Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 20

Sam

I've steered well clear of the dorm today, sneaking out while Somers was still dead to the world and keeping myself busy at the gym and wandering around Salisbury until the sun sets and I can't think of anything else to distract myself with. I've ignored my phone all day, though it's been vibrating at a regular beat throughout. I can guess who's trying to reach me: Ott and Weaver, each for his own reasons. I can't deal with either right now.

The heavy metal playlist blasting into my earphones helps with the buzzing in my brain as I head back to campus. I don't want to have to think about what the fuck's going on with me, the effect that Somers is having. If I'm being honest with myself, I feel shitty about all of it, last night especially. I should never have let Ott pressure me into getting Annie's number, and I sure as hell shouldn't have done with her what I did in his guest room.

Turns out, it's not awesome to hook up with one chick while thinking of another. I'd felt like a worthless shit as soon as she put her hands on me. For the first time in my life, I wasn't even able to get hard enough for our hookup to go anywhere. Annie's flushed embarrassment at that, her repeated questions about whether she'd done something wrong, had made my skin crawl. I'd told her the truth: it had nothing to do with her; I was past fucked up and couldn't be helped. But I could tell she felt like she owed me something.

Which she didn't; she doesn't. I'm the one who owes her, at least, an apology. Reluctantly, I pull my phone from my pocket, ignoring the notifications and scrolling to her name in my texts. She's reached out twice today, both times to apologize. I groan, thrusting a hand into my hair before tapping in my own apology, explaining to Annie exactly why I couldn't go through with anything last night. It feels both good and awful to say that there's someone else. It makes it real, somehow, seeing it written on the screen. Which is terrifying as hell. But it's also, incredibly, a relief. Perhaps my acknowledging it is a step toward...well, something.

I hit Send on the message and slip my phone back into my pocket, but not before I see Jared's most recent text, at the top of my message list: you think she's back because of it? I don't need any additional context to know what he's asking, whether Somers is in Salisbury again because her dad died. I curse aloud, chastising myself for allowing Jared to shove his way into the room last night, knowing full-well Somers was terrified and vulnerable in sleep. He hadn't been lying—we'd both heard her shouting from outside the door to 202—but when he'd said that shit about her daddy issues...fuck.

I've reached MacMillan now, and I shove a hand through my hair again, climbing the stairs to the second floor. What a fucking idiot. I'd seen Somers' expression when he'd said that, like she'd had a bucket of icy water dumped over her head. At least I'd done the right thing then, I think, shuttling him from the room and letting him know that the dad jokes weren't cool, that her dad was dead. Weaver had sobered instantly at that, his eyes going wide. He'd felt guilty, that was obvious. As he should.

The dorm is dark and empty when I unlock the door, and my sigh of relief turns quickly into a groan. Because the room smells like girl. Or, more precise, it smells like Somers, and now my whole body is reacting to it. Even when she's not here she's turning me on now. Fucking great.

I take a long shower, allowing the water to go from scalding to frigid before I finally shut off the taps and towel off. Classes start tomorrow, which means I owe Carr two things in the next twelve hours:

1. That I take the rings out, because, as Carr loves to remind me, section 7.12 in the handbook designates no piercings aside from single holes in the ear lobe. When I'd snarled at the idea, he'd reminded me that he has my balls in his fist in the form of Somers' enrollment at RA.

2. That I meet him for breakfast at his office prior to classes. Another condition of keeping Somers around is that we start spending more "family time" together. Not sure how eating shitty cafeteria food in his office translates to father/son bonding, but it's a worthwhile tradeoff for Somers' company, even if I can't show it.

When the clock ticks past midnight and Somers is still MIA, I take the rings out, glowering at my reflection as I do. If the past two days are any indication, this year is going to be a shit-storm.