Complicated by You by Kenya Wright Page B

plots your murder.”
    “Help me sneak out please.”
    “Okay.” Moaning, I got out of bed. “Just let me find some pants.”
    I turned to watch his gaze follow me. Hunger replaced the exhaustion on his face. He stared at the back of my thighs, making me feel nervous. Why does he have to look at me like that? I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see me blush, pulled the drawer open, and found some shorts. He stayed right there, ogling me until I wrenched them up to my waist.
    “Are you going to put on a shirt? It’s going to be hard enough sneaking you past our dorm mother. She puts out tea and cakes for brunch in the downstairs lobby. You without a shirt is going to cause a mob upstairs and get her attention. It’ll have women following us through the secret escape route.”
    He formed his lips into a huge smile, headed to the front door, and grabbed his shirt hanging on the doorknob. “Which way are you sneaking me out this time? I almost want to see if I can get past your dorm mother. Those cakes sound good.”
    “Don’t even think about it. If she sees you here, you’ll be banned from this building for the rest of the semester. I’m sneaking you out by the center fire escape stairs that we keep open for emergencies like this.” I opened my drawer, took out a Snickers bar, and slung it at him. “Here’s breakfast. You owe me another one.”
    He caught it with no problem.
     “The alarm won’t go off?”
    “Nope. Every time the college sends someone over to fix it, one of the girls on the fourth floor who is a computer whiz somehow hacks into the system and changes it.” I hurried to the door, but he blocked me from opening it.
    “Are you going to move?”
    He glanced at the bed where Cynthia was, turned back to me, and slipped his hand past my behind.
    So we’re just going to sneak touches now?
    One of the most interesting parts of our conversations last night was his touching confession. As I laid in bed thinking about all the different times his fingers had made contact with my flesh, I realized that it had been thousands of times. In fact, he touched me more than any man and all in slick little coincidental connections—helping me out of the car, bumping into me, offering to massage my shoulders or feet, the hugging while he slept in my bed for so many semesters.
    The more I thought about it, the more I considered myself a moron. He was right. Race did play an issue in the situation for me. If he’d been a black guy, I would’ve known immediately that he liked me. For some reason, I just assumed Jay wouldn’t like me because of … What? My color? Race? Features? Why did I think he wasn’t into me? All the time Jay desired me, and I assumed he never would. I didn’t like what that said about me. Did I think I was ugly because I was black? No way. It couldn’t be. Yet, somewhere inside me embarrassment lingered. I felt so foolish for never approaching him about my attraction all these years.
    But how would I have known anyway, if he didn’t just tell me?
    Jay and I walked out.
    “Are you okay?” Jay rested his hand at the center of my back like he’d done for so many years. I laughed at the gesture. “What?” He looked down at me.
     “Nothing.”
    The door shut behind us. From the hallway, I could see four girls lounged in the lobby. They stopped talking when they saw him.
    “Put on your shirt please. Before you make it on Instagram today.”
    “Women are sick. People think guys are horny, picture-taking bastards, but it’s the women.” He put it on and trailed behind me as I rushed off in the opposite direction of the lobby. “What were you laughing at just now?”
    “Nothing.” I pushed open the door, glanced in the stairwell, and strained to hear if anybody was there. No noises echoed through the space, so I figured we were fine. Once we headed down the flight of stairs, Jay captured my waist, twisted me around, and pressed me into the wall. This was definitely becoming his