Chapter Six

Giles

THE LAST OF MY FINAL exams was exactly eight hours ago, at two thirty in the afternoon. I've got a huge platter of tacos in front of me and I've spied more than a handful of pretty girls out tonight. One in particular keeps looking my way from the next table over.

 Tacos, beer, and girls. I should be in heaven. Yet, I'm sitting here, barely listening to my friend Luke's story. I'm staring at my mug of beer, my mood sinking every minute. I know the drink's not to blame. It's the thoughts that manage to come nearly every night. Thoughts of Claire and what she did and how I never saw it coming. The anger that was fueling my escapades is now starting to dull at the edges. What I'm left with isn't something I can use. What I'm left with is something that's harder to ignore.

I'll admit I don't do breakups well. The night it happened I went out and found myself a leggy blonde with a sassy little mouth. I screwed her like I was mad at her. Mean. Hard. Relentless. She loved every minute and I felt a hell of a lot better after. But, yeah, it would've been a smarter idea if I had picked someone who wasn't friends with Ava. Took the girl nearly a week to stop texting and calling me, despite my responses dwindling down to radio silence by day three. There's nothing wrong with her and in different circumstances, I might even be inclined to see her again. The problem is, I can tell she wants more and I'm in no way interested in willingly trapping myself in a cage again. 

That first night helped me to remember how good it feels to enjoy a good time and not worry about what the girl does when I'm not around. I like the options, the ability to keep things simple.

The weeks after Claire have been a blur of classes, partying, and very generous amounts of female company. Especially these last few weeks of the spring quarter, with finals looming over the entire campus. Stress has been high and feeling good has been in even higher demand. 

All just distractions, I know. My days are a chain of well-timed distractions. It's all I know right now, because nothing holds my attention the way it used to. I've been keeping busy to outpace the cloud of blandness that seems two steps behind me. I can't think of any other time I can be completely in the moment than when I have a gorgeous girl writhing beneath me and crooning in my ear. Even before, when I was content with just one girl, I kept busy the same way. Claire knew that my time inside her was a way to avoid glimpsing the inside of my own head. She knew it and she didn't like it. I'm sure she used that fact to justify what she did. 

You don't talk to me, she kept saying, you're so distant. 

She wasn't lying, I couldn't quite figure out how to tell her what was on my mind, things that had nothing to do with her. Things I've never said aloud to anyone. 

You can trust me, she'd say. A lie that became blatantly obvious when I walked in to the sight of her straddling my best friend right in our living room. 

Surprise, my class was cancelled. 

We'd only been exclusive for a few months, but seeing those two going at it fucked me up badly. I'm not sure what stung the worst. That she messed around on me, or that she picked someone I'd been close to since high school. Man, it hit home hard that Kyle would even touch my girl. I trusted him. I used to look at him like a brother. But a brother wouldn't fuck your girlfriend. 

Goes to show that loyalty is an illusion, an elusive trait on borrowed time, waiting to dissolve. Things that once felt certain now have a sharper light on them, revealing crevices where the unknown can hide. In one clean swoop, I lost the two people I thought I was closest to. Not the first time that's happened but it will be the last.

The thought tastes bitter so I wash it down with a mouthful of my beer.

"Don't tell me you're still hung up on that bitch," Luke says.

"Huh?"

"Your face, man. It tells a sad story. I'm waiting for the single tear to roll down your cheek."

"Fuck off."

"Then get it together. You haven't even looked at that sweet thing at the end of the bar. She keeps checking you out."

I glance in the direction he's indicating. Sure enough, there's a redhead with stick straight hair. Her dress is skintight but she looks pained in it. Uncomfortable. Stiff. When we lock eyes, she smiles shyly before glancing down and looking up again. 

"No," I say to Luke. "I don't like that innocent vibe she's got going on."

"You can't be serious."

I shrug.

"You're wrong," Luke argues. "There is nothing innocent about that one."

Luke's terrible at reading women. She's not the one-night-stand type. That's a light flirting, kiss on the cheek, 'here's my number for later' sort of girl. The type of girl that should stay the hell away from me. And from him.

Luke drains his beer and stands up. "You can sit here and make excuses for your wallowing. I'm going to bring this chick home and find out if that hair color is natural."

