Chapter 4

I got home still buzzing from the road trip. My mom was in the living room, on edge, all wound up like a pressure cooker. My dad was grinning like he’d won a prize: his daughter off to college. I plopped down, kicked off my sneakers right there, and started spilling everything, detail by detail, from the admission notice to the bar, the dorm to the rooms smelling like fresh paint. I skipped just the parts where his little girl acted like a total horn-dog and the crazy shit I pulled in the bus station bathroom. That stayed locked between me and my panties, which I’d have to scrub hard in the shower.

The questions came flooding in. A million of them. I answered as best I could. My brother, a year and a half younger, showed up in the hallway with that “whatever” look on his face. He just wanted the spotlight off me — and if he could pick, my voice too.

“Dad, the place is right by the college. It’s just me and one other girl. Can we swing it?”

“Daughter, I need to check it out myself, okay?”

He hugged me the usual way, tight, smelling like aftershave.

“I’ll call your friend’s dad, talk it over proper, see the spot, all that.”

“Awesome. I don’t know if it’s the best setup in the world, but snagging it first try was a stroke of luck.”

My mom, suspicious as ever, cut in:

“Who’s this girl? Does she have family? You’re gonna live with a stranger?”

“Mom, either way I’d be living with a stranger. At least I already met this one, and her dad’s a cop. Dad can chat with him first.”

“If that’s how it is…”

She let out a breath, easing up a bit.

“I feel better.”

Then came the lecture every mom keeps loaded. About what I hadn’t done, what I shouldn’t do, what a girl can’t forget. I was starving for that new life, so I sat quiet, nodding, swallowing every rule like I was signing a contract.

“And this house?”

Dad got practical again.

“Street, number, rent, what’s inside?”

“Two beds, tiny kitchen, old fan that sounds like a helicopter revving up. There’s a little courtyard in the middle with some empty pots, room for plants. We split the bills. Her dad handles the owner. I’ll give you the number.”

He grabbed his phone, jotting it down, all methodical. My mom crossed her arms, peering over her glasses.

“And this girl… does she work? Study? Drink? Smoke?”

“She studies. Psychology. And… that’s it.”

I flashed a smile.

“She doesn’t smoke, ‘cause that was the first thing she asked me.”

My brother snorted from the doorway:

“Is this chick at least hot?”

I shot him a fuck-off glare with my eyes and sank back into the couch. Dad insisted he’d check it all out Saturday morning, bright and early. I said sure, I’d go too, we could measure the walls with tape and figure out where to stash my books. Mom ran through two more rounds of advice, a third threats wrapped in sugar, and a silent prayer I could feel from across the room. I nodded through it all.

I left the number with Dad and headed straight for the shower. When I peeled off my panties, I nearly jumped: white, the fabric stiff as hell.

“Holy shit… jerking off in a bus station bathroom is just asking for an infection,”

I muttered, laughing, half in disbelief at myself.

I laughed at my own craziness, at the day that felt like a movie, at how intense it all had been. I wanted to call her, tell her I’d already talked to my dad, that he’d ring her dad tomorrow. But the second the thought hit, my body jumped ahead of my brain. I thought about her. That crooked smile, the distracted way she tied her hair, always a little off, like she could never get a bun right. That messiness gave me a warm rush.

I got out of the shower, rinsed my panties in the sink, and hung them in the stall — for my brother’s guaranteed bitching, since he always griped about that. I brushed my hair, slathered lotion on my legs, went through my skin routine. In the mirror, there was still a glow on my face that wasn’t just from the steam.

I went to my room, phone in hand. It was late, but the urge beat out common sense. I dialed once. Nothing.

“Why not a second try?”

I whispered to myself.

I dialed again. Silence.

The room was quiet, just the faint TV drone from the living room. I stared at the ceiling, that fresh, silly ache squeezing my chest. Bummed she hadn’t picked up. But then, like the universe caught my vibe, the phone buzzed.

A video call.

It was her.

I answered without thinking.

“Fuck, girl, how old are you? Sixty?”

She started, with that mocking laugh.

