I thought I would end up hating her. She’s type-A- her side of the room decorated and spotless. I’m an athlete; I’m barely eyelet here. I come in, I sleep, and then I’m up at five the next morning. Spoiler Alert- I don’t end up hating her. She puts my Hockey games on her calendar, I put her debate team competitions on mine. We go out drinking together because I’m big and scary-looking, and come home together because I get crabby when I’m drunk and am more likely to black out than she is. I’m big, but my tolerance is not. She puts me to bed, and doesn’t talk about me trying to kiss her or feeling her up when I’m drunk. We don’t talk about it when I’m sober.

We come back from a bar. I’m not as drunk as usual- just tipsy enough to want her body on mine. I’m more charismatic when I’m tipsy. She’s sober- she’s had been rising the same rum and Coke the whole night. We get back to the dorm, and she starts taking off my jacket. “Oooh, so are undressing me?” I say, as I let her take the jacket off. She quietly tells me to stop it. I stand up from where I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, and I watch her for a minute. She comes back to me with a bottle of water, and I take a couple sips. I set it down, and wrap my arms around her.

One of my hands comes up to her face, and Her mouth falls open in a shocked little ‘o’ shape. I laugh, and rub her cheek with my thumb. I lean in, and press our lips together. I just want to touch, and feel. She’s right there, and she’s so warm. Why wouldn’t I kiss her? It lasts maybe a minute before she shoves me off. I tilt me head, confused, and go back in for another kiss. I liked it, and she was kissing me back. I thought she liked it too, didn’t she? “Riley! What the hell? I’m not gay. I have a boyfriend!” She hisses at me.

I step back, stunned. I thought… all those looks, showing up at my practices, I thought she was flirting with me. Stealing my shirts and my jersey, wasn’t she flirting with me? That’s what a girlfriend does. I stand there, panting. My cheeks are red, my hair is messy, and I’m drunk. Her lipgloss is smeared, and I can taste it on my own lips. I reach over to wipe some lipgloss from the corner of her lips, and she looks distressed. Confused. I really don’t understand.