We Are Us

I’m not interested in Sully, but it still chafes to be shoved aside. Again. “He’s all yours,” I say, deciding that it’s time to call it a night.

I make my way upstairs and head for the front door. By the time I get outside, I can’t focus on any of the faces around me. I’m just grateful that the ground rises up to meet my feet as I put one in front of the other.

I haven’t made it very far when I hear my name from behind me. I stop, turning carefully.

“Hey, there.” Tucker jogs over. “I was wondering where you went.”

I take another sip of lemonade, then peer behind him. “Where’s Wren?”

“She got sidelined by some chicks from the sorority she’s pla

“Yeah.” I turn away, toward the dorms.

“If your boyfriend was here, I bet he wouldn’t let you walk home alone.”

I flinch at the u

“His loss.”

Exactly. His loss. I take another sip of lemonade, feeling almost belligerent.

I turn away from Tucker, toward the dorms. I’m not worried about walking back alone. Worthington is one of the safest schools in the country, a fact they extoll in every campus tour and marketing packet.

In two strides Tucker catches up. “Mind if I come with you? I feel bad. I convinced you to come to the party and you obviously didn’t have a very good time.”

“Not your fault. Wren was right. It really wasn’t my scene, after all,” I say. “And you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Don’t tell Wren that. She wants you all to herself.”

Tucker reaches for my free hand, entwining his fingers through mine. “Don’t mind her. She’s a little possessive, I know. But she’s not who I want.” He glances at my drink. “What’s that?”

“This?” I extend the red cup in his direction. “Lemonade and… something else. Eversomething.”

He sniffs it, then takes a healthy swallow. “Jesus, you don’t mess around.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. You’ve just got a hell of a tolerance, is all.” He gives the cup back to me, gri

Alcohol and elation buzz through my veins. Impressive. I like the sound of that. It’s the same word that comes to mind when I look at people like Tucker and Wren. They have a confidence about them, an assuredness that surrounds them like a protective bubble.

Next to them, I’m just so… insignificant.

I down the rest of the lemonade mix, toss my cup to the side.

Drunk Poppy is a litterer.

Is that even a word? Before I can ask Tucker for his opinion, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his side.

I forget all about my misdemeanor. One moment there is a cloud of vapor between our lips, the next he’s swallowing my sigh. Tucker tastes like beer with just a hint of sweetness from the lemonade.

Not like Gavin at all.

Damn it. Stop thinking about Gavin. No matter how many good memories I have, nothing can change the fact that he left me. It’s been months, and he hasn’t come back. Maybe I won’t get over him—but I have to at least try.

Tucker’s tongue is warm and insistent, and I cling to his shoulders as a tremble shakes my frame.

He breaks away. “Cold?”

I know it’s cold outside, but I can’t feel it. Maybe because I’m feeling so many other things. Dizzy. Aroused. Nervous. Guilty. Slightly sick. And very, very drunk. “Maybe a little.”

But I don’t feel mad or sad or a

It’s an improvement.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Holding hands, we walk the rest of the way, thoughts of Gavin and Wren as distant as the stars suspended within the obsidian dome of the night sky.

Our dorm is practically empty when we return. “Want to come back to my room? We could watch a movie or something?” I ask. Tucker is Wren’s friend, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be mine too.

Oh, please. You never had friends. You had Gavin.

But Gavin’s gone. He doesn’t love you anymore. Maybe he never did.

Liar! He loved me, I know he did.

Then why isn’t he here?

I squeeze my eyes closed, shake my head. Stop it, Poppy.

“Poppy?”

Shit. I blink them open to find Tucker staring down at me. And I like how he’s looking at me. Concerned. Interested. “Yeah?”

“Let’s go back to mine. My roommate’s almost never there.” He lifts his dark brows and kisses me again. I sway in Tucker’s arms, grabbing hold of his biceps to steady myself.

Gavin’s probably kissed someone else by now. He’s probably forgotten all about me.

Tucker’s room is on the opposite end of Caldwell from mine, although we are on the same floor. And it’s immediately obvious we both have odd roommate situations, too. One side of the room is perfectly neat. Bed made, books on the desk aligned with their spines facing out, dresser drawers all pushed in, the top free of debris. The other side looks like a tornado has ripped through it, scattering clothes and books and bedding everywhere. A pile of laundry—dirty or clean, I can’t tell—is heaped on the unmade bed. “Which side is yours?”

“You think I could live like that?” His full lips twist in disgust as he walks to a small refrigerator tucked beside the spotless desk. “No freakin’ way.”

I take the can of beer, even though I know I should ask for a soda instead. Or better yet, water. I sit down on the bed. It’s soft. Too soft. My stomach lurches, and I edge forward, lowering myself to the floor, needing to feel something solid beneath me.

Tucker looks at me quizzically. “You okay?”

His face breaks apart into two, then fuses back together. “Yeah, yeah. S’fine.” He sits down beside me, one hand cupping my jaw, his thumb sweeping over my cheekbone.

“We shouldn’t do this. Wren wrants—” I catch the slur and pause. “Wren wants you. I’m breaking girl code. S’big time.”

“You and Wren are friends?”

My tongue feels heavy and awkward in my mouth. “No. I don’t have any…”

“You don’t have any… what?”

“Friends. I don’t—I don’t have any friends.”

Tucker’s features blur again. “Poor Poppy. No friends. No boyfriend. You’re all alone, aren’t you?”

Sadness coils like a spring inside me and I feel a tear slide down my cheek. “No.”

He brushes it away with the calloused pad of his thumb. “I can be your friend.”

Tucker moves forward, or maybe I do. And then we’re kissing, his arms wrapping around my waist, my almost untouched beer forgotten. Once I close my eyes, I feel like I’m on the Tilt-a-Whirl at a cheap, fly-by-night carnival. I pull away, needing space.

But Tucker is so close. Too close. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers. “And I have you all to myself, don’t I?”

“Need to lie down.” My words are barely a mumble. I’m holding onto consciousness by my fingernails.

Tucker follows, his lips on mine, his body heavy on top of me. I whimper, trying to draw a deep breath. But I can’t.

I press my palms flat against his chest. But I have no strength to push, my fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt, his skin hot against my knuckles.

I want to speak, to say the words pulsing in my brain like street lights. Stop. No. Get off.

But the sounds I make aren’t words. They aren’t anything at all.

And soon, I am silent.