“What? Why?”

I asked, confused.

“Who calls anymore?”

She paused, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

“Video call if you wanna talk to me, babe.”

“Oh, it’s just that I look like hell, I just got out of the shower.”

“Nah, you look hot.”

She laughed, light and easy.

“But spill.”

The image shook a bit, but what I saw was enough: her lying down, pink satin PJs, head sunk into sheets covered in little animals. Hair loose and messy, ends still pinkish. Simple setup, intimate, and her there — laughing at me like we were girlfriends.

I told her everything about getting home. Or almost everything. That bathroom bit, I kept to myself. On the other end of the screen, she listened quiet, murmuring “uh-huh,” “yeah,” “for real?” while I rambled on, excited, unloading the whole damn day.

“So that’s it. Tomorrow my dad calls your dad about the rent, and Saturday we head over to check the place, cool?”

“Cool…”

She stopped pacing, settled on her side in bed, the camera wobbling a little. She looked at me long, half curious, half close.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“What? If I have bugs?”

I joked, to break the ice.

“No…”

She looked away, holding back a laugh.

“You hook up with girls?”

I went silent for a few seconds. That hit me hard. My heart skipped, skin tingled. I tried to play it cool, but I think she caught how my eyes darted.

My mind spun. She might feel weird about it. Maybe she’d noticed something while showering, how I’d been staring at her naked too. What if that’s it? What if she didn’t want to live with a lesbian? One thing’s sharing a roof with a straight girl. Another’s with a woman who looks at you in ways she shouldn’t. Worse: what if something happened? If shit went down and living together turned into a jail disguised as romance?

I pictured my dad, dead serious, asking why I wanted to switch dorms. What would I say? “Dad, I ate out my roommate’s pussy and look what happened!” No way. There’s a lease and all that.

I swallowed hard, staring at the screen, hunting for an answer that wouldn’t give me away.

“Look… yeah, I do, I’ve done it, just never dated.”

I said soft, voice coming out gentler than I meant.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You still in the closet?”

“Yeah. It’s just… never found anyone worth the hassle, you know?”

I tried to laugh, but the memories of everything that crashed and burned flooded my head. Truth was, I knew: the problem was me. Always too chicken to own what I felt.

“Why are you asking?”

She bit the corner of her mouth, thought a beat, and let it out:

“I don’t know, girl… I saw you eye-fucking me in the bathroom, damn. Just wanted to know, that’s all.”

I froze. Shame burned hot, scorching my ears.

“Oh, no… that’s embarrassing. Sorry, I swear I wasn’t looking.”

I lied, blushing, hiding my face with my hand, my whole body screaming the opposite.

“Yeah, right, I believe that.”

She cracked up, that loose, sassy laugh that wrecked me.

“Chill out. I’m a nudist!”

“Nudist? For real? You got layers, huh.”

My voice came out half-laughing, half-nervous; I didn’t buy it, obviously.

“Yeah. At home, Tuesdays are girls’ night. The ladies come over, everybody naked.”

“That sounds more like an orgy!”

I teased, trying to hide the heat crawling up my neck.

“Kidding… but for real, I don’t care. Look all you want, I like being looked at.”

She brought the phone closer, framing tightening on her lips. Pink, glossy, no lipstick.

I almost kissed the screen.

“But I like looking too,”

She murmured, voice low, a whisper that hit my gut.

I swallowed hard and tried to get a grip.

“You hitting on me, girl?”

It came out between tease and want, breath uneven, my whole body begging her to say yes.

I backpedaled right away. I’m no fool — I know the adventurous type. That talk would heat up, turn flirty, nudes, and whatever follows. And yeah, I wanted it, but not like that. I wanted the touch, the scent, the live look.

I took a deep breath, faked a yawn.

“Gonna crash, up early tomorrow.”

I said quick, hunting the end call button.

She looked like she didn’t want to.

“Aw, come on… now?”

“Now.”

I smiled awkwardly.

“Night, nudist.”

I hung up over her protests and sat there, heart pounding in my throat, the dark screen mirroring my flushed face.