It’s up to him to choose to prioritize it or not—and since he doesn’t, it’s probably selfish of me to expect him to.
Because Caden is anything but selfish.
Cole’s gaze sharpens on me, as if he’s expecting me to say something. The pull between us turns hot—angry. His annoyance bubbles up and he sends daggers Caden’s way. “Hey, asshole, how many times do I have to tell you? If she’s going to be here every day, we shouldn’t even have that in the house.” He strides over to Caden, grabbing the peanut butter canister before he can open it, and tosses it in the trash.
“Dude, that was full,” Caden whines, looking incredulous.
“Yeah, I know it was, because I threw the other one out, too. It’s not safe to use that around her.” Cole hitches his thumb toward me before walking over to the sink and washing his hands.
“She has a name, you know.” I cross my arms, an unbearable anger flooding my veins—but it isn’t mine, or at least it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, however weird that sounds.
Cole turns, taking a step toward me. “Yes, Natalie, you’re welcome.” I used to hate that everyone called me “Nat,” but now that Cole is the only one to use my full name I’ve grown to hate the full moniker more. Coming off his lips, it always sounds like a curse.
“That’s not—I’m not thanking you. I can stand up for myself, for your information.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, but I don’t think I’m the person you should stand up to.” Cole tugs at the edge of my scarf,pulling it off my neck. “It’s a little warm in here for a scarf, don’t you think?”
He shoves the balled-up piece of fabric into my hand before walking away. His bedroom door slams moments later, and I’m left staring at Caden, who’s making a goofy face like,Can you believe that grump?
Walking over to the trash, he pulls the container of powder out. “You really don’t mind, do you? Because the chocolate one is too chalky.”
I glance at the scarf balled in my hand, the only barrier between me and the looming threat of a three-hour headache and throat closure. Cole can’t possibly know why I keep it on, right? No way he’s paid me that much attention.
“Totally fine, make whatever you like best,” I offer a weak smile, wrapping the scarf back around my neck.
CHAPTER
THREE
“Oh my god.You got sexy panties!” My roommate, Tessa, points an accusatory finger at the black lace underwear I’ve carelessly tossed onto my bed. “And cute pajamas!”
I quickly grab them and shove them into my overnight bag, heat creeping up my cheeks. “No, I didn’t.”
“I saw them! They were both black and cheeky. Natalie, spill! Why did you buy brand new black lace panties, and something that’s meant to be taken off for your trip home?” She asks, mischief clear in her sparkling eyes.
Aimlessly, I rummage through my closet to avoid her question. There’s no way my plan to have accidentally packed sexy-ish pajamas in my in-case-we-have-to-pull-over-for-the-night bag will sit well with her. Tessa is all about tough love and thinks it’s time I move on from the Caden fantasy.If he wanted you, love, he’d have acted on it by now. You’re not exactly subtle about your crush.
Tessa and I have been roommates since sophomore year. We aren’t best friends, but we both had terrible experiences with our first-year roommates. Mine blared loud music, touched everything with peanut-buttery fingers, and had a revolving door of guests, leaving me to study in the library or a cafe.An absolute horror show for a can-die-by-peanut, introverted personality like me.
Tessa’s roommate was a whirlwind of chaos, which didn’t mesh well with her ADHD. As a result, her grades suffered while her social life thrived. When we paired up, we fell into a rhythm: I provided the calm, studious body double for her, and she flourished academically, never ate peanut butter anything once she found out I had an allergy, becauseoh my god, you’re more important than peanut butter, can you imagine?,and texted her wild friend Nora for weekend campus escapades.
I pull a few more sweaters and sweatshirts out of my closet for my month home in Maine. “It worries me you can tell if my underwear is new. Why are you keeping tabs on what I wear down there?”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare try to turn this on me. It’s not like Iwantto know about your tragic panties situation. I was there when you bought that unfortunate twelve-pack and it still haunts me.”She shudders dramatically, running a finger through her long, straight, platinum blonde hair. “If you want Caden to see you in that black lace number, though, I definitely wouldn’t pack that sack of a sweatshirt,” she muses, lying down on my plush pink rug and scrolling through her phone.
“Who says they’re for him?” I pause mid-fold of my favorite sweatshirt. It falls just above my knee and is—admittedly—hideously oversized and worn. Tessa “accidentally” lost the box I packed it in when we moved into this apartment, but I found it tucked behind a dumpster the next day.
Tessa snorts. “You can’t tell me after this whole charade you’re not hoping he’ll finally put you out of your unrequited love misery.”
“Caden is just bailing me out of the white lie I told my parents, that’s all.”
“One that you’ve continued to tell because you love the idea of it being real way too much.”
I love being roommates with Tessa, but it can be really annoying how observant she is, especially when she’s right. I’ve had plenty of chances to fake a breakup with Caden and satisfy my parents’ hopes and dreams that I’m getting over Dillon and living the normal college life they never had. Heck, they probably could have lived a better life vicariously through me if I invented stories about going to parties with Tessa and playing the field—something my mom, who never went to college because she got pregnant with me and married my dad young, said she always dreamed of doing.
But I didn’t. I kept the Caden Sinclair lie alive because I loved the feel of his hand on my shoulder way too much. Loved tucking myself in the dream and pretending that when he looked at me like I hung the moon, it was real and not just for a photo to send home.
How could I let go of that?
