Chapter 9 : Jessy's Gang
There was a knock on the door.
Not polite. Not tentative. The kind of knock that already assumed it was coming in.
“Yo,” a voice yelled. “Jessy, open up.”
Of course.
Because apparently I had offended the universe earlier and this was payback.
Jessy glanced at the door, then at me. His mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to be annoying on purpose or accidentally.
Another knock. Louder.
“Bro, we can hear you in there.”
Jessy stood, opened the door, and the room immediately lost whatever remaining sense of peace it had.
Three guys came in like a weather event.
First was Evan, tall, blond, permanently flushed like he lived five minutes from heat stroke. Loud by default. Wore basketball shorts year round because he feared nothing, especially hypothermia.
Behind him was Marco, thick-shouldered, buzz cut, already mid-sentence before he fully crossed the threshold. He talked like everything was a debate and he was winning it.
Last was Ty, shorter, stockier, backwards cap, calm smile that suggested he enjoyed chaos as a spectator sport.
They took over the room instantly. Shoes kicked off. Bags dropped. Music turned up without consulting anyone who technically lived there.
Evan flopped onto Jessy’s bed like it had been custom made for him.
“Dude,” he announced. “I am dead. Practice murdered me.”
“No one told you to sprint like an idiot,” Marco said, pacing. “Coach was unhinged today.”
Ty sat down, nodding. “I liked it.”
They all started talking at once.
My study plans evaporated.
I sighed, gave up on the illusion of productivity, and slumped back onto my bed.
Pulled my phone out.
If I was going to be mentally ruined, I might as well be scrolling.
Jessy did not join them.
Instead, he walked over and sat down beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
I pretended to be deeply invested in my screen. I was not. I was scrolling nothing. Just flicking my thumb so it looked like I had a purpose.
Evan finally noticed Jessy.
He squinted. “Bro. Why are you basically naked?”
Marco looked over. “Yeah, man. Where’s your shirt?”
Jessy shrugged. “I threw the shorts on when you knocked.”
“Why?” Ty asked.
Jessy smiled. The specific smile he used when he wanted to start something and then pretend it was everyone else’s fault.
“Because before that,” he said, “I was naked.”
Evan laughed. “Obviously.”
Then Jessy added, casually, “Brady likes to watch.”
The room paused.
Not silence. More like a loading screen.
I nearly dropped my phone.
“What,” I said flatly. “No I do not.”
Evan burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”
Marco pointed at me. “I knew it. Quiet ones are always freaks.”
“I am not a freak,” I snapped. “I am a victim.”
Ty chuckled. “Relax, man. He’s teasing.”
Then Evan’s face lit up like he remembered something important.
“Oh, wait,” he said. “Speaking of naked.”
Marco groaned. “Dude.”
“No, no,” Evan continued. “That video. You guys have seen it, right?”
Ty nodded. “How could you not. It’s everywhere.”
My stomach sank.
“What video,” I said, already knowing the answer.
Marco grinned. “The locker room fight.”
Evan corrected him. “The naked locker room fight.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course it was naked.
“Bro,” Evan said to Jessy, “you guys are legends now.”
“Straight up heroes,” Marco added. “Campus folklore.”
Ty nodded. “People love chaos.”
“Girls are obsessed,” Evan continued. “Like actually obsessed.”
I opened my eyes. “Please stop.”
“They keep asking about you,” Marco said, pointing at me. “Both of you.”
“That is untrue,” I said.
“Dude,” Evan said. “They saw the video.”
I stared at him.
“They know,” Evan continued, grinning, “that you’re packing.”
I made a sound somewhere between a cough and a death rattle.
“That is not information anyone should have.”
Marco laughed. “Also apparently you’ve got a body under all that garbage you wear.”
I looked down at my hoodie like it had personally betrayed me.
“This is my brand,” I said weakly.
Ty smiled. “Mystery ruined.”
Jessy leaned back, clearly enjoying this way too much.
“Ladies need to relax,” he said. “Back off.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Jessy tilted his head toward me. “Brady’s taken.”
I whipped around. “Excuse me?”
“He belongs to me,” Jessy added, smiling.
I shot up halfway from the bed. “You should not antagonize someone who could absolutely murder you in your sleep.”
Evan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed.
Marco slapped the mattress. “That escalated.”
Jessy looked at me, unbothered. Then he smiled slow.
