See, I can understand if someone’s smart, athletic, hard-working, and determined. I mean, just look at me.
But imagine being all of those thingsandbeing attractive. Talk about God having favourites.
If I didn’t know Taylor and the intimate details of his shitty personality, and I saw him on the street one day…well, I wouldn’t fall in love with him or anything. I’m not gay (not that there’s anything wrong with gay. I’m not a bigot. I’m just personally not gay). But I would be…taken off guard. Maybe even — and I know this is cringe as hell to admit, but I’m being honest, okay? — a little breathless.
Let’s get the obvious out of the way. Taylor, like me, plays soccer, so he’s lean. Long, toned legs, a six pack of abs I’ve seen hundreds of times in the change rooms,strong biceps but not too bulky. He’s (unfortunately) taller than me, being 6’1, but I’m close behind him at a little under 6 foot.
Then there’s his face. His stupid, disgusting, atrocious face. He’s handsome enough that even my Mum says, “oh, my, he’s one handsome fella.”
Come on Mum! You’re meant to be on my side!
I’m not ugly. I have short, dark blