Twisted One Night Stand

BEXLEY

“Please tell me you took notes in Jefferson’s class.” Quinn, my roommate and closest friend, plops down on her small twin bed, the mattress squeaking in protest.

“Is that even a question?” I meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror where I’m currently running a flat iron through my dark blonde hair, trying to smooth away the natural waves.

“You’re right. Why am I even asking? Of course you took notes in Jefferson’s class. I’m pretty sure you’re incapable of

not doing exactly what you’re supposed to. Predictability at its finest.” She laughs. “I’m gonna need to look over them. I was a little... distracted today.” She grins.

“You’re always distracted,” I tell her pointedly, turning away from the mirror to look at her head on.

Quinn is everything I’m not.

Gorgeous. Bold. Unapologetic.

She could easily sub for any model on any magazine cover; she’s that pretty. With legs for days, full lips, big eyes, and black hair that barely brushes her shoulders, Quinn is the kind of girl that makes even the prettiest of women feel insecure.

And then there’s me...

Modest. Reserved. Plain.

She likes to party and is constantly on the go. And while I enjoy the occasional outing, I’m more of a homebody. She’s in your face, whereas I tend to hang out in the background.

But despite our differences, we became fast friends freshman year and have basically been inseparable ever since. We requested to room together sophomore year and again junior year. Honestly, I can’t imagine living with anyone else.

“And for your information, I don’t always do as I should. You make me sound like a do-gooding, kiss ass when you say stuff like that.” I stick my tongue out at her.

“If the shoe fits,” she teases, pinning me in place with her blue eyes that are accented by their signature fake lashes that she has professionally done every couple of months, not that she needs them. “No offense,” she tacks on.

“Why do people always say no offense when saying something offensive? Like it’s somehow going to lessen the blow because you prepare the person for it?” I wave my flat iron in her direction. “And you’re wrong, I’m not that predictable.”

“Hate to break it to you, Bex, but yes, yes you are.”

“Am not,” I disagree, turning back toward the mirror to finish straightening my last section of hair.

“Oh, no?” She hops off the bed and skips toward me.

“Let’s just see about that.” Her eyes take in my reflection. “It’s Friday night, and based on the t-shirt and leggings, you’re planning on spending it in the library or media center.” She grins. “And the only reason you washed your hair is because it was sweaty from your afternoon run,

otherwise it would be in a messy bun.” Okay, so I am that predictable.

“Finals are coming up.” I meet her gaze in the mirror. “Or are you forgetting the semester ends in three weeks?”

As much as I love school, I’m looking forward to going home for a couple of weeks and spending Christmas with my parents. Since I’m not going home for Thanksgiving this year, I haven’t seen them since the semester started back in August.

“I haven’t forgotten, but like you said, it ends in three weeks, not tomorrow. You’ve got plenty of time to prepare. Come on, we both know you spend too much time working and studying, and not nearly enough time experiencing the non-academic side of college. Why did you move all the way to Austin? Just to spend the last three years with your nose in a book. You could have done that in San Diego.”

“Um, for the education,” I needlessly point out, setting the flat iron on the dresser next to me, clicking it off, before turning to face her.

“And they don’t offer education in California?” She arches a questioning brow. “Besides, education is overrated. Experiences, however,” her pink painted lips tip up in a grin.

“Go out with me tonight.”

“I can’t...” I start, only to be immediately cut off.

“Come on, Bex. Give me tonight then I promise I won’t bother you again for the rest of the semester.” She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“Somehow, I seriously doubt that.” I roll my eyes dramatically.

“Please! I want to go to The Basement, and I really don’t want to go alone.” She pouts out her bottom lip, as if that will somehow convince me.

The Basement is Quinn’s go-to bar since she turned twenty-one in September. Honestly, a ton of college kids hang out there. I’ve only been with her once, on my twentyfirst birthday last month, and while it was okay, the two day hangover I had afterward was enough to deter me from revisiting again.

“You could just not go, then. Problem solved.” I know she won’t go for the solution I offer.

“And what, spend the night at the library with you instead?” She shakes her head. “Pass.”

“Better than hanging out with a bunch of drunk assholes that can’t keep their hands to themselves.” I shrug, stepping past her. “If you really want to go, ask one of your other friends to go with you.”

Quinn turns to keep me in her line of sight. “But I don’t want to go with any of them,” she groans. “I want to go with you.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you then.” I lean over my bed, grabbing a couple of books before stuffing them into my bag.

“Rumor has it that Rome’s going to be there tonight,” she taunts from behind me, tension instantly tightening my shoulders.

Leave it to Quinn to bring up my arch nemesis as a way of motivation.

You would think, considering that our dads have been best friends since childhood, and we quite literally grew up together, that Roman Danvers and I would, at the very least, be able to tolerate each other, but that’s simply not the case. Because despite the fact that our families are very close, Rome and I... Well, we are not.