“I’m not worried,” he said. “Neither of us is sleeping tonight.”
He winked at me.
I sat back down so fast my spine popped.
The room lost its collective mind.
“Jesus Christ,” Evan said. “Get a room.”
“Or at least livestream it,” Marco added.
Ty just laughed. “I told you he lives for reactions.”
Jessy stretched like the conversation had given him energy.
Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned back and swung his legs up onto my lap.
Just parked them there.
His calves were warm through the fabric. His shorts rode low when he settled, hips dipping just enough to be a problem.
No one said anything.
Which somehow made it worse.
I froze.
I could not shove him off without making it obvious how much he rattled me. Could not react without confirming everything they were joking about.
So I stayed still.
Jessy sighed contentedly.
I stared at my phone. Pretended I was reading something important. I was absolutely not.
Evan went back to ranting about practice. Marco and Ty started arguing about whether protein shakes counted as meals.
Jessy shifted slightly.
His weight settled more firmly across my lap.
My brain short-circuited.
I scrolled faster.
Jessy leaned forward to talk to Marco. His heel pressed into my thigh.
I inhaled sharply.
“You good, Brady?” Ty asked, glancing over.
“Fantastic,” I said. “Never better.”
Jessy glanced down at me, eyes bright with amusement.
I glared.
He smiled.
He kept talking. Laughing. Stretching again. Shifting his legs like this was his couch and I was decorative furniture.
Every movement was small.
Every movement felt dangerous.
I became acutely aware of everything. His weight. The warmth. The casual intimacy of it all. Like this was normal. Like it meant nothing.
Which somehow made it worse.
I tried to focus on my phone.
My foot started bouncing. I could not stop it.
Jessy noticed.
“Relax,” he murmured, just for me.
I shot him a look that promised future consequences.
He looked thrilled.
The noise got louder. The room felt smaller. Someone turned the music up again.
Jessy shifted once more, stretching his legs fully across my lap.
I snapped.
I closed my phone and stood up.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said.
Jessy looked up. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
He did not move his legs.
I stared at him.
He stared back, innocent.
I carefully slid out from under him. His legs fell back onto the bed.
The second the contact broke, my body felt like it could breathe again.
I grabbed my hoodie and headed for the door.
“Later,” I muttered.
“Don’t get kidnapped,” Evan called.
Jessy’s eyes followed me out.
The hallway air felt like freedom.
I walked.
Fast. Then slower.
Trying not to replay everything.
Failing spectacularly.
Chapter 10 : In the heat of the moment
I didn’t plan to run into anyone.
I just walked. Out of the dorm, past the quad, past the library with its judgmental glass walls, until my head stopped buzzing quite so loudly and the campus started looking like a bad coming-of-age movie. Trees lit from below. Yellow lamps. A bench that had absolutely been cried on before.
That was when I heard my name.
“Brady?”
I froze. Slowly turned.
“Oh my god,” the guy said. “It is you.”
Noah was standing near the campus gate, leaning against a bike that looked way too expensive for someone who spent half his life complaining about student debt. He was tall in a loose, uncommitted way. Not jacked, not skinny. Soft hoodie, flannel over it, hair always doing that effortless messy thing that took effort.
Perpetual smirk. Born sarcastic.
We’d met last semester through when I took German classes. While I decided German was too hard and ditched it, Noah and I became great friends because of it.
“Noah,” I said.
“You look like someone just emotionally face-planted,” he said.
“Please don’t psychoanalyze me,” I said.
“Too late,” he replied. “Wanna drink?”
I should have said no.
I said yes instantly.
We ended up outside that sad little almost-bar just off campus. The one that smelled like regret and optimism. Sticky tables. Music too loud to be enjoyable. Everyone yelling like that helped.
Noah ordered without asking.
“Beer,” he said. “You look like a beer situation.”
“I am always a beer situation,” I said. “Beer is uncomplicated.”
We sat outside because I needed air and also because I did not trust myself inside with mirrors.
He clinked his bottle against mine.
“So,” he said. “Rough night?”
“No,” I said.
He waited.
“Okay,” I corrected. “Yes.”
He took a sip. “Is this about Jessy?”
I choked.
“Why would this be about Jessy.”
Noah tilted his head. “Because I have eyes.”
“I hate you,” I said.
“Fair,” he replied. “You’ve had that face since midterms.”
“What face.”
