Really, I’m not okay. My insides are a mess.
Now I’m in a wheelchair, about to face the other passengers at the baggage claim. This is not how I imagined starting my new life.
Please let the rest of this day go smoothly. No more panic attacks, no more humiliating crap. I just need to get to River, and everything will be all right.
CHAPTER FIVE
My dorm room is two times smaller than I imagined, with dark gray carpet and plain brown furniture. Very drab. And cramped. There are two small desks, one closet, and a sink and mirror for brushing teeth and stuff. Another full-length mirror is stuck to the back of the door, but it’s all chipped around the edges.
“What a dump,” I mutter and look up at the ceiling, noticing a giant blue stain. Kind of like someone blew up a Smurf.
My eyes move to the other bed, and I realize the housing people totally disregarded the comment section in my application.
I said no football players. No jocks. Only serious students. But from the pile of sports magazines on the nightstand and the gear piled up on the other bed, two things are clear: This guy is into sports, and I need to find another roommate.
I’m about to text River when the door bursts open. In waltzes a short guy, maybe five five, with brown hair, thick glasses, and a raging case of acne.
“Oh, hey. You must be Hudson.” He extends his hand. “I’m Ronno.”
“I go by Huff.” We shake quickly.
“Huff?”
“Yeah, in kindergarten my mom put my initials on my lunch pail, and I thought that was how to spell my name. H-U-F, for Hudson Ulysses Ferris. The acronym kinda stuck.” Mostly because my teacher was a rancid old woman, and I thought she was trying to make me look stupid by misspelling my name. I mean, if my mother spelled it HUF, it had to be right. Right? So every time the teacher tried to make me spell out Hudson, I had a meltdown, as in I huffed and puffed to get my way. Kindergartners. Not so rational. My family heard about it and thought it was cute. After a while, everyone just started calling me Huff.
I glance down at the junk piled on Ronno’s bed. “So is this your stuff?”
The guy frowns with confusion. “Who else’s would it be?”
“And you play football?”
“On our university’s team?” Ronno laughs. “No, man. I wish. We have one of the top teams in the country. Huge fan here. Go Blue!” He pumps his fist in the air.
I have a million questions, but maybe now isn’t the time to get into them. But seriously, why anyone wants to watch a bunch of dickheads run around a field is beyond me. “So what are you majoring in?”
“Pre-med. My dad’s got a big sports medicine practice in Miami. I plan to work with him after I’ve earned my stripes.”
I would rather break jocks than fix them, but whatever. “Cool.”
“And you? What’s your major?” Ronno asks.
“Computer science.” I shrug. “Probably going into programming or something.” I realize I don’t sound too enthusiastic about it, but that’s the story of my life. I don’t get pumped about anything.
My phone beeps, and I pull it from my jeans pocket. It’s River asking what room I’m in. “One sec. It’s my friend. She’s looking for me.”
I text the dorm room number to her.
River: I’m just outside. Be right up.
“So your profile says you’re a transfer. Going to rush?” Ronno asks.
“Rush what?”
“A frat?”
Fuck no. “Parties aren’t my thing.”
Ronno chuckles. “Then you’re in luck. They’ve got a frat for just about everyone, including introverted computer nerds. Good for studying and networking after graduation. You should check it out.”
I’m starting to feel like an even bigger loser here than back home. How do I know so little about university life? I suppose it doesn’t help being such a hermit. “Cool. I’ll do that—”
A knock on the door interrupts us.
“It’s my friend, River,” I say.
“Come in, River!” calls Ronno.
The door opens, and standing there is a gorgeous woman with black hair that cascades down her small shoulders, wearing a tight white tank top that shows off her big breasts. She has glossy pink lips that match her shorts and Converse.
A punch of heat slams into my stomach.
Yeah, fine. It’s not my stomach. It’s a little lower.
“River?” I swallow a dry lump in my throat.
“Huffy!” She runs at me and throws her arms around my neck.
How is this the same girl I saw two and a half years ago? And when did she grow boobs? Before, when we used to hug, it was like embracing an ironing board. Now, there are these two huge pillows in the way.
Without even thinking, my dick starts to plump.
No. No. It’s River. She’s like a sister. I have zero attraction for her, and she feels the same way. The plumping is purely a biological response to her huge tits and my pathetic, virginal body that happens to like breasts.