“You don’t need to suspect it. I’ve made that incredibly plain.”
His mouth presses flat as he pulls up in front of our place. “How is that possible? You’ve got two advanced degrees.”
“I’m doing a post-doc,” I reply, climbing out. “I get a stipend and that’s it.”
In theory, after this year, there will be a staff position available for me. If I’m still with Thomas, that is. The one thing better than getting degrees from an Ivy League universityis being employed by one. I look forward to the day all those witches in Oak Bluff—so disdainful of my family as a kid—need my help getting a grandson or niece into school.
Elijah locks the car and places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the house. He’s always been a hoverer, though. I’m not sure he even knows he’s doing it. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but you also had a rich boyfriend until a few days ago.”
I blink up at him. I’ve never referred to Thomas asrich, not to Kelsey, not to anyone, and he isn’t rich—not compared to someone like Hawk. “Thomas isn’t rich, and as far as I know, being someone’s girlfriend doesn’t make their bank account transfer to yours by osmosis.”
“You two seem to have a pretty glamorous life for people who theoretically aren’t rich,” he says. “Didn’t he take you to Istanbul? And Dubai?”
I shrug. “Those were speaking engagements. Someone else foots the bill.”
A muscle feathers along his jaw as he unlocks the front door. “Why don’t the two of you live together?”
I guess the question makes sense. Most couples live together before they get engaged, and Thomasdidbring it up the last time I was renewing my lease. The truth is that I just sort of like my independence. I like being able to lay on the couch and watch junk television while eating ice cream with Julia and Avery, and if I was living with Thomas, it would have been impossible. There’d have been a comment about empty calories, a suggestion that watchingBelow Deckwas making my brain rot.
“No, we didn’t live together. We both kind of like having our own space.”
He flips on the lights as we walk inside. “So how’s that going to work if you get married?”
I hitch a shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess that we’ll stop being people who want our own space.”
It sounds naïve, but I actually look forward to a future date when I’ll be forced to become a better person...I’m just not ready to become one now, when I’m still in school and need an outlet or two.
Elijah and I part ways in the living room. I climb into bed and check Thomas’s social media. He’s finally posted something other than study results, but his feed is, predictably, still as chaste as a priest’s: there’s a picture of his hands cupping clear blue water; another of him standing at the helm of a boat.
For thetruth, I then go to Devon Hunt’s Instagram profile, which shows him and a few guys—Thomas among them—holding shot glasses next to a bar full of icy vodka bottles, something Thomas would never normally drink because of the way it impacts his sleep quality. There’s a table spread out with barbeque, a food that Thomas would never eat.
And then there are the girls. At least ten leggy, beautiful girls in bikinis that are barely scraps of fabric, sunning themselves on the boat, drinking champagne, sharing a big plate of French fries, or wearing shiny dresses and sky-high stilettos as they drape themselves over Thomas and Devon.
It’s not as if it’s a surprise—I’ve seen the kind of women Devon Hunt brings along on a trip—and it doesn’t mean Thomas is sleeping with one of them, but he’s attractive and the most famous guy on the boat, so he could if he wanted. He could probably have orgies and threesomes with these beautiful girls who are currently doing all the things he never wanted me to do: drinking, eating badly, tanning.
He seems to have significantly lower standards for these women than he ever had for me. I’m torn between jealousy and simple resentment.
Sighing, I put my phone on sleep mode and prepare to close the blinds, but stop in place as a roach the size of my fist scuttles across one of the wooden slats.
Of all the things Idon’tmiss about the South, this is definitely number one.
I immediately text Elijah.
There’s a roach in my room. Your assistance is required.
Elijah
I’m already in bed and I’m not dressed. You’ll be fine until morning.
What if it climbs into my mouth while I’m asleep?
If you sleep with your mouth open that wide, maybe I *do* want to come to your room.
Before I can respond, he’s knocking on my door.
“Come in,” I call over my shoulder, barely glancing away from the roach on the windowsill.
Elijah steps up beside me, clad in shorts and nothing else, and I blink rapidly. I must’ve told Thomas a thousand times that I don’t care about muscles or height, and it felt true when I said it, but it feels a little less true now. Elijah’s abdominal wall alone makes me weak with thirst.