“The one where you look like you want to scream into a pillow and also make out with it.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is extremely a thing.”
I stared at my beer.
The alcohol went down warm. Easy. Dangerous.
“He’s being annoying,” I said finally.
Noah laughed. “Shocking.”
“He’s doing it on purpose,” I added.
“That tracks.”
“He keeps,” I paused, choosing words, “getting in my space.”
Noah’s smile shifted. Just a little.
“Define space.”
“Like,” I said quickly, “physically. But not in a way. Just. Presence. Weaponized presence.”
He nodded. “Psychological warfare. Jessy’s favorite sport.”
“I hate it.”
“And yet,” Noah said, gesturing with his bottle, “here you are drinking about it.”
I did not answer.
We drank.
The night blurred pleasantly. The lights softened. My chest felt looser. My thoughts got louder and worse.
Noah told me a story about the language class. About Jessy correcting the professor’s pronunciation and then immediately forgetting the homework.
“He’s chaos,” Noah said fondly. “Hot chaos.”
“Please don’t describe him that way,” I muttered.
“You’re already thinking it,” he replied.
I drank too fast.
By the time I checked my phone, I knew I should absolutely stop.
I did not.
Eventually, Noah squinted at me.
“You’re gonna go do something stupid,” he said.
“I am not.”
“You’re already planning it.”
“I’m going to bed,” I said.
He smiled. “Text me when you regret that.”
I stumbled back toward the dorm with the kind of confidence only mild drunkenness provides. Not wasted. Just warm. Buzzed. Mouth slightly ahead of my brain.
Jessy’s light was on.
Of course it was.
He was already there, sitting on his bed in the same damn shorts. Shirt still nowhere to be found. Hair damp like he’d showered, which felt personal.
He looked up when I came in.
“Hey,” he said.
Too casual.
I made a noise that could have been a greeting and collapsed onto my bed face-first. Shoes still on. Phone slipping out of my hand and onto the floor.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.
Jessy stood. I heard the fridge open. Bottles clink.
He walked over and held one out.
“Beer?” he asked.
I squinted at it. “No.”
“Suit yourself.”
He placed it on my bedside table anyway. Close. Convenient. Like he was setting a trap.
Then he sat back on his own bed with another bottle and cracked it open.
The sound felt too loud.
He didn’t drink right away.
He just looked at me.
That annoyed me more than it should have.
“What,” I said.
“Nothing.”
“Stop staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He smiled and finally took a sip.
Silence settled in. Thick. Heavy. Not awkward exactly. Just loaded.
I stared at the ceiling. Tried to map the cracks. Failed.
My head felt floaty. My thoughts kept circling the same question.
What was his plan.
Jessy always had a plan. Even when he pretended he didn’t. Especially then.
I turned my head.
He was still watching me.
I reached for the beer.
Took a sip.
His mouth twitched.
The beer tasted colder than expected. Sharp. Clean. It slid down too easily.
I took another sip.
Then another.
Jessy drank too. Slow. Controlled. Like he was pacing himself on purpose.
We didn’t talk.
The radiator clicked. Distant hallway noise faded. The world felt narrowed down to just the two beds and the space between them.
I tried to think straight.
I failed.
My limbs felt heavy. My thoughts felt sloppy and honest and unsafe.
Jessy shifted on his bed. The mattress creaked.
I felt it immediately.
He leaned back on his hands, bottle resting against his thigh.
Still looking at me.
I drank again, partly out of spite.
I was drunker now. Not messy. Just soft around the edges. Like my guard had loosened without asking permission.
My brain kept wandering somewhere it had no business going.
Why was he doing this.
Was he bored. Curious. Messing with me for fun.
Or was this something else.
I hated that my mind even went there.
I was halfway through the bottle before I realized it.
Jessy noticed.
Of course he did.
He took another sip. His eyes never left my face.
The room felt warmer. Smaller.
My heart was doing that fast, annoying thing again.
This was a bad idea.
Everything about this was a bad idea.
But I stayed where I was.
Drinking.
Letting the silence stretch.
Finally, Jessy got up for another beer like he owned the room.
Didn’t ask. Didn’t look at me. Just opened the fridge and grabbed one.
“Here,” he said, tossing it.
I caught it late. Our fingers clipped.
That was it. Barely anything.
Still, my hand pulled back like I’d touched a hot pan.
Jessy noticed. Of course he did.