I raise my glass to him in a toast. Redhead looks like a deer caught in headlights when she realizes Luke is walking up to talk to her. She glances over her shoulders then back in my direction just as Luke leans in to say something to her. She smiles a little, visibly nervous, and says something in response. 

I'm not sure where my motivation went. My plan for tonight was to find a sexy little thing to take home--not my house, hers. I don't bring women to my bed. It's my safe haven, drama free, and with no awkward morning-after encounters. I'd like to think women feel more in control in their homes, anyway. And when they're more comfortable it just facilitates everything we can do together.

Already bored watching Luke and the redhead, I refocus my attention on the glass in my hands just as thin fingers pry it from my grip. 

"You might want to take it easy there, cowboy," Ava says, refilling my glass with a pitcher of beer. She's being sarcastic. I've been drinking that same beer for the past two hours.

"I'm done after this," I say. "Let me get the check when you get a chance."

"That reminds me..." She digs into her apron pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, setting it down on the table. "What the hell is this?"

I don't look at it because I already know what it is. The check I wrote out this morning and stuck under her door. "It's my rent check."

"Except it's made out for the wrong amount."

"I would say if I had an idiot tenant who willingly overpaid for rent, I wouldn't chastise them about it."

"Cut the crap, Giles. I know what you're doing. I don't want your handouts. Just pay your portion of the rent and that's it."

I match her determined glare. When Ava offered for me to move into her house, I didn't think twice about it. We'd always been close, more like siblings than cousins. I thought I'd get to see her more often, but nights like this, when I come to have dinner at the restaurant where she works, are the only times I get to see my cousin lately. She works like a maniac and sometimes it makes me feel guilty that I don't work half as much as she does.

"It's not my money," I remind her. "And he would've wanted you to have it. Or do you forget she's not just your mom, she's his sister, too. And my aunt."

She looks down and I know she realizes that bringing up my dad isn't something I do lightly.

"I'm managing just fine taking care of her on my own," she says.

"But why just manage when family is willing to help?"

She doesn't answer right away. I know part of the answer is that our parents didn't always have the best relationship. In truth, Ava's parents didn't get along with most people, including each other. They have always been difficult and immature, in more ways than one. Yet, she's always loved them more than anything else in the world. Growing up mediating between them is what cultivated her tendency to smooth over or mislead on details, just out of a desire to keep things civil between the people around her. I don't even think she realizes she does it. It's like a defense mechanism when she predicts trouble. 

But that's what worries me about her. That she could be drowning right in front of me and I wouldn't know, because I wouldn't have the right information to gauge from.

"That insurance money isn't a fortune, Giles. Your father wanted your education expenses paid for so you could focus on school and internships and not get sucked into a dead-end job. If you think I'm taking a penny more than your share of the rent, you really are an idiot."

 Tension shoots up my temples and I realize I'm grinding my teeth. It's not that she called me an idiot, that's almost a pet name coming from her. It's her reminder of my father's expectations. 

"Fine," I say. "You'll have a new check tonight."

Satisfied, Ava collects the plates from the table and my credit card to pay for my bill. When she returns to wipe down the table surface, I keep busy, rolling my newly filled glass between my palms, wondering if maybe Ava embodies the type of loyalty that I've so easily discarded as myth. She's not without her faults, though.

"You're lying again, little one," I say. This is as good a time as any to bring it up. I haven't been able to confront her on this over the past few days. "I guess old habits die hard."

"Stop calling me little one," she says, barely glancing at me. "It worked when we were kids, but it just sounds stupid now, since I'm practically as tall as you."

She's tall, nowhere near as tall as I am, but I suppose her ego makes up the difference.

"Why'd you tell me Julia's a lesbian?"

"I never said she was a lesbian."

"You know you did, in not so many words. Too bad she's not into guys. Took me less than a day to figure out that wasn't true."

Her eyes widen. "Did you--?"

"No. I didn't sleep with her. There are other ways of finding out, such as asking the person. So, answer my question. Why did you lie?"

"I just got the impression she's not a fan of men at the moment. I don't know. Some of the things she said." Ava shrugs. "What's it matter, anyway? You're going to stay away from her."

