reprieve from school, it ends up leaving me more exhausted than anything. My parents were in rare form and managed to pick on me nonstop nearly the entire long weekend. For example, the second I walked into the door of my parents’ house, my mother hugged me and said, “Heather, your hair smells.”
I had just been driving for nearly six hours straight and that was definitely not what I wanted or needed to hear.
Besides, I had showered just before I left. Between you and me, the smell never entirely comes out from my hair. I looked online for solutions and had tried vinegar, tomato juice, Coca Cola, and even baking soda, but nothing quite gets out the formaldehyde. I barely even notice it anymore. And that worries me more than anything.
After we got off the subject of my hair, my mother gave me the third degree about my wonderful new boyfriend. Abe and I had toyed with the idea of him coming to my house for the holidays, or vice versa, but we decided our parents would have a fit. But as my mother grilled me, I desperately wished Abe were standing by my side. If only to look imposing.
I left early on Sunday, and it wasn’t a moment too soon. Abe promised he’d be home in time for us to get dinner that night, and I was holding him to that promise. I needed a long, relaxing night with my boyfriend to recover from three days with my parents.
When I get back to the dorms, I barely take a second to throw my bags in the room and glance at my reflection in the hall mirror. I’m wearing a tight tank top and a pair of skinny blue jeans, which seems good enough. I suspect Abe would be okay with it if I showed up wearing a potato sack.
I kick off my boots and slide sandals over my bare feet and hurry upstairs to Abe’s apartment. Usually we meet at my apartment because his is truly disgusting. A few weeks ago, I walked into the living room and there was a dead roach lying right in the middle of the floor. I pointed it out, and to my surprise, Mason and Abe seemed to already know it was there.
“It’s a warning to other roaches,” Mason explained. “So they know what will happen to them if they come in here.”
Abe just looked embarrassed and scooped up the roach with a paper towel.
Anyway, roaches or not, I’m too excited to see Abe and I don’t want to wait around downstairs. I knock on the door and Mason answers.
So here’s the weird part: Mason always seems really put together, but right now, he looks awful . His chestnut hair is sticking straight up and it looks like he hasn’t washed it in weeks. He’s wearing a Southside Med T-shirt that has a big brown stain on the front of it, and it smells worse than my hair. He’s got several days’ worth of stubble on his face, and those gorgeous hazel eyes are bloodshot.
“Mason?” I say.
I almost ask him if he’s drunk.
Mason blinks at me a few times, like he’s trying to place me. I practically expect him to ask me my name. Then his eyes narrow.
“What do you want?”
“Uh…” I squeeze my fists together. “I just came to see Abe.”
Mason frowns for a minute.
“Oh. ” His shoulders sag. “Right. Of course. He’s in the shower.”
“ He is?” I look at the bathroom door and see steam coming out from underneath.
“Yeah,” Mason says. And then he adds, sounding very much like his usual self, “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some company.”
He smiles at me then, and before I can question his appearance any further, he slips out the door to the apartment.
Actually, Mason had an intriguing idea. How hot would it be if I get into the shower with Abe? Of course, it would be a bit of a surprise, but what guy wouldn’t get turned on by something like that? And it will certainly propel our relationship to the next level.
I’m going to do it!
I go down the hall, gently opening the door to the bathroom, and silently slip into the room. Once inside, I blink several times as my vision quickly clouds with steam. I look at the mirrors, which
I had just been driving for nearly six hours straight and that was definitely not what I wanted or needed to hear.
Besides, I had showered just before I left. Between you and me, the smell never entirely comes out from my hair. I looked online for solutions and had tried vinegar, tomato juice, Coca Cola, and even baking soda, but nothing quite gets out the formaldehyde. I barely even notice it anymore. And that worries me more than anything.
After we got off the subject of my hair, my mother gave me the third degree about my wonderful new boyfriend. Abe and I had toyed with the idea of him coming to my house for the holidays, or vice versa, but we decided our parents would have a fit. But as my mother grilled me, I desperately wished Abe were standing by my side. If only to look imposing.
I left early on Sunday, and it wasn’t a moment too soon. Abe promised he’d be home in time for us to get dinner that night, and I was holding him to that promise. I needed a long, relaxing night with my boyfriend to recover from three days with my parents.
When I get back to the dorms, I barely take a second to throw my bags in the room and glance at my reflection in the hall mirror. I’m wearing a tight tank top and a pair of skinny blue jeans, which seems good enough. I suspect Abe would be okay with it if I showed up wearing a potato sack.
I kick off my boots and slide sandals over my bare feet and hurry upstairs to Abe’s apartment. Usually we meet at my apartment because his is truly disgusting. A few weeks ago, I walked into the living room and there was a dead roach lying right in the middle of the floor. I pointed it out, and to my surprise, Mason and Abe seemed to already know it was there.
“It’s a warning to other roaches,” Mason explained. “So they know what will happen to them if they come in here.”
Abe just looked embarrassed and scooped up the roach with a paper towel.
Anyway, roaches or not, I’m too excited to see Abe and I don’t want to wait around downstairs. I knock on the door and Mason answers.
So here’s the weird part: Mason always seems really put together, but right now, he looks awful . His chestnut hair is sticking straight up and it looks like he hasn’t washed it in weeks. He’s wearing a Southside Med T-shirt that has a big brown stain on the front of it, and it smells worse than my hair. He’s got several days’ worth of stubble on his face, and those gorgeous hazel eyes are bloodshot.
“Mason?” I say.
I almost ask him if he’s drunk.
Mason blinks at me a few times, like he’s trying to place me. I practically expect him to ask me my name. Then his eyes narrow.
“What do you want?”
“Uh…” I squeeze my fists together. “I just came to see Abe.”
Mason frowns for a minute.
“Oh. ” His shoulders sag. “Right. Of course. He’s in the shower.”
“ He is?” I look at the bathroom door and see steam coming out from underneath.
“Yeah,” Mason says. And then he adds, sounding very much like his usual self, “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some company.”
He smiles at me then, and before I can question his appearance any further, he slips out the door to the apartment.
Actually, Mason had an intriguing idea. How hot would it be if I get into the shower with Abe? Of course, it would be a bit of a surprise, but what guy wouldn’t get turned on by something like that? And it will certainly propel our relationship to the next level.
I’m going to do it!
I go down the hall, gently opening the door to the bathroom, and silently slip into the room. Once inside, I blink several times as my vision quickly clouds with steam. I look at the mirrors, which
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