Faster We Burn

her in the kitchen. She was singing the Taylor Swift song again and dancing a little as she minded the eggs. My shirt just barely covered her ass, but she didn’t seem aware.
    I couldn’t say no to her. At least not about this.
    “What about Trish?” I said. She looked up and stopped singing.
    “She can come too, if you want. The more the merrier.”
    I walked until I was standing behind her. “I really feel like you should check with your parents first.” I put my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder.
    “It’s fine. Trust me. They love having people join. They’re always telling me to invite people. My mom always cooks too much and we end up foisting it off on the neighbors.” She flipped the eggs over gently and turned in the circle of my arms.
    “It’ll be great. I swear. I hope you like pie.”
    “Who doesn’t like pie?” I said.
    “No one.”
     
    Katie
     
    “Are you seriously taking him home?” Audrey said as we rested our eyes for a moment after a marathon study session. It was just the two of us since Lottie was out with Zan and Trish had to work and the guys always studied in their room. In my opinion, it was just an excuse for them to say they were going to study and then play video games instead.
    “Yes, I am. He doesn’t have anyplace to go,” I said, stretching my neck. I was still a little haunted about what Stryker had told me about his past. I knew it was worse than he let on, but he glossed over it. I wasn’t sure if that was for me or for him, so I didn’t push.
    “What are your parents going to say about that?” she said.
    “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s going to be interesting.” Understatement.
    “And you’re bringing Trish, too?” She put the cap on her highlighter, setting it back beside her pen. That girl had studying down to a science. I wished I could emulate her, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
    I shook my head. “I was going to, but she’s actually going home with Lottie. We’re all going to rendezvous the day after and have dinner together.”
    “Well, I want a phone call, or at least text updates. Things are going to be really dull at my place.”
    “What about Will?”
    She sighed and blushed at the same time. If my relationship with Stryker was complicated, I knew that Audrey’s and Will’s was, too, only I couldn’t figure out why. Obviously they liked each other and I didn’t think either of them had massive baggage, but I couldn’t see the hold-up.
    Audrey rolled the highlighter back and forth on the fake mahogany table. DU was a state school, so everything was meant to look real, but it was only a painted or varnished façade. “He asked me to come home with him, but I felt weird about it. My parents are big on family and all that, so there’s no way I can miss my family thing. He was so sweet when he asked, though.”
    “He’s a really great guy.”
    “I know.” She looked down at her book.
    “So what’s the problem?”
    She looked like she was going to say something and then shook her head.
    “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Hey, you want to get some coffee or something?” It was classic deflection, but I let it go. Maybe she did have something dark in her past, although she hid it much better than I did. Audrey was one of those beautiful girls who looked like they had all their shit together, but maybe not. Huh.
     
    ***
     
    Simon decided to have another huge dinner the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving break started, and Stryker volunteered his apartment as a gathering place.
    “Does this mean you’re going to wear that lovely apron again?” I said as we dragged grocery bags full of food up the stairs.
    “The first rule of cooking is: Don’t speak of the apron. It is sacred and no one must know about it,” he said in a serious voice. “Never speak of it again.”
    “Okay, rule one: Don’t speak of the apron. Any other rules?”
    We set our bags down on the kitchen floor and I stretched my back.
    “Don’t mess with my spice rack. If you take something out, put it back.” He opened one of the cabinets and showed me an epic spice rack with everything alphabetically organized. I’d seen it once before, but hadn’t mentioned it to him. Stryker just didn’t seem like a spice rack kind of guy. I figured it was a gift from someone.
    “You’re a closet foodie. I knew it,” I said, pointing at the spice rack. “Nice try, Mr. Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but you couldn’t fool me for