Unnaturalism

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Shelley was gone when I finally got back to my apartment. I wasn't surprised, but I was disappointed. Getting back took three times longer because some shithead had taken my bike while I was in DRACO. I wondered how many pixies it would take before I could afford a new one. Then I glanced down at the conversion sheet and grimaced.

Seventy-five.

Part of me was hoping that she'd still be there, but I'd been gone for four hours when I should have only taken forty-five. She had a life, and I couldn't expect her to put it all on hold just for me. That would be unhealthy and weird, and suggest a marked lack of self-respect. I didn't date people who didn't respect themselves.

When I checked my cell I saw that I had two missed calls and a displeased-sounding text. I grimaced and called her up. Please pick up, I willed her, praying that she wouldn't just send me straight to voicemail. Shelly was not a vindictive person, but we all act out of character when we're pissed off. Luckily, she picked up.

I got straight down to business anyway, just in case she decided to hang up. “Baby, I am so sorry.”

“Where did you go?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

“I had an accident. Fell off my bike.” I looked down at my hand, which was still throbbing. “I thought I broke my finger, so I went to Student Health.”

“And?”

“It's not broken. I'm just an idiot.”

“You are that,” she agreed, sounding mollified.

“Some asshole stole my bike, though,” I added. “I had to walk all the way back.”

“Poor you.” Her voice was a little mocking, but I thought I detected genuine sympathy. Bikes got stolen a lot in Davis; with so many bike trails and paths inaccessible to cars, they were a valuable commodity. Even if this wasn't true, which it was, she was close to forgiving me—I could tell. “Are you okay?”

Yeah, I was definitely forgiven. “Well, I don't know. Maybe you should kiss it better.”

She had a beautiful laugh—it reminded me of a Disney princess. Feminine. Musical. Perfect. The kind of laugh I used to wish I had before I stopped caring about such things.

“Maybe I should.”

“Come over?”

“Maybe,” she said again.

I washed the dishes and waited.

Forty-five minutes later, we were back in bed, and I was showing her just how sorry I was with my mouth and a toy. She smelled a little like sweat, and under that was a light perfume, Calvin Klein, I think, and then the seashell scent of her arousal.