The More Boys I Meet

“I’ll drive her back up,” Marcus offered Sunday morning.

“Don’t let her drive,” Viktor advised. “She’ll tear apart the new paint job you just got done.”

I shrugged. “Then you shouldn’t have offered you idiot.”

“I thought you needed cheering up,” was his excuse. “Seriously,” he turned to Marcus. “Do not let her drive,” he warned.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Thanks for the advice, I guess.”

I snickered, throwing my bag into the back of his car. “He’s just mad because I’ve got some mad skills.”

The young Swede glanced over at me. “Are you really that erratic while driving?”

I smirked. “Wanna find out?”

He tossed me the keys. “Sure. Let’s see what you got.”

“You are an idiot!” Viktor shouted. “She drives like she’s in Fast and Furious!”

I slid into the car, turning her on and he buckled himself in. “Will I regret this Ells?” he asked.

I snorted. “Of course you will,” I said and I gunned it.

~~~~~

He was clutching the “dear Jesus bar” as I dubbed it by the time I hit the parking spot in front of my dorm.

He turned to me, looking a little more pale than usual. “I am never letting you drive my car or any car ever again. Hell, I’m not letting you buy a car ever.”

I laughed, grabbing my bag out of the back. “Sweetheart, you got balls letting me drive the full four hours up here.”

“I found that I couldn’t move, more or less out of fear,” he answered plainly, getting out to get into the driver’s side.

“So you’ll be okay getting home?” I asked, slinging the bag over my shoulder.

He laughed shakily. “If Stally asks, you were a great driver and I thought you did a wonderful job,” he told me.

I smiled. “Of course. What kind of friend would I be not to lie to your house mate about the kind of driver that I am.”

“You know he’ll ask.”

“Good point.”

“When are you next coming home?” he asked, popping some Advil into his mouth, swallowing them dry.

“Are you okay? Head hurt? Maybe you shouldn’t drive home. Why did you volunteer again?” I just fired off questions.

“Because I was feeling fine, but the Wisconsin roads and your lovely Speed Racer driving kind of wore me out.”

“Come on,” I pulled him after me. “You’re not going anywhere and it’s not like you’re playing tomorrow anyways.”

“There’s a chance. . .”

“That you will be? Such an optimist you are,” I unlocked my dorm room. “Rach?” I looked around the very small dorm room. “Huh. A note,” I picked it up. “At boyfriend’s for the week. . . . okay so not going there. Well, you can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the futon,” I told him.

He gave me a pointed look. “We’re still going to go through this?” he asked. “We’ve slept in the same bed multiple times and now’s the time you wanna pick the fight of who sleeps where?”

“Relax cowboy. There isn’t enough space in my bed. It’s a single. As in very small bed.”

“Get changed and get into bed with me.” He paused. “That sounded absolutely horrible. Scratch what I just said. Get changed, get into your bed and we will sleep next to each other,” he rephrased.

I snorted, changing into a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. I climbed up the ladder into bed, next to Marcus, who already had his shirt off. “Those are mine, aren’t they?” he nodded at the shorts I was wearing.

I looked down, confused. “Oh, right. Yeah they are your’s I guess. You can’t have them back,” I declared. “They’re the comfiest shorts I have and you were a jerk that day.”

“Are you really still holding that over my head?” he asked.

“No because I’m keeping your shorts. Duh.”

“Well excuse me.”

We struggled to get comfortable, but his jeans were making very hard to. I sighed. “Take off your pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Your jeans are very uncomfortable next to me, I can’t imagine how they are on you.”

“Unless you’re willing to give me back my shorts. . .”

“Which is not happening,” I said. “Are you wearing boxers or underwear?”

Hesitation. “Boxers.”

“Off with the pants.”

“What?!”

“My bed, my rules.”

“This is ridiculous,” he said blushing madly, but nonetheless he wiggled out of his jeans and tossing them to the floor. “Better?”

I snuggled up with my blanket and my heater aka Marcus and smiled. “Why yes indeed. Don’t you feel better too?”

“No,” he said stubbornly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I hate sleeping in jeans.”

“See?”

“All I’m in are my boxers now.”

“Yeah, well next time don’t get a concussion.”

“I really want to hit you right now,” he admitted.

I smiled. “Good night Marcus!”

“Good night Ells. I hope you dream of giant cats trying to claw your eyes out,” he coughed the last part into his arm, but I still caught it.

“I hope you dream of me,” I smirked.

He sighed.

“I win,” I said before falling asleep.