As we drive to the house, Daniel and I chat up a bit.
"So, what happened exactly? Bridget didn't give me any details." One hand steers while the other rests on the console. His fingernails are dirty, so are his hands.
"I'm surprised she didn't." He looks amused. "The night I sent in my application fee, the system at the school was shut down. They sent out an email to send it in again, but I don't check my emails and never saw it."
We stop at a red light; he turns to me. "You don't check your emails? Who the hell doesn't check their email, all the most important stuff is sent there."
I point to myself, "Apparently me. This is such a sucky day, so sucky."
The light turns green and he proceeds down the road. I've always seen pictures of California, whether it was through reality shows or pictures online, but they don't do it justice. The atmosphere here is different, so alive and energetic. I want to visit The Saddle Ranch, maybe see Tana Mongeau or Vinnie Hacker. Mostly Vinnie Hacker.
Also, in Boston, it snows and I've always hated the snow. When I was applying to college, I wanted to be somewhere in the south with hot weather. Plus, my mom wanted me to be near Bridget so I could at least know someone in case I needed help or something.
"How long will you be staying?" He asked.
"Oh, I don't know. They said I have to wait until someone leaves, or a room opens up. And that could take weeks. I would get an apartment, but my mom wants me to stay in the dorms with people my age like Bridget did."
"I hated living in the dorms, the moment I got enough money to move out I did. My roommate was nasty and would have girls over all through the night. For the first two years all I heard was, "ohhhhhh right there!" And, "fuck me harder!" It was torture."
I burst out laughing, once he sees the smile on my face, he can't help but laugh too. "Oh my god. Now you're making me scared of going to the dorms. Hopefully, my roommate is a Christian virgin that only studies and is neat."
"Girls are more courteous and caring, not like guys. The only thing they care about is drinking and how many girls they can fuck." He assures me. He isn't lying, when I was waiting inside of Foothill Hall, a couple of freshmen were talking about how many girls they wanted to lay once the parties started. They made me want to throw up in my mouth.
I ask him a bold question, "So, do you fuck tons of girls?" I turn in my seat to get a better view of him, and I won't lie the view is amazing. His black curly hair covers his ears, eyes the color of chocolate, and a body that can make a girl die. He has a kissable jaw and fingers that can make you come over and over and ov-
"That's a peculiar question to ask someone you've only known for like 10 minutes. To answer it, no I don't 'fuck' tons of girls. I have. . .close girlfriends I pursue."
I chuckle, he sees me laughing and cuts his eyes, "Pursue? Where are we in, a Jane Austen novel?"
"Oh, shut it." He jokes. He turns down a street and speeds up a bit until we arrive at a house. It's large and grand. Not too big like The Playboy House, but big enough that makes you wonder how a bunch of college kids can afford it. For Bridget, my parents pay part of her rent, but the others I don't know. Maybe they're rich kids.
In the driveway sits my sister's red Sedan and a white Chevrolet truck. Big green trees surround the house with white flowers on them. It's a two-story house with a beautiful exterior, a cream color.
"What about you?" asked Daniel.
I scrunch my eyebrows up, "What do you mean?"
"Do you fuck tons of guys?"
"No, actually. I had a few boyfriends in high school, but I only slept with a couple. It was trash, didn't even orgasm." Maybe that last part was too much. And from the look on his face, I know this to be true.
"Let's just ignore that and get you in the house, shall we?" He says awkwardly.
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