"I am?" 

My smirk seems to piss her off and I know her well enough to duck and fling my arms over my head to protect from the slaps she rains down all over me. Some of them sting the skin on the back of my forearm. 

"Okay, okay. Stop." I straighten in my seat when she lets up on her attack, but I don't make any promises.

I simply can't stay away from Julia. She's too fun to mess with. One of my admittedly less mature pastimes over the past few days has been watching my new roommate's eyes spark in anger when I prod her and get under her skin. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed pushing someone's buttons as much as I enjoy it with Julia. 

It's fun to watch her attempts to show me she isn't uncomfortable around me. Even while it's obvious that she isn't comfortable living with a man. Watching the shyness show on her face, despite the sharp edges she tries to flaunt, is the reason I don't even bother putting on a shirt in the mornings until she's left the house.  

Julia has an edginess about her exotic looks. An unintentional type of confidence I've never seen before. It's not the blatant, openly flirtatious kind that demands attention. It's an unassuming confidence in the way she's always fresh-faced, her hair down in natural dark waves and parted in the middle. She's the type of girl who doesn't try too hard. Not exactly a tomboy, but not far from it, either. She doesn't dress to accentuate her curves the way girls with her body type can when they want to. Yet, sexiness creeps out of her anyway, despite her efforts to the contrary. But never more than when she's pissed. She lights up from underneath and all around, on fire. Daring me to touch her.

Ava snaps a finger in front of my face, like she knows my thoughts are wandering somewhere dangerous. "Seriously, you're pissing me off with your inability to keep it in your pants. I've had to deal with the aftermath of you hooking up with my friend. I'm not dealing with that under my own roof, okay? I get that you're heartbroken and somehow...screwing your way out of it--"

"I'm not heartbroken," I correct.

She straightens her apron in a way that makes me dread where this conversation is going.

"Look, I know the anniversary of uncle Finn's death is coming up," she says. "I know how--"

"Don't go there, Ava." My tone grows icy.

"I'm just worried--"

"Don't be--"

"--that you bottle it all up, refuse to talk about it, and think being a manwhore is somehow going to--"

"Ava." 

She falls silent at my definitive tone then shakes her head as I get up, declaring this conversation over. 

"I'll see you at home," I tell her.

"She's off limits, Giles." 

"Sure she is," I say, without looking back.

I wake the next morning with a dull headache, which I find strange because I barely drank last night. Searching my nightstand for some aspirin proves pointless. There's none in my bathroom, either. I'm half asleep as I make it out into the hall. The place is quiet and I'm not sure what time it is, but I think everyone's still asleep.

I head down to the girls' bathroom, turning the knob and pushing inside before I register how damp the air is. The shower curtain is drawn and Julia stands just outside of the tub, hair soaked and clinging to the sides of her head. 

We both freeze, eyes going wide. Except mine are powerless to stop from following one of the water droplets as it rolls down her collarbone, between her full breasts, down the concave of her flat stomach to the smooth, shaved skin between her parted legs. 

Holy shit.

The towel she snatches from the rail obscures my sight. She pulls it tight over herself and snaps, "What the fuck, Giles?!"

I look up at her face, which I haven't glimpsed since walking in. She's beyond pissed, her entire expression twisted by fury. 

"Get out!" she yells.

"Hang on," I say, turning leisurely to the medicine cabinet. 

I'm already here, might as well get what I came for. I find a bottle of aspirin and, shutting the cabinet again, I catch her reflection. Her mouth is half open as she continues to pull the towel tighter around herself, deep lines between her brows. 

"Just needed these," I say, pretending I don't notice her expression. But, as I turn to the door again, I glance back over my shoulder. "Nice tits, by the way."

She hurls toward me and I duck out of the room laughing and close the door behind me. Two thundering booms mark her banging her fists against the door. 

"Asshole!"

Fuck. What a tight little body. And those breasts? Man, I can already see what they'd look like bouncing around during a good pounding. I run a hand over the front of my boxers, smoothing out the beginnings of a hard-on. Then I head back to my room, because the last thing I need is for her to come out of the bathroom to witness what seeing her like that did to me.

Julia, off limits? Yeah, I don't think so.