Yeah, and after today, it’s going to be next level.
Whatever. Parker got exactly what he deserved.
I push through the door to the rental office, which is blessedly cool, and scan the lobby for someone with a nametag. The place is a madhouse. There are students and parents milling about everywhere with bags and boxes and the harried expressions only moving day and finals can deliver.
The line to the rental counter is ten deep, and while I’d like to cut right to the front—because surely this qualifies as an emergency—I queue up behind an Asian guy talking animatedly on his cell.
The sooner I get this straightened out, the better.
Maddie isn’t going to like it, but I’ll pack and move her stuff, if that’s what it takes. Because no way can I spend the next nine months living next door to DJ-freaking-Parker.
The man is arrogant. Narcissistic. Cruel.
My chest tightens and memories of that night freshman year come flooding back.
The lights. The music. The press of Parker’s hard body against mine.
I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale through my nose.
You are not that soft, starry-eyed girl.
Not anymore.
The line inches forward and I silently curse my younger, more naïve self.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
It’s almost laughable how innocent and inexperienced I was then.
Blame it on gymnastics. I love the sport, but it doesn’t exactly allow for much of a life outside the gym. Especially when you’re an elite gymnast.
When it’s my turn, I step up to the counter and plaster a smile on my face. The woman behind the desk looks frazzled. Her mousy hair is doing its damndest to escape its braid and there’s a stain on the front of her white polo shirt, proving it’s been a day.
Welcome to the club, sister.
“How can I help you?” she asks mechanically, her smile as brittle as my own.
I glance at her nametag, remembering the customer service lessons my parents have drilled into my head over the years.
“Hi, Nancy. I think there’s been a mix-up with my apartment.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” And miracle of miracles, she does sound apologetic. “What seems to be the problem?”
Hope floods my chest, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on the counter. “I submitted a note with my rental application requesting an apartment away from the football team, but I’ve been assigned a unit smack in the middle of them.”
She frowns. “You don’t want to be housed near the football team?”
“Exactly.”
“But you’ve already moved in?” she asks, brow furrowed.
“My roommate has, but if you could just transfer us to another unit, we’d be happy to pack up.”
“I’m sorry. That won’t be possible.”
My stomach drops. “Why not? Surely there are other empty apartments. Only student athletes are moving in this early, right?”
Way to sound desperate.
