“This isn’t a good time,” the other girl said, not even turning.
“I want to talk to you about DJ.”
That stopped her, but the glare on Emily’s face as she whirled to face her confronter gave Brittney pause. She spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “I’m doing what I gotta do. Why don’t you mind your own fucking business, bitch.”
Brittney had seen girls fight before, though had never been in one; this was exactly what a woman looked like right before she pounced on her prey and started pulling hair. “I don’t mean to harass you or anything, honest,” she said, raising her hands defensively and taking a couple steps back. “I know DJ, too. I just wanted to see if you were… all right?”
The girl’s menacing look lessened somewhat, but still didn’t rightly belong to any other adjective. “I’m…” She seemed unable to find the word. “You know DJ?”
Brittney nodded. “I went home with him for fall break.”
“You spent a whole week with him?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re like… his… slave?” Emily took a step closer, appraising her. The way a hawk appraised a mouse. (Brittney was actually taller and stronger than this lean girl, but she didn’t like the more apt metaphor of a wolf appraising a buffalo.)
“I guess I wouldn’t have used that word, but something like that, I guess. He does whatever he wants with me, for sure.”
Emily just stared at her a moment before responding. “I’m sorry.”
As the girl turned to leave, Brittney hurried around to cut her off. “Wait—is that what you are to him? His slave?”
Emily’s look hardened again. “I choose to serve him. I’m a good girl, you hear me! I’m GOOD!” She jabbed a finger hard into Brittney’s chest challengingly. From the fire in her eye, Brittney was sure those jabs were a hair’s breadth from becoming blows.
Brittney just flattened herself against the wall and let the girl by; luckily, Emily left it at that and stormed away.
He’s getting worse. She knew what she needed to do, and spent most of the rest of the morning doing it before getting herself dressed.
“Um, hello, earth to Brittney, you forgot the rest of your outfit,” Mercedes said to her as she slid into a pair of shoes.
“I’m just going down the hall,” Brittney said.
“To DJ’s?” Mercedes said, scrunching up her face. “I don’t know what you see in him.”
“I don’t know what I’ve seen in any of the guys I’ve been with, so what’s one more,” Brittney responded with a shrug.
“Well I hope you got a license for those puppies, ’cause he is the law around here,” Mercedes teased, pointing at Brittney’s chest.
Brittey grinned. “You only need a license to concealed carry—and I don’t think I’d call these guns concealed.”
“Weapons of mass distension,” Mercedes quipped, and the two laughed and exchanged pecks on the cheek before Brittney left.
It was fair criticism, she supposed. Her top was mostly backless except at the bottom and altogether strapless, with just enough fabric in front to conceal her nipples; only some internal metal wires and strength of will kept the thing up. Usually this was the kind of thing Brittney wore when she was going to the frat house to make the guys’ jealous of her fella du jour, but then she wore a jacket or something so she could at least incorporate a strapless bra. Without it, every step she took, especially in these heels, threatened to toss one boob or the other free from the plunging neckline. She’d slipped on some cute little short shorts, too, but really, she doubted any guy would notice.
By coincidence, she got to DJ’s door right as he opened it. He was on his way to class, she figured, given the backpack.
She thought she heard a little whimper come from him, and she smiled. It was sweet, or at least she chose to see it as such. “Good morning, DJ.”
“Oh, uh, hi Brittney. You look… amazing.”
“Thanks.” She preened. She really did like compliments. “Did I catch you at a bad time? I was hoping we could, you know, talk, and stuff.”
“Damn, I was on my way out to class,” he said, frowning.
“That’s too bad,” she said, pouting a little. “I’ve barely seen you all week. I missed you.”
His eyes finally abandoned their effort not to just stare down into her cleavage. “Aw, Brittney, now I feel like a total dick.”
“It’s OK. I guess you just got busy, huh.”
He blushed, embarrassed, maybe even guiltily. Strange that he’d be ashamed to be cheating on her, but not ashamed to be using these girls so haphazardly. “Yeah, I guess I have been. I’m really sorry.”
She smiled. “Really, it’s cool. You’re sweet to worry about it. I don’t wanna keep you from class, so, I guess I’ll see you around later?”
He nodded woodenly. “Yeah. Classes.”
She kissed him goodbye—which, as she expected, not more than a second in, became one of his hands on her butt, the other on one of her boobs, and their tongues writhing madly against each other’s. “Have fun at class,” she said as she broke contact.
“Wait!” he called out a little too loudly.
Brittney turned back. “C’mon, you got responsibilities. Don’t let a little kiss make you forget your priorities.”
“Hey, I still got absences left. I mean, carpe diem and all, right? My Latin prof would approve.”
“I didn’t know you were taking Latin.”
“Veni vedi vicit,” as they say.
Brittney recognized that look on his face, the one people got when they expected her to understand something and she didn’t. DJ must’ve recognized her confusion, because he went on to explain unasked. “It’s something Caesar supposedly said—‘veni vedi vici’: ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’ I just said it ‘veni vedi vicit,’ which is almost the same, except it’s ‘I came, I saw, she conquered.”
There it was again, that little twinkling of something inside him, when he was being a person to her and not a controller. He was a geek, sure, but if not for this power of his, he would have been a sweet one. When she treated him like just another guy, when he didn’t come to her looking to take advantage of her, he was good to her. Again, she remembered that dorky, naïve, big-hearted guy she’d first met when she moved onto the floor.
If only he were always this DJ.
“Aww,” she said, genuinely flattered. “You’re too sweet—and who’d’ve thought all it took to conquer DJ Swanson were two lips and a little tongue.”
“Well, a bit more than that,” he said, eyeing the rest of her and laughing self-consciously.
“You’re terrible,” she said, laughing back. “Come on now, off to class with you, Caesar.” She’d read the play about him in high school and wanted to make some kind of smart joke about it, but she hadn’t understood a word of the thing, just that everybody who went after Caesar wound up dead in the end.
She fuzzed his head affectionately, and turned toward her room again.
“Brittney, wait,” he said, and she did once more. She wondered if it was his power, or the quiet desperation in his tone. “Hang out with me? Seriously, I can skip. Please?”
She smiled, and pretended to be giving in under duress. “Oh, fine, but only because you said please.” She giggled.
They wound up in his bed straight away, which hardly surprised her. Strangely, he only kissed her, touched her with his hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just made out with a guy—they always wanted her pussy or her mouth, and usually didn’t wait long before demanding one or the other. Or both. Since she hated it when they had to demand it, usually she offered it before they had to.