Trisha grunted in irritation under Jimmie's weight as she helped him lurch drunkenly along the sidewalk. He wasn't leaning on her all that heavily, as his roommate, Russ, was supporting him from the other side. But it was still more than Trisha really wanted to do.
Especially because of the giggling. Jimmie was drunk. Staggering drunk. Not a crime in itself. Hell, they had just come from a college party. But he was giggling as he staggered along and that made it much more annoying.
When Trisha and Russ finally managed to get him home, he was barely coherent. Again, not totally his fault. They had been at a party and there had been some drinking games going on. Jimmie was, in spite of being over six feet tall, quite a lightweight when it came to alcohol. And his buddies all knew it.
For some reason they were all picking on him, including Russ, who was at least now helping to get him home. Jimmie, good sport that he was, tried to keep up. He drank everything they sent his way, even long after it was obvious he was past his limit.
Trisha could forgive all that, perhaps. There was no denying that she had been planning on a much different outcome, one that included her getting laid. So she wasn't thrilled when she realized Jimmie wasn't going to be much use to her in that regard tonight. Still, it was a frat party and it wasn't really a surprise. The drunken giggling was a bit chaffing though.
Russ and Trisha wrestled him up the stairs and into his bed. He flopped heavily across it and passed out almost instantly.
"Jesus, what did you guys do to him?" Trisha asked, going around the bed to Jimmie's head, checking to make sure he was okay. "Did you have to beat him up that bad?"
Russ gave a snort of a laugh. "Not like he couldn't say no," he answered with a shrug. Trisha flashed him a look.
Russ was grinning, unconcerned. Hadn't this goon ever heard of alcohol poisoning, Trisha wondered? She turned back to Jimmie and checked him again. What if he got sick? Choked on his vomit or something, she thought? She looked up at Russ again.
Russ was tall, muscular with neatly combed jet black hair. He was wearing a tight fitting tee shirt that showed off his broad chest and impressive biceps. His brown eyes twinkled with mirth at the situation.
Trisha wanted to yell at him, tell him that it was foolish and irresponsible to do this to Jimmie. Jimmie wasn't good at protecting himself from this sort of thing. But Russ wouldn't understand.
He was captain of the lacrosse team. Trisha didn't know much about lacrosse, except that heavily padded men ran around with clubs in their hands crashing into one another. It always made her think of Russ as something of a caveman. That might not be entirely fair, but Trisha couldn't shake the image of him knocking someone to the ground with that same grin on his face and twinkle in his eye.
She turned back to Jimmie. "I guess I better stay here and make sure he's okay," she said.
"Yeah, good idea," Russ said. Something in his tone didn't ring right in Trisha's ear. She turned back to him suspiciously. Sure enough, Russ was leering at her in a way that jocks do when they see a pretty girl and think it's their birthright to have her. Trisha snorted derisively at his presumption and sat down on the bed beside Jimmie.
But Russ didn't take the hint. He stood there, staring at her. Trisha could feel his eyes crawling all over her. She didn't have to look up to know. She just knew. Undressing her with his eyes, no doubt.
Trisha was a good looking woman and she knew it. She was five foot eight with an hourglass figure, nice full C-cup breasts and a tight round ass. Long, silky black hair fell straight back over her shoulders, nicely framing her delicately featured face, accentuating her prominent green eyes. The guys around campus were always flirting with her, hitting on her. She was used to that.
But the way Russ was looking at her now was different. It didn't frighten her, though she supposed he could easily overpower her if it came to that. No, she didn't feel threatened. She just felt... what was it? Vulnerable, perhaps? She had no idea why she would feel that way, but as she sat there watching Jimmie breathe, feeling Russ's eyes on her, that was what she experienced.
Vulnerability.
Trisha brushed Jimmie's hair back out of his face. He looked completely peaceful in his passed out state. Like he looked when he fell asleep in her bed with his arms around her after passionately making love to her.
"So how about it," Russ asked from behind her. "Wanna make out?"
Trisha turned around sharply, a strong rebuke on her tongue. But before the words came out, she saw Russ was pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his chest and abs. And they were impressive, to be sure.
But they weren't so impressive that he had any right to expect Trisha to just jump into his arms! Even if she wasn't dating anyone, let alone someone who was in the same room with them now!
Okay, maybe if she was single, those firm pecs and washboard abs would have enticed her. Maybe even enticed her enough to forgive his arrogance. But Jimmie was laying right here beside her! This was his roommate, his friend! And Russ was hitting on his girlfriend as Jimmie lay passed out in the same room!
Of course, there was something deliciously naughty about that, Trisha conceded to herself. Something soooo wrong that it was actually appealing in some twisted way. What if she were to make out with Russ, right there in the same room? It was scary how much appeal that idea suddenly had to her.
What the hell was wrong with her?