He smiled slow, like he was keeping score.
“Jesus,” he said. “It’s a beer, not a proposal.”
I took a sip just to have something to do with my mouth.
“Relax,” he added. “You could at least smile.”
I laughed, but it came out wrong.
“At you?” I said. “That’d be new.”
His eyes flicked over my face. Calm. Curious. Like he wasn’t already under my skin.
“Wow,” he said. “What’d I do?”
That question cracked something open.
“Everything,” I said. “You do everything.”
He snorted.
“Helpful.”
“You’ve been a problem since freshman year,” I said. “Every weird look. Every dumb rumor. Every time I walk into a room and feel like I’m being watched. That’s you.”
“That’s not on me.”
“It is when you start it.”
He took a step closer.
Not aggressive. Casual. Like he knew I’d notice anyway.
“You’re blaming me for having eyes now?”
“I’m blaming you for never looking away.”
He smiled at that. Like I’d just said something interesting.
“You don’t either,” he said.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He leaned against the desk now, arms crossed, still shirtless, still annoyingly comfortable.
“You’re in my room,” I said. “I should be able to sit here without you pulling something.”
“I’m literally standing.”
“Existing counts.”
That got a laugh out of him.
“Man,” he said. “You really hate me.”
I stood up.
That was a mistake.
The room tipped a little, booze catching up to me, but I stayed upright. Mostly.
“I hate that I can’t get away from you,” I said. “Even here.”
He looked at me for a second longer than necessary.
Then he said, “You could leave.”
I shoved his chest.
Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to mean it.
He stumbled back a step and laughed.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re like this tonight.”
“Shut up.”
I shoved him again.
This time he shoved back.
We hit each other wrong, tangled and off balance, and then we were both going down. The floor knocked the air out of me. My beer skidded away.
We landed in a mess of limbs.
“Get off,” I said.
“Make me,” he said, breath close, voice steady.
I pushed at his chest, palms flat. He didn’t move much. Just enough to let me know he could.
My hands slid.
That’s when I noticed how warm he was. How solid. How real.
I hated that my body clocked it instantly.
We rolled, clumsy, more wrestling than fighting. I ended up half on top of him, knee between his legs, balance shot.
My hand scraped down his side as I tried to get leverage and landed on his thigh.
The muscle tightened under my fingers.
That sent a jolt straight through me.
I pulled my hand back too fast. Like I’d done something wrong.
Jessy went still.
We froze there, breathing hard, faces too close, the air thick and loud.
“You good?” he asked.
I swallowed.
“I’m drunk.”
“No kidding.”
I tried to get up. He shifted. We bumped again.
Something in me snapped.
I grabbed his shoulders and shoved, my grip slipping, my hand sliding up his neck instead. My fingers closed there without me thinking about it.
Not tight. Not enough to hurt.
Still wrong.
Jessy’s eyes widened.
“Hey,” he said. Calm. Low. “Brady.”
I didn’t let go right away.
My heart was pounding. My head was a mess. I knew I should stop. I didn’t want to.
Then he moved.
Fast and deliberate.
He caught my wrist, twisted just enough to break my grip, and pulled me down.
His mouth hit mine hard.
No warning. No hesitation.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was pressure and heat and control, like he was daring me to do something about it.
For half a second, my brain shut off.
All I felt was him. The force of it. The certainty.
Then reality slammed back in.
I shoved him away hard and scrambled back, my heart racing.
“What the fuck?” I said.
Jessy laughed.
Soft. Satisfied.
“You always do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Bolt,” he said. “You go all in and then you panic.”
“That wasn’t—”
“You flinch,” he said. “Every time.”
I stared at him, my mouth still buzzing, my thoughts scrambled.
He sat up and flopped back onto his bed like this was nothing. Like he hadn’t just turned my head inside out.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “You’re bad at pacing yourself.”
I stood there, swaying, my body buzzing in a way I didn’t know what to do with.
He had kissed me.
Why?
Was it a joke? A power move? Something he’d planned?
Then why did my chest feel tight?
Why did my mouth still feel warm?
Why did it feel like he’d taken something from me without asking and left something worse behind?
I sat down on my bed slowly, still watching him.
Jessy was already on his phone, relaxed, unbothered, like he hadn’t just wrecked me.
I couldn’t stop the questions. What did he want? What did that mean? And the one that scared me the most. Why had it felt that good?
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