Lip-Locked
Olivia
“Come on,” Reggie groaned, tipping his slicked-back, light brown crewcut over the couch’s edge. “Can’t we just fuck already?”
I swear, sex is the only thing he thinks about. Given his behavior, you would think I never put out.
His sofa supported my pretzel-style legs, complete with my MacBook, as my fingertips clacked on its black keys. Neutral tones coated the walls surrounding the giant blackened flatscreen ahead.
The sky-blue view beside us was occasionally broken by fluffy clouds drifting behind the massive skyscrapers through the wall of windows of the Four Seasons penthouse.
“No, it can wait until after the party. I’ve gotta finish editing. Mr. Daniels is expecting my report tonight. Don’t you have that paper coming up for Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Law's easy. Finished it yesterday.”
Reggie’s hands fanned my dark locks from my shoulder and nuzzled my neck. His tongue slid along my skin before he sucked on it. A pleasurable shiver trickled down my spine, and despite the needy ache it summoned between my thighs, I couldn’t think about anything but my deadline.
I dipped my head, forcing him from the crook of my neck. “I can’t.”
Reggie rolled his icy eyes, settling into the sofa. “God, you’re such a cock-tease, Liv.”
Ping. My iPhone chimed beside my thigh, and my best friend Tucker Brunello’s tiny circular photo popped onto the screen with a text. Though small, his pale complexion, pitch-black curls, and matching irises stood out like the red "A" that would be great to obtain on my article.
I glanced at the text from Tucker regarding my parents, as did Reggie: “Well, I’m sure the paper you wrote would make them ecstatic… 😂”
Reggie scowled. “You’re still talking to that lowlife?”
Here we go again.
“Why's he a lowlife? Because he doesn’t live in a penthouse or have a trust fund?” I sneered. “He’s my best friend. Don’t be a douche, Reg.”
Reggie barely knows Tucker. He’s only met him a few times and has no right to judge. Tucker may not have all of the materialistic items we do, but that doesn’t make him any less of a person, despite whatever shallow thoughts flood Reggie’s brain.
“I’m sorry,” Reggie muttered. “I know.”
“And by the way... did you even read my article?”
“Are you kidding?” Reggie furrowed his neat brows. “It was like ten pages long…”
Why did I expect more?
I rolled my eyes, shut my computer, and hopped from the couch.
“Where're you going?”
“To print my paper and turn it in. I’ll see you later.”
I felt Reggie’s warm hand suddenly seize mine, stopping my escape. I twisted with an attitude, but that playboy grin I love so much lined his jaw, and I couldn't resist smiling back. I fucking hate how I could never remain angry at him.
“I love you, Liv,” he said sweetly.
“Love you too, Reg.”
He tugged my arm, guiding me to his lips. I leaned over, succumbing to a kiss.
I regrettably pulled back, ending it.
Reggie drew a harrowing breath, and his lids rolled open. “I’ll see you later, Liv.”
I shot him a smile and twisted for the exit.
Rush hour in Philadelphia was always a bitch, and driving through it with my new candy-apple red Bentley was nerve-wracking. However, I arrived at the university in fifteen minutes, which was better than usual.
Vibrant yellows and reds dressed the tree limbs lining the main paved sidewalk alongside the brown bricks designing the dormitory buildings, I strolled along. College kids paraded around with stacks of red cups, packages of ping-pong balls, and bottles of liquor. Crisp air and earthy leaves filled my core with each breath as I finally focused on my cell to reply to Tucker’s message.
Olivia: “I know, right? 😅 Thank you for reading my article.”
A male voice called behind me out of the blue as I hit send, “Liv!”
I halted and turned. Christopher—Reggie’s friend and kicker of the Penn Quakers football team—jogged at me, clinging to a six-pack of Shock Top. The unbuttoned breast of his navy letterman jacket swayed in the breeze, along with his blonde skater boy haircut.
“You and Reggie comin’ tonight?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’ll be there.” My eyes widened at the cardboard hanging from the end of his tan coat sleeve. “You know Reg is gonna give you shit over your choice of beer, right?”
Christopher rolled his hazel eyes and smirked. “We can’t all afford the best of everything…”
“I’ll see ya later,” I chuckled.
As Christopher jogged away, a text tone tolled. Ping.
I glanced at my screen, a smile stretching with each word read.
Tucker: “Of course. I don’t know how much help I was, though. I’m surprised you didn’t just hire a professional, you little trust fund baby. 😜”
I hate how he teases me about my old money. Despite the trust my parents allowed me to draw from on my twentieth birthday, I never missed the chance to help others, especially Tucker.
Olivia: “Stop it, lol. I’m on my way to hand it in now and get ready for the party. You sure you can’t stop by?”
I already know his answer, but it never stops me from asking.
Upon entering the building, hiking the halls, and reaching my dorm, I swung open the whitewashed slab.
The two beds on the left and right of the room were decorated very differently. The left mattress, belonging to Madison Doyle, flaunted numerous hues of pinks, purples, and whites, complete with an immature floral comforter. My side consisted of neutral tans and grays, a few fake plants, and a dry-erase board with my October schedule.
“Oh my god, Liv…” My roommate lunged from her bedspread. “You’ll never guess who asked me to be his date tonight!”
