When Joss Met Matt (2 page)

“Evil? You?” His expression was incredulous and amused at the same time.

I nodded at the pre-med types facing us from the other side of the lab table. “I can read upside down.”

He grinned and held up a curled hand for a fist-bump.

And that was how I found myself partners and friends with Matt.

At the beginning of October, my boyfriend, Ben, called to tell me he was coming up for the weekend. I was so excited, I could barely think. It was the first weekend Ben and I were going to spend together, alone. I felt like a grown-up, although I wouldn't have admitted that to anyone.

Rachel knew how happy I was. It would have been hard not to notice; I was practically climbing the walls. On Friday afternoon, she kindly made herself scarce.

At four o'clock I'd already vacuumed, changed my sheets, showered, and done my hair. There was nothing left to do except sit on my bed pretending to watch TV, but really watching the clock. Each minute dragged into eternity. It was nearly unbearable not knowing when he would arrive.

Finally, at 4:52, a knock at the door sent me flying to my feet and my heart into my throat. I opened the door to Ben's smiling face.

“Hi!” I squeaked, throwing my arms around him.

“Hi,” he answered, hugging me tight. I kissed him, hard. He walked me backward into the room, mouth covering mine without a break.

“It's so good to see you,” I breathed, trying to put my hands on every inch of him at once.

“It's good to see you.”

I helped him take off his coat and drop his backpack on the floor. We fell onto my bed, kissing, and his hands were under my shirt in a heartbeat, clawing at my bra.

In a matter of minutes, my careful hair and makeup job was ruined. We were under the sheets and naked before I could catch my breath. It felt so good to be in Ben's arms again.

“Make love to me,” I whispered, feeling cheesy even though I really meant it.

He did. Over and over again for two days. We holed up like criminals in my room, eating delivered pizza and making up for the long weeks apart. Ben was my first everything. First real boyfriend, first love, first
first …
 and talking on the phone had not been enough. I had never been so happy to see another person in my life. It was incredible.

Sunday morning, Ben was up early—eight o'clock. He had a long drive ahead of him, and he needed to leave soon. I started to cry as soon as he began packing his things.

“Jossie,” he said, sitting beside me on the bed, “don't cry.”

“I don't want you to go,” I bawled.

“Come on, now. You know I have to.”

I nodded, miserable.

“Please don't cry. I wanted to talk to you before I go anyway; come on.”

I sniffled a few minutes before getting myself under control.

His face was stiff and strange.

“What's wrong?”

“I—I—” he stammered.

“What?” I repeated.

“Joss, I—uh, sort of, um … met someone.”

I blinked at him. He might as well have been speaking Mandarin. I didn't feel anything—yet. “I don't understand.”

“I met someone. At school.” He couldn't meet my eyes, looking instead at something over my shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Anger lit a flame within me, but it was just at a simmer so far. I needed more information.

“Her name is Kate.”

Her name stoked the flames, and I was rapidly moving from simmering to boiling. I stared at him, silent.

“I didn't want to break up with you over the phone.”

Finally, I could move. I got off the bed, dragging the sheet with me and snatched my jeans off the floor. My hands were thick and clumsy, but anger kept my grip tight.

“You're breaking up with me?”

“I'm sorry.”

I had to get dressed. I had to protect myself from his eyes. I had to be ready in case I decided to kick him where it hurt. I shoved my legs into my jeans, mindless of my lack of underwear, and pulled a sweatshirt out of my closet. I held it to my chest while fury rattled through my limbs.

“You're breaking up with me
now
?” My voice rose with every word.

“It didn't seem right over the phone.”

“It didn't seem
right
?” I repeated. “You thought it was
better
to come up here and—and
fuck
me for two days?” I shouted. He winced. “You—you
asshole!
”

In the silence that followed, I ducked into the sweatshirt and wadded up the sheet. When I saw it in my hands, I threw it at him. It dropped on the floor without impact and I growled in fury.

“Calm down,” he implored.

“Calm down? Fuck you!” Moving quickly, I seized the sheet and balled it up again. I wanted to hit him this time. Inside my chest my heart thrashed, sending blood so hard and fast to my body that my vision seemed to pulse with each beat. I wanted to hit him. I needed something that would
hurt
. My fingers wouldn't ease from their grip on the sheet but my eyes looked for something with substance.

“Joss, I'm sorry.”

