Chapter 9

Evan

The dorm room was quiet, a rare state for any space Jake inhabited. Evan sat on the edge of his mattress, his elbows on his knees, staring down at his boots. They were scuffed, the leather near the toe worn pale from years of farm work before he’d ever set foot in Champaign-Urbana. They were the boots that had earned him a nickname he couldn’t shake and a reputation he hadn’t asked for.

He picked at a loose thread on the bedsheet.

The last few weeks had been a blur of noise. It started with the viral video and the whispers in the hallway, and ended with a confusing shift in how women looked at him. It was as though the weather had changed overnight, and he was the only one who hadn’t checked the forecast.

But beneath the social static, there was a quieter, heavier fact: Lena.

She’d been his first.

That detail wasn’t romantic. At least not anymore. She’d been the gatekeeper because she’d looked at him, seen something she wanted, and pulled him into that back bedroom at Sigma Chi. He remembered the scent of her perfume, the sharpness of her collarbone, and the way she had guided him with confidence. That confidence had made him feel like a student in a very specific, practical lab. A lab that turned out to be a hell of a lot of fun.

Then she’d torched him in public.

Evan rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t angry, really. Anger took energy, and he didn’t see the point in wasting any on it. What he felt was a strange sort of clarity. Lena had shown him the ‘how’ of doing it, and he was grateful she’d been his first. She’d proven that sex wasn’t some mystical, destination event. While it was physical, to be good, there had to be communication.

It was friction, heat, and timing that led to great things. Especially when he discovered how much fun it was to make another person feel so good, while he was getting his mind blown.

And now, having done it once with Lena and once with Rebecca, the mystery was gone, as was the fear. He was confident he had the basics down, but the rumor was that there was much more to learn. If nothing else, he was all about discovery.

He looked around the room. Jake’s side was a disaster zone of discarded clothes and empty energy drink cans, while Evan’s side was military neat; he liked the order of knowing where things went. Unlike his roommate, he could find his phone and keys in the morning.

His phone buzzed on the desk. A single text notification lit up the screen.

Claire Jensen: Hey. You around? Roommate is gone for the night.

Evan looked at the name and had to think for a moment. Claire. He’d met her briefly at Seven Saints the night of the spill, before the chaos fully settled. She was a sophomore who studied psychology and had a laugh that was a little too loud but genuine. They’d exchanged numbers, which Jake had approved of. He’d made some stupid comment about his protégé finally putting himself out there.

Evan picked up the phone and let his thumb hover over the screen.

The campus rumor mill said he was on a tear and that he was “Boots Guy,” the calm, stoic player who collected numbers like baseball cards. If he walked over there, he was feeding the beast and proving them right.

Evan didn’t care.

He wasn’t doing this for an audience, not doing it to get back at Lena or to impress Jake. He was doing it because he was nineteen, curious, and for the first time in his life, the opportunity was right there.

Evan typed a reply.

Yeah. Give me twenty minutes.

He stood up and stepped over to his dresser. He didn’t need a makeover or to borrow Jake’s cologne. Evan opened the top drawer and took out a small, unobtrusive zipper pouch he’d put together after the Rebecca night. It contained condoms, a small bottle of lotion (just in case), breath mints, and a comb.

He checked the expiration date on the foil-wrapped square. The date was a year out, so he was glad it hadn’t sat there and expired because that would’ve been a crime.

A random thought entered his mind. What would happen if the expiration date passed? Did they get moldy or start to decompose?

He slipped the items into his pocket, grabbed his jacket, and walked out the door. He had an appointment.

The walk to Claire’s dorm took fifteen minutes. The evening air was cool; fall was coming. Evan kept his pace steady and his hands in his pockets. He passed a group of freshmen near the quad. They were loud, passing a vape pen back and forth. One of the girls looked up, saw him, and elbowed her friend.

The whispering started immediately.

Evan didn’t break stride, just adjusted his hearing, tuning them out like the background noise of a tractor engine. Let them talk. They were writing a story about a character they didn’t know.

He reached the dorm, scanned his ID, and took the stairs to the third floor. He preferred stairs because elevators were awkward small-talk traps.

Room 304.

He knocked once with a firm rap of the knuckles.