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Oh I get it

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Oh I get it. In my alcohol induced haze, I somehow let it slip to Xavier what I'd wished for and this is his idea of a practical joke. He's notorious for pranking people so I can't say I'm surprised but his flawless execution in such a small window of time is downright admirable. Enviable, even.

Jackson does not look like the kind of company X would keep. The man in front of me is a little more rockstar to Xavier's jockstar or whatever, but who am I to judge? I don't keep close tabs on his social circle, mostly because someone like me doesn't belong there so the idea of Xavier being friends with someone like Jackson isn't entirely preposterous.

I square my shoulders and narrow my gaze on Jackson--who up until now remains unmoving.

"Tell X the jokes on him. I'm not falling for it."

The eyebrow decorated in stainless steel arches skyward. "Wow. How hastily you dismiss our love story, Lo. Xavier Morgan has nothing to do with this."

I wave my hand like I'm swatting at an irritating mosquito. I never once mentioned his last name, so hot-man-boy-dorm-intruder has just ousted himself. "Proof! Proof!" I say almost manically. "You know him!"

"'Course I know him," he says with a shrug. "He's your best friend, even ten years from now."

Ten years from now. His last statement gives me pause. I narrow my eyes, trying to get a good look at his pupils for signs they may be dilated, or his irises bloodshot. I see none.

"Are you high?"

He jumps up from the bed and extends his arms to his sides in a grandiose gesture. "High on life, dear Lo. Higher still on love and other peculiar things."

He is definitely high.

"Stop calling me Lo."

"What would you like me to call you? Baby, sweetie, snookum? How about something a little less traditional? Angel? Yeah," he decides. "I like that. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Now that he's vertical, I can see he's as tall as Xavier. This lends itself to the idea that they could play basketball or football together.

"Look," I say trying my best to project an air of authority. "I don't want you to call me anything. I just want you to leave."

"I don't think you do."

Oh yes. Yes, I most assuredly do. If a title exists for cocky bastards, he holds the record. "Rest assured Jackson Nathaniel Sunday, I do."

He winks. "Say my full name again, it's so sexy comin' from that mouth."

"Get. Out." I annunciate each word so there is no mistaking my instructions.


Why is he shocked? He broke into my dorm. Did he think I was going to clear out drawer space for him? "Yes. Really."

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