Free Past Imperfect by Alison G. Bailey Page A

my attention. She came off as the quiet and shy type. For her to follow me around at a party seemed very bold and out of her comfort zone. You had to admire a person who took a chance.
    Leaning against the wall, I took several swigs of beer while I occasionally glanced at Goth girl. Stephanie what’s-her-name was standing beside me, rattling on about something. We had hooked up a couple of times last semester. Everything out of this girl’s mouth sounded like a question, even her moans. It was like fucking Barbara Walters. I mean, she had a talented mouth, just not for speaking. Finally, the ringing in my ears from her blabbering stopped. Apparently, she had left me to find another guy’s ear to talk off. Goth girl and I were blatantly staring at each other at this point, so I decided it was time to make my move. Who cares if she wasn’t my type, I was more curious than turned on, so what the hell.
    Hooking up with girls was a lot like snacking on Cape Cod potato chips. I really liked Cape Cod original potato chips. So much, in fact, that I could eat three large bags of them in one sitting. But, after that third bag, I’m tired of the Cape Cod chips. Maybe now I want to try a bag of spicy nacho Doritos. I don’t normally care that much for spicy things, nor have I given them much thought, but the packaging was kind of cool and I might like munching on a different type of chip for a while until I crave the Cape Cods again.
    I swallowed the last of my beer, tossing the bottle into the trash can as I made my way toward Goth girl. She visibly straightened, no doubt preparing herself for my approach. I walked up and stood in front of her, confidence and charm radiating off of me.
    “Well?” I asked.
    “Well what?” she said lifting her eyes to meet mine.
    Close up, her large green eyes were mesmerizing. The shade was so dark they looked black. It was only when the light hit them at a certain angle that a flash of green would appear. She had them heavily lined in black and her dark lashes were coated with black mascara. Her skin was so pale, practically translucent, and her lips were painted with blood-red lipstick. Her body was lean, but her face was round, cherub-like. She was Goth, yet classic looking at the same time.
    “I thought I’d give you an up close and personal view seeing as how you’ve been staring at me all night,” I said followed by a slight grin.
    “I thought you were staring at me.” She nervously chuckled, casting her gaze down as if she were embarrassed by her comeback.
    “I’m Brad Johnson.”
    “Hi, I’m Becca Hyams, Art major,” she said as if it were her official title.
    “Nice to meet you, Becca. I haven’t seen you around campus before.”
    “I just transferred here from South Carolina, the state, not the university.”
    “Really? I’m from Charleston. Whereabouts in South Carolina are you from?”
    “The upstate,” she said hesitantly. I didn’t push for answers because it really didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t looking to get to know her that well.
    “You don’t seem like the frat-party type.”
    “I’m here with my friend, Stephanie. She was talking to you earlier.” She looked past me and around the room. “I’m not sure where she’s gone off to and I’m kind of ready to go. I thought I saw her go down the hallway.”
    “If she went down that hall, then she’s busy with someone. That’s where the bedrooms are.”
    “Oh.”
    “I can take you back to your dorm.”
    She began to fidget with the hem of her shirt. “I actually just moved here this week, and I’m rooming with Stephanie, but she hasn’t given me a key to the place yet.”
    “I have an apartment not too far from here. You could come home with me. I’m done here anyway.”
    Glancing up at me nervously, she said, “Um… I don’t know you.”
    “Brad Johnson. You met me like five seconds ago. Wow, you’re not very good for my ego. The ladies don’t usually forget me that quickly or easily.”