“How could you?” The unbridled anger made me shake and tears breached my lids.

“I didn't mean to—for this to happen. I didn't want to do it … over the phone.” He stood, letting his hands hang loose at his sides.

A sob escaped my chest. It was like breaking the dam that held back the floodwaters; I wailed like a baby, humiliated and livid. I let the sheet drop and used my hands to cover my face.

“Jossie.” He approached and reached for me. I cracked my forearms down on his with enough force to hurt us both.

“Don't you touch me,” I snapped.

“I didn't mean …”

A horrifying thought struck me. “Did you sleep with her?”

He didn't answer, but his face told me he had.

I made a senseless noise, rubbing the heels of my hands down my body. I wanted to wipe him away, get the feel of his hands off me.

“I'm sorry,” Ben said.

“Get out,” I moaned. “Get out now.” He didn't move, so I scrambled for the doorknob and threw the door wide. He still didn't move. “Get out!” I shoved him, but he only had to take a half-step to save himself. I hated that I couldn't hurt him.

“Jossie, please …”

“Get away from me!”

“Joss,” he said, but I looked away. He stepped into the hall and I took resounding pleasure in slamming the door in his face.

Then I crumpled to the floor and cried.

Chapter Three

Seven Years Earlier … First Semester Freshman Year

It took a week of three-times-a-day showers and hysterical crying before I formulated my idiotic plan. It was this: the best way to get over my first love was clearly to have meaningless sex with someone I knew only by his first name. Brilliant, right?

So, the following Friday, I recruited some girls from my floor and sought out info on a frat party.

I wore my tightest jeans, a shirt that showed off my midriff, and no coat. Even at the time, I knew going coatless marked me as a freshman, but I couldn't figure out what older students did with their coats when they went out. All I knew was that I didn't want mine to end up stuffed in a corner getting God knows what on it. Armed with five dollars for my keg cup and a condom, I led the charge into the frat house.

I tried out several guys before I found one who seemed drunk enough to be used and who would then forget me. Just what I wanted. His name was Jeff and he was big and not the sharpest crayon in the box. The kind of guy that gives athletic scholarships a bad reputation.

Around one
A.M.
, I made several vows to be careful and sent my friends packing. Jeff took me up to his room. It wasn't just messy, it was actually dirty. The rug was ground down and stained, the walls marked and the furniture nearly buried under empty soda and beer cans. The whole place smelled like dirty socks. I swallowed my urge to flee and tried on a sassy smile.

He shoved the blankets back to reveal sheets decorated with a sweat ring and collapsed onto the bed with a grin.

“Come here, cutie,” he said. I straddled his lap, fully clothed. I was honestly afraid to take my shoes off, but I knew it would have to happen eventually.

His breath smelled like cheap beer and his kisses were sloppy. The longer we fooled around, the looser Jeff's hands were getting on my body, but I persisted. When I sat up to take my shirt off, I realized he had passed out.

Well that's just fucking great.

In my desperation, I actually checked the crotch of his pants. Soft. I dismounted my unconscious frat boy and stood back to survey the situation. To proceed or not to proceed?

It was depressing. Not to mention humiliating. I couldn't believe I was even considering the possibilities. Did I really want to perpetrate a sexual assault? Me? No.
Get out now,
I decided. My nose itched with the telltale warning sign of tears. This was a low point, for sure. Probably the lowest of my life.

I closed the button on my jeans and slipped out of the room. The party was still in full swing when I went downstairs, but I found the door. I was ready to go home.

Outside, the air was still and cold. The sky was clear and starry, but I didn't have time to waste looking at it. I was shivering without my coat, and cursing my choice to leave it back in my nice warm room. Cursing my whole stupid plan, actually. Frat Row was loud with music, laughter, and the sound of girls' heels clicking on the sidewalk. I passed couples, trios of sorority sisters with their arms linked, groups of guys who had reached the play-fighting stage of drunkenness. No one was alone. I picked up the pace.

At the end of Langdon Street, I found the bus line that would take me back to my dorm, and waited for the next pick up. My breath made clouds before me, and my nose was starting to run. I used the edge of my sleeve to wipe it, and realized my shirt smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes. Thank God I didn't smell like Jeff's room anyway. I blinked, expecting my eyes to be running as well, but I seemed to be out of tears.

