he holds it open and I playfully roll my eyes at him. A moment later I feel his hand slap my backside.
“Cal!” I yell at him massaging the tingling on my backside. I should have seen that one coming.
When we reach the front door, I cross my arms, starting to feel cold, standing with no clothes on.
“Thursday at the latest,” I grimace.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he vaguely promises.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you,” I say, irritated with his lack of an answer.
“Stop pouting; it’s way too sexy when I’m leaving,” he says before stealing a quick kiss from me. I quickly close the door behind him. There’s only one other apartment on the floor and that’s been vacant, but I wouldn’t want to flash any potential tenants.
I lean my head against the door; I swear that our relationship is so back and forth that it’s like we’re playing tennis, except he makes all the rules. When it’s bad, it’s really bad, but when it’s good, it’s so good. I hate it and love it at the same time. But that’s how Cal is.
Sometimes, even if briefly, he’s funny, fun, and open like he used to be. Other times, he can be a total bitch, which is not fun for anyone but him. When I first met him, I thought he was mysterious. Now I try to remember if he was this moody when I met him, or if I was just blinded by his good looks and carefree attitude.
April 30th 2008
“Someone’s getting all dressed up,” my roommate Hillary teases as I put my hair in a French braid.
“Well, he says we’re going to do something fun, so I’m dressing casually.” I defend myself, referring to my sweater and blue jeans. Of course she’d think I should be wearing a skirt that barely covers my ass and a tight blouse—what she wears on her dates.
Hillary and I are like night and day. She's a tall statuesque blond. Well when she's wearing her natural color. I was blonde once in an experiment that went terribly wrong. Normally though I'm brunette and only reach 5’5” with the aid of four inch heels. While I could stay up all night wrapped up in a book or watching a movie Hilary won’t hear of it and many times have dragged me to my job to party all night.
I can’t blame her. We both grew up in small towns in Michigan but our childhood couldn’t be more different. Hillary’s father is a well-known preacher and kept her and her sister under a pretty tight leash. She says her mother didn’t do much to loosen it.
My parents died in a car crash when I was three so I don’t have the luxury to complain about an over bearing dad or sheepish mom. My Aunt Raven raised me, and she perfected the parental balance with the perfect mix of discipline and freedom which isn’t bad for a woman who never wanted kids.
I guess being a girl with a dad who wouldn’t even let her go to school dances means she’s just making up for lost time and enjoying the freedom she missed out on. Somewhere within me I admire her free spirit. She never lets anything bring her down and she does what she wants regardless of what other people say or think about her. She’s dyed her long curly hair multiple colors more times than I can count and is the only person I’ve ever met that wears purple and green contacts over her gorgeous baby blues. I sometimes wonder if she is bipolar on a constant high.
“Maybe when he says fun, he means fun,” she snickers, wiggling her eyebrows. I look back at her and can’t help but laugh.
“First off, I don’t even know this guy. So there’s not going to be any of that kind of ‘fun’,” I assure her.
“Well, of course not that kind of fun. Tight pants Lauren Brooks isn’t revealing Victoria’s Secret to just anyone,” she laughs and flops onto my bed.
“You’re five seconds away from being locked out of my room,” I tell her playfully, while putting on my gym shoes.
“It’s not like anything fun goes on in here anyway,” she says mockingly with a wink.
I pout at her and she laughs.
“Aww girly. You
“Cal!” I yell at him massaging the tingling on my backside. I should have seen that one coming.
When we reach the front door, I cross my arms, starting to feel cold, standing with no clothes on.
“Thursday at the latest,” I grimace.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he vaguely promises.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you,” I say, irritated with his lack of an answer.
“Stop pouting; it’s way too sexy when I’m leaving,” he says before stealing a quick kiss from me. I quickly close the door behind him. There’s only one other apartment on the floor and that’s been vacant, but I wouldn’t want to flash any potential tenants.
I lean my head against the door; I swear that our relationship is so back and forth that it’s like we’re playing tennis, except he makes all the rules. When it’s bad, it’s really bad, but when it’s good, it’s so good. I hate it and love it at the same time. But that’s how Cal is.
Sometimes, even if briefly, he’s funny, fun, and open like he used to be. Other times, he can be a total bitch, which is not fun for anyone but him. When I first met him, I thought he was mysterious. Now I try to remember if he was this moody when I met him, or if I was just blinded by his good looks and carefree attitude.
April 30th 2008
“Someone’s getting all dressed up,” my roommate Hillary teases as I put my hair in a French braid.
“Well, he says we’re going to do something fun, so I’m dressing casually.” I defend myself, referring to my sweater and blue jeans. Of course she’d think I should be wearing a skirt that barely covers my ass and a tight blouse—what she wears on her dates.
Hillary and I are like night and day. She's a tall statuesque blond. Well when she's wearing her natural color. I was blonde once in an experiment that went terribly wrong. Normally though I'm brunette and only reach 5’5” with the aid of four inch heels. While I could stay up all night wrapped up in a book or watching a movie Hilary won’t hear of it and many times have dragged me to my job to party all night.
I can’t blame her. We both grew up in small towns in Michigan but our childhood couldn’t be more different. Hillary’s father is a well-known preacher and kept her and her sister under a pretty tight leash. She says her mother didn’t do much to loosen it.
My parents died in a car crash when I was three so I don’t have the luxury to complain about an over bearing dad or sheepish mom. My Aunt Raven raised me, and she perfected the parental balance with the perfect mix of discipline and freedom which isn’t bad for a woman who never wanted kids.
I guess being a girl with a dad who wouldn’t even let her go to school dances means she’s just making up for lost time and enjoying the freedom she missed out on. Somewhere within me I admire her free spirit. She never lets anything bring her down and she does what she wants regardless of what other people say or think about her. She’s dyed her long curly hair multiple colors more times than I can count and is the only person I’ve ever met that wears purple and green contacts over her gorgeous baby blues. I sometimes wonder if she is bipolar on a constant high.
“Maybe when he says fun, he means fun,” she snickers, wiggling her eyebrows. I look back at her and can’t help but laugh.
“First off, I don’t even know this guy. So there’s not going to be any of that kind of ‘fun’,” I assure her.
“Well, of course not that kind of fun. Tight pants Lauren Brooks isn’t revealing Victoria’s Secret to just anyone,” she laughs and flops onto my bed.
“You’re five seconds away from being locked out of my room,” I tell her playfully, while putting on my gym shoes.
“It’s not like anything fun goes on in here anyway,” she says mockingly with a wink.
I pout at her and she laughs.
“Aww girly. You
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