The tips of her medium-length copper locks curved above her collarbones, and her blue eyes gleamed.
“Adam Johnston?”
My "guess" sent her grin falling and her ginger brows pinching. “How'd you know?”
I smirked. “Your excitement made it pretty self-explanatory.”
“Damn...” The apples of her fair cheeks, coated in freckles, plumped again. “You are gonna make a good journalist.”
I strolled to my side of the bedroom to the small white desk containing my printer.
“Look, Maddie, you do this all the time…” I said, pulling my MacBook from my bag. “Are you sure he wanted a date or just a hook-up?”
“He totally used the word date,” she swore.
“Yeah, but is that what he meant?”
I set up my computer and connected it to my printer, awaiting Madison’s answer. The device kicked on, and the pages began printing.
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “I hope so.”
Ping. My iPhone chimed.
I pulled my cell from my back pocket and glanced at Tucker’s response.
Tucker: “Yeah, I’m sure. A bunch of drunk college kids at a party ain’t my thing. Have fun, tho.”
I sighed, staring at the message as if it'd change his answer.
“Reggie being an ass again?” Madison asked.
“No, it’s my best friend from high school.” My gaze narrowed into curious slits. “Why did you think it was Reggie?”
She smirked. “The disappointment on your face was pretty self-explanatory.”
“Stick to art, Maddie,” I smiled at her despite her snarky comment. “I’ll see ya tonight.”
I grabbed my ten-page article, stapled its corners, and exited our dorm room as quickly as I appeared.
After venturing through the crazy halls, I approached my professor’s dark walnut frame and veered into the room.
Warm stained painted the wooden beams stretching toward the vaulted ceiling amongst the flawless white drywall. Textured glass crafted windows on the wall ahead, and the golden hour rays beamed through.
“Hi, Mr. Daniels.”
His mahogany irises peeled from his papers as I handed my article across his ebony desk. He skimmed the title—The Mental Effects of the Current Economic Standards.
“Wow,” Mr Daniels huffed, flipping through it. "I’m impressed, Olivia.”
“What can I say?” I shrugged. “It’s a topic that’s close to my heart.”
Since meeting Tucker in my junior year of high school, I’ve seen the effects of this world on a person. Tucker was why I was never like the other preppy girls in my district. I respect everything he’s accomplished after growing up disadvantaged.
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” Mr. Daniels said.
“Thanks,” I said, spinning for the exit.
“Have fun at the party tonight,” Mr. Daniels added.
I shot him a cunning grin as I glanced over my shoulder. “What party?”
He chuckled and shook his head.
I exited the classroom, heading to my dorm to rummage through my closet in search of a dress, a curling iron, and makeup.
Pop music boomed through the dormitory halls, and despite the narrow space, several ping-pong tables filled the walkways. Each one held red solo cups, flooded with beer and cheap balls.
I hadn’t seen Reggie in a while. Last I checked, he was playing beer pong with Christopher. They recently won their first football game. Of course, with Reggie being the UPenn quarterback, celebration and heavy consumption were in order.
Tucker flooded my mind as I stood lonesome and bored. He’s probably with his girlfriend, Alexandra. Honestly, I'd rather be a third wheel with them than at this party.
“Hey, rich girl!” Christopher approached, slurring his words. “No drink tonight?”
“No, unfortunately, I can’t be hungover tomorrow.”
My mother would never let me hear the end of it. Not that she has anything to judge me for. Her idea of breakfast is a mimosa, followed by a Bloody Mary for lunch.
Christopher eyed my curves. “You're smokin’, Liv...”
An uncomfortable sensation seeded my bones as I watched his gaze travel my body.
“Have, uh, have you seen Reg?”
“Last I knew, he was looking for you.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
After pushing through the crowds, I approached my frosted door. Reggie is probably already passed out in my bed.
I swung open the slab. Reggie and Madison stood front and center. Their lips were clashing, their tongues ravaging one another like they were trading tastebuds. Reggie groped Madison’s breasts over her floral shirt, and her palms squeezed the back pockets of Reggie’s jeans.
I stood lip-locked, my stomach churning as if I had drank every drop of alcohol here. “Oh my god..."
Reggie and Madison’s lips wrenched apart, and their eyes widened to the same degree as mine.
“Oh my god, Liv...” Reggie panicked. “This isn’t what it looks like!”
As he twisted from her, his hard-on beneath his zipper begged to be set free. My heart ricocheted down my ribcage, bouncing from each one before landing in the pit of my stomach.
“I swear she means nothing to me,” he added.
“Hey!” Madison snarled, slapping his arm.
Whether she means something to him or not, this is unacceptable.
I spun from the bedroom door and yanked my cell from my pocket, pulling up Tucker's texts.
Olivia: “Are you home right now?”
As I pushed through the sea of college students, Reggie’s voice screeched behind me, calling my name while attempting to catch up.
Ping. I glanced at Tucker’s response.
Tucker: “Yeah, why? Is everything okay?”
My fingers danced across the screen as I reached the party’s exit.
Olivia: “No. I’m coming over.”
Reggie’s distant shout cut through the bass behind me. “Goddamn it, Olivia...stop!”
I bolted through the large entry doors, escaping into the parking lot.
