EJ Cunning, an art history major, dates musicians. Foster Blake, a chemical engineering major, can’t sing a tune. They’re not each other’s type. They’re coworkers.
Then, one night leads to sex—sex between friends—which leads to an agreement. It all seems so simple—but nothing ever is.
Published: June 22nd, 2015
It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel wrong. It just...feels.
EJ Cunning, an art history major, dates musicians. Foster Blake, a chemical engineering major, can’t sing a tune. They’re not each other’s type. They’re coworkers.
Then, one night leads to sex—sex between friends—which leads to an agreement. It all seems so simple—but nothing ever is.
Many layers build a person’s facade.
Look into the depths for what’s hidden within.
It’s more than water. It’s a story—a living and breathing substance beyond the reflective surface.
EXCERPT
He’s an enigma.
He’s geeky in some ways, yet there’s something else. Maggie saw something. He definitely has some really strong and striking features underneath the obvious nerd thing. With his underlying subtleties—strong chin, good hair, bright eyes, defined lips, and firm hands that turn each page with dexterous fingers—I can see how a girl could be attracted to that. Along with his sinewy forearms leading up to firm biceps that—
“Do you have X-ray vision?” he asks, startling me from my observations of him.
“Maybe.” I shuffle through my bag, pulling out the first book my hand finds. Great. French Baroque Artists. Blech. So gaudy.
“See anything you like?”
“Not really.” I open to a random page. “You’re not exactly my type, so don’t even think—”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t.” He laughs. “You’re not really my type either.”
“Is anyone your type? Or are you oblivious to all women?”
“Huh?”
I shut the book and lean forward. “Are you gay? Because, if you are, we need to talk about your sense of style. You do not fit the stereotype at all—unless you’re going for that whole superhero-at-night, geek-by-day thing.”
“Um…” He places the magazine next to the keyboard and turns in the seat to face me. “I’m not gay.”
“So, you’re just oblivious to all women?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
I gesture toward the steps. “You didn’t even notice that girl drooling all over you. She was totally into you. She was practically handing her boobs to your mouth.”
“Oh, I noticed.” He adjusts his black-framed glasses. “I’m just not interested.”
About the author:
Renee Ericson is the author of the These Days series.
Originally from the Midwest, she now resides in a small town just outside of Boston with her husband and three children.
Most winters, Renee can be found on the slopes of the White Mountains skiing with her family.
During the summer months, she likes to spend every spare minute at the beach soaking up the sea air. All those moments in between, she is talking to imaginary characters and caring for her children.
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