I wrapped my arms around my exposed middle, questioning my judgment for the millionth time that night. My dorm was across campus, and the only paths there were over a huge hill or down a dark, isolated path along the lake. I was just contemplating walking the lake path back to my dorm when the bus turned the corner.

We called it the Drunk Bus, and for good reason. After dark, the university ran four bus lines in the city for free. It was the best way to move large groups of inebriated students around, and everybody knew it. The bus chugged to a stop in front of me. I could see through the windows that it was already full of students.

When the doors opened, drunken singing poured out like theme music. I climbed the steps and used the handrails to pull myself through the crowded aisle. Since the passengers weren't paying, the drivers had no compunction about filling the buses well beyond capacity. The pink-cheeked drunks on board were launching into a rousing chorus of “You've Lost That Loving Feeling” when the bus pulled away from the stop.

I managed to squeeze my way into a bit of space near the rear door, and found Matt Lehrer sitting in one of the side-facing seats.

“Hey, Joss,” he said, blurry-eyed.

“Matt, what's up?” I mustered a smile.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I shrugged.

“I didn't think you guys did that.” He smirked.

“Who's that?”

“Girls. I thought you were pack animals.”

“I'm a rebel.” I wanted to dissuade him from asking me more about my night. It was too pathetic. “You alone?”

“Yeah, I met some guys from high school while I was out, but they live in Southeast.”

The bus lurched around the hairpin turn next to the library and I had to wrap my arms around the nearest pole.

“You wanna sit?” Matt offered.

“No, I'm good.”

The Drunken Choral Singers moved on to the opening strains of “Hooked on a Feeling,” really relishing the ooga-chakas. I smiled.

“Whereju go tonight?” he asked.

“Frat party.”

“Awesome.” Matt made a face and turned his hands into the international symbol for “Rock On.”

“Shut up. What did you do?”

“I checked out some of the bars on State Street.”

“How did you get in?” I demanded.

Matt pulled out his wallet and flashed me a very passable Utah driver's license that listed his age as twenty-one years old.

I took the wallet from him. “Utah?”

“Yeah, I figured they don't see a lot of Utah IDs around here because of all the Mormons. Don't drink much.”

I laughed. “Interesting theory. Where did you get this? How could you not tell me about this?”

“There's a guy in Chadbourne selling them for seventy-five bucks,” he said, naming the so-called “honors” dorm.

“Seventy-five?” I echoed. “That's a lot.”

“It's worked at every place I've tried.”

I twisted my mouth, considering. “You got his name?”

“Email. In my room.”

“Sweet.”

The bus jerked to a halt at the Lakeshore stop, and the Drunken Chorale Singers poured into the quiet of the street, still howling the chorus of “Hooked on a Feeling.” I followed the crowd off, Matt falling in step beside me.

“So, seriously, why are you alone tonight?” he asked.

“I was with a bunch of girls from my floor, but they took off.”

“Ooh, you get in a fight?” He grinned.

“No, I was talking to this guy …” I pressed one palm against my bare stomach. Without even mentioning his name, the thought of Jeff made me feel a mixture of embarrassment and nausea.

“What about The Boyfriend?” he asked.

“Um …” I didn't want to talk about Ben so I shifted my gaze away.

“Ah.”

I shrugged “Whatever.”

He stood back to let me precede him down the narrow stairs leading from the cafeteria parking lot to the lower elevation where our dorm was. I crossed my arms for warmth, waiting for him. He tripped on the last step and stumbled into me. I grabbed him and we staggered into a wall together. I cracked my head, hard enough to make an awful noise, but not hard enough to hurt … much.

Matt burst into laughter before he could stop himself. “Oh, ouch! Are you okay?” He cupped the back of my head.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I covered his hand with mine.

“That sounded really bad,” he said with muffled laughter.

“What's a little brain damage among friends, right?” I tried to laugh it off, but it did smart.

He squinted at me, like he could somehow check my pupils like a doctor instead of a drunk college freshman. We were once again alone in a dark corner, nearly nose to nose. I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. Ben would have kissed me. Before we were dating, I mean.

A gust of wind rounded the corner of the building and I shivered.

Matt eased back and said, “Come on. You're freezing. Let's go inside and I'll give you the guy's email address.”

