Ryan

Chapter 7

Ryan
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"Whoa!" I giggle, stumbling into my dorm room when I finally manage to get it unlocked.

Who knew placing a key in a keyhole was hard to manage after drinking most of the night away.

"What the fuck?" a deep voice curses and I'm blinded as the light turns on.

Nixon looks surprised. I guess it is surprising that I'm the one stumbling in at an ungodly hour waking him up for once.

Ha! How does it feel, roomie?

"How do you like it, naked boy!" I slur, slamming the door behind me for dramatic effect.

I take a step toward my bed and hit the floor in a heap. What the—I spy the death traps Kelis loaned me earlier and begin tugging at them. Stupid high heels making life difficult. Who's genius idea was it to add a heel this high to a shoe anyway? Amanda Bynes character in She's The Man had it right, heels are a male invention to make it harder to run away. I think she also said something about them making a woman's butt look smaller too but I can't focus. What was I doing again?

"Need help?" Nixon asks, glaring at me with his arms crossed across his chest.

He's shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of low riding basketball shorts.

I glare back at him. "No, I got this naked boy. Go put a shirt on! Wait do you even own shirts?"

These stupid things won't come off. Are they glued on or something? I think it's more me than the shoe though, my fingers just aren't cooperating and I keep seeing two right feet instead of one. I'm pretty sure I usually only have one right foot but honestly I can't remember. I don't even remember how I got here. I'm thirsty, I need more alcohol.

A large palm grips my foot and within seconds the heel is lying on the carpeted floor and I can scrunch my toes up in relief.

Nixon takes the other off just as easy and I huff. "I could have done that. They were obviously loosened up when you tried."

If it weren't for me he would have never taken them off, I almost had it. I could've done it. I could rule the world one day too. I need to write that down so I don't forget tomorrow.

He rolls his eyes as I crawl up on my bed. "How much did you have to drink?" he questions.

I scrunch my eyebrows. How much did I have to drink? I really can't remember after the three shots Seth and I took, not to mention what I consumed before that. A lot probably, but it was so good, so fun. I like feeling drunk, there are too many thoughts in my head while sober, drunk me just feels so good.

"Good question." I laugh.

Nixon turns the light off and I flop back on my soft blanket as a deep sigh escapes my mouth. "I need four more blankets like this one Nixon, it's so perfectly soft. It feels like I'm lying on a bed of puppies."

I can't help but smile and snuggle deeper into my bed. Ahh, sweet little puppies all snuggly and so—

"That sounds disgusting. A bed of dead puppies," he replies in disgust.

I gasp. "I didn't say dead!"

I love puppies, I wouldn't want them dead! What is wrong with him? I'm pretty sure he was dropped on his head as an infant, that's the only explanation.

"But if they're made into a blanket they would be dead," he explains.

"I didn't say they would be made into the blanket—ugh... You ruin everything." I roll my eyes even though he can't see it, maybe I should tell him I did so he knows how annoying he is.

Poor puppies. They better stay away from Nixon.

He snorts. "Tell me something I don't know."

I shut my eyes trying my best to think. Finally something sort of intelligent that he might not know pops up in my head.

"Romans used to whiten and clean their teeth with urine. Apparently it works but I wouldn't recommend it." I giggle.

Nixon groans. "That's fucking nasty, I'm not going to ask how you know that. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep."

I frown at his mean voice and roll my eyes again. Why is he such an asshole? Does he not know you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar? I close my eyes ready to sleep but I can't get comfortable. I shift and turn but nothing changes.

What if there's a pea under my mattress and I'm secretly a princess like that one story my grandma used to tell me. If I'm a princess I should have my own tower far away from Nixon, he's no Prince Charming that's for sure. That sounds pretty amazing, maybe I need to look into my family history and double-check.

Nixon groans. "If you don't quit fucking moving I'm going to restrain you to your bed."

Wow, rude! Now I forgot what I was thinking about but I'm pretty sure it was really important. I should have written it down.

"I can't get comfortable." I huff.

It's so freaking hot in here. Why is it so hot? Did Nixon turn the heat up or something? He probably did just to be an asshole, he's good at that. My hand grazes the fabric of my skirt and I smirk. Duh, I'm still wearing clothes. How dumb am I? I quickly unzip the zipper and shimmy the article off, tossing it onto the floor before slipping under my blanket.

"Holy shit, that's perfect," I groan in delight.

"That's it, I'm restraining you." Nixon grunts and I hear him moving on his bed.

I hold my hands out to defend myself, not that he can see. "No! That was the last time, I swear! I won't say anything else!"

"It better be, I'm tired of playing this fucking game. It's fucking five o'clock in the morning," he snarls.

Well now you know exactly how I feel when you do this to me all the time. I lie back down and close my eyes. Okay Ryan, go to sleep. No moving. No talking. You can dooooooo it.

You know how when someone tells you not to speak you suddenly have the urge to do just that? Well that's exactly how I'm feeling. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to laugh and completely stop breathing because maybe if I hold my breath that will help, right? Wrong, I burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

This time I don't hear Nixon getting up but suddenly my hand is gripped in a large one and before I can blink my right wrist is tied to the bed.

"No! Nixon, I'm sorry!" I giggle.

He doesn't say a word as he restrains my other wrist and then disappears. His cologne lingers in the air around me as I sober up and I take a deep breath of it in.

Wow, he smells really good. It makes me want to dump out his cologne in the trash. No one with an attitude like that deserves to smell that good.

"Nixon, I'm sorry," I say but he doesn't reply.

Did he really think I would quit speaking if he did this? All it does is keep my moving to a minimum but my mouth is free to say whatever.

Suddenly a cloth covers my mouth and is quickly tied behind my head before I can even blink. I obviously spoke too soon, or thought too soon. Whatever...

"That should do," he mumbles, patting my cheek.

All you can hear is my muffled voice through the cloth. I can't believe he covered my mouth! That asshole! Just when I thought his level of assholery—wait, is that even a word? Assholery, assholeness, assholeryness? Whatever, the point is he has fully surpassed his previous asshole tendencies and leaped to a whole new level, one I never imagined could ever be reached.

"If you don't quit talking I will shove a sock in your mouth. Now shut the fuck up!" he demands.

Some roommate I've got...