tracks. "For your room, Trent."
"Oh," he drags out the word long enough for the girls passing by to throw us a look. He uses his open hand to feel the back of his jeans, but when he only continues to pat his backside, I let go of his other hand. He holds his ID up for me to see before latching on to my arm again. "Follow me." He not only drags out the "me," but also manages to drag me forward a few more steps before stopping in front of a door. His face scrunches up as he stares at the tan wood. "That says two hundred and twenty-seven, right?"
"Yes." I laugh.
"Then we're here!" His words are more enthusiastic than his actions as he slides his ID through the top of the handle. It takes him two more tries until the light turns green, but then he pushes the handle down. "Welcome to mà casa!" He waltzes in but ends up tripping over the navy-blue backpack he left on the floor. He tries to catch himself on his desk chair but misses, and that's when I finally burst into the room.
"Okay!" I breathe while my right arm wraps around his stomach, and my left arm gets caught under his armpit. I quickly yank my hand out and wipe it on my jeans. "Which bed is yours?"
"This one." He slaps his hand down on the corner of the maroon comforter in front of him.
"Okay," I repeat. I breathe in again and this time all I smell is the powdery scent of his cologne. For a second, the roles are reversed. I'm the one intoxicated, but then his feet slip again, and I realize he kicked off his sneakers. I take a step back and let him slide his black sock covered feet against the wooden floor. He's using the edge of his bed like a toddler learning how to walk while I'm back to fidgeting at my sudden uselessness.
"God, I'm sweating." Trent pushes himself up to a standing position and reaches for the hem of his shirt. It takes another fling of his hand before he's standing in front of me all tan and shirtless.
I think that's what shocks me the most. The fact that we're now closer to winter than summer and yet he's still tan. Also, the way his jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips. I'm surprised the plaid underwear poking out is just a line.
I'm also surprised I don't get whiplash from how fast my body whips around, and I keep my eyes locked on the dry erase board hanging on the door. I now agree with the sweat statement. My blood feels like its boiling to the surface of my skin, but I'm nowhere near hot enough to rip my shirt off.
"I blame the Cheetos and oreos. I love oreos."
I slowly turn my head around only to see that Trent is poking his stomach as if he doesn't even recognize it.
"Plus, I'm more of a runner than a bench presser."
There's no cheese grate lining his stomach, and he's got more of a half circle poking out of his jeans than a V. But there's something about this candid, in person, photoshoot-like display that puts any and every single image of a six-pack I've ever seen to shame.
"Whoa." Trent slips again and splays both hands on the side of his bed to steady himself. He stands there to collect himself, or at least I thought he was trying to steady himself until his shoulders start shaking again with laughter.
"Okay," I say for what seems like the millionth time, except this time I sound more like an annoyed parent. I even go as far as to run my hands through my hair before folding my arms across my chest. That's when I realize we basically had the same outfit on. The only difference is my long-sleeve shirt is stripped with red and blue and my jeans have a bold navy-blue stripe running down the outer seam of each leg. I take a tentative step forward. "Do you think you can climb in there yourself?"
"Yes, sir." He whirls around and jumps up.
The mattress squeaks as his butt plops down on the edge, but my mama-bear instincts propel me back over to his side when he almost slips back off. My hands hover over his naked upper body before I settle on tentatively pushing his shoulders down. Trent's eyes are burning into my face, but he lets me slowly guide him back. It doesn't take long for him to lean out of my grasp, and I have to shuffle forward, but this time when I readjust my fingertips against his skin he flinches.
"Jeez, your hands are freezing."
"Sorry." I pull my hands away and go to wipe them on my jeans again, but he yanks my hands back.
"I can warm them up." He sandwiches my hands between his just before his head hits the pillow. His eyelids flutter closed while my hands remain sandwiched between his hands and his chest.
All I can think about is that he wasn't kidding about being hot before because his skin is searing compared to mine. But as I continue to stand there, awkwardly leaning over him, I also can't help but think about the slow thumping of his heart underneath my fingertips.
One heart. Four chambers.
Blood goes into the right atrium, and the right atrium pumps it down to the right ventricle. The right ventricle pumps the blood down to the lungs.
I inhale.
There's the oxygen.
The left atrium receives the oxygenated blood and pumps it to the left ventricle. The left ventricle sends all the oxygenated blood to the rest of the body.
One life beating beneath my fingertips. All red and real and pulsing.
I slowly pull my hands away when the up and down movement of his chest is in sync with his slowed heart rate. I leave his student ID on his desk and shut the lights off before closing the door shut behind me.