It was the nice guy thing to do, and I have to admit, it frustrated the hell out of me. I wanted a guy who would do what I wanted without me having to ask. Someone who would have rescued me from the clutches of my evil frat guy and swept me off on his white horse. Or at the very least, would have seen that I was ripe for kissing, pressed up against the wall as I was. Matt was either Mr. Rogers nice, didn't find me attractive enough to kiss, or didn't have a romantic bone in his body.

Whatever the reason, it wasn't going to happen. And that meant he wasn't my type.

But he was a friend, the only thing that made chemistry bearable, and he had the goods on a fake ID connection. I didn't need him to be my type.

We hurried across the grass to the entrance of Cole. Matt fitted his key in the door and let us in. I followed him down the hall to his room. The halls had the musty, damp smell of weekends. There was a dark patch of something wet on the mottled blue carpet outside one of the rooms we passed and I wrinkled my nose. Down the hall, someone's stereo was throbbing bass. The frequency was low enough to rattle my chest even though it wasn't very loud.

He unlocked his room and I followed him into the dark.

“Where's your roommate?” I asked.

“Dunno.”

“Oh.” I sat on the missing roommate's futon, watching Matt go through his arrival routine. He hung up his coat and tossed his keys on the dresser before powering up his computer. It was dim in the room, with only the desk lamp and one wall sconce on, but I could see that he and Chris had changed the room a bit since I'd last been in there. The futon was a new addition, for example. And there were some posters on the wall. Above his bed, Matt had mounted a large black-and-white poster of a brunet pinup from the 1940s or '50s, I wasn't sure. The rest of the wall was a mishmash of photos, a German and an Irish flag, and a UW pennant.

“Who's that?” I pointed to the poster.

“Rita Hayworth,” he said. “I'm digging an escape tunnel through the wall behind it.”

I grinned at him. “Nice.”

He dropped into his desk chair and looked back at me.

“So, who were you with tonight?” he asked.

“Jessie, Geena, um … Kerry and Megan.”

“I know Jessie,” he said, for no apparent reason. I didn't answer.

Matt logged into his email account and scrolled through the messages. “Here it is,” he murmured. “What's your address?”

I gave it to him and he forwarded the message to me. “Thanks.”

“Let me know when you get one. We can go out.”

“Cool.” I stood up.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I think so.” I swallowed hard and tried a smile. “Probably drunk.”

“You must be building up a tolerance.” He turned to the small refrigerator and pulled out an open bottle of blue Powerade. “Want some?”

“I don't drink anything blue,” I said.

He laughed. “Why not?”

“I make it a rule not to drink anything that's an unnatural color.”

“Blue is natural, the sky is blue,” he said.

“You can't drink the sky.”

He laughed again. “That's a weird rule.”

I shrugged. “It just freaks me out.”

“You're a weird girl, Jocelyn.”

“I just don't like blue drinks or food.”

He took a long drink. “What about blueberries?”

“They're not blue inside.”

“So … do you peel them?”

“Okay fine, I don't eat electric blue food.”

He laughed again, but let the subject drop. “By the way, thanks for ditching me in lab this week. Must have been a hell of a weekend with The Boyfriend.” I'd still been wallowing when chem lab came around and skipped.

Apparently, my supply of tears was not out yet. I turned away when my eyes welled up, but I guess I wasn't fast enough.

“Whoa, what'd I say?” Matt asked, standing.

“No, it's nothing. I'm sorry.” I blinked hard.

“Are you sure?”

I took a few deep breaths, trying to control my voice before I spoke, but I failed miserably. “He broke up with me.”

“Oh.”

“He met someone else.”

“Oh,” was all Matt had to offer.

I covered my face with both hands.

“He's a jerk,” Matt added after a moment.

I gave out a choked laugh, looking up at him. “Yeah, you're right.” My eyes stung and I covered my face again, swallowing my sobs.

He put his arms around me. I melted into his embrace and tried not to get snot on his shirt.

“It's okay, Joss,” he said into my hair.

“I'm sorry.” I tried to pull away, but he kept me close.

“Don't. It's okay.”

I let him hold me, rubbing my back and swaying slightly, but after a while I seemed to run out of steam. I turned my head, resting my cheek on his chest, and sighed.

“I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to … whatever. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” He loosened his arms, letting me lean back.

I wiped at my face. “God, I must look awful.”

“Not awful.” He squinted at me. “Sit down.”

We sat on his bed and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“How long did you guys go out?”

“Since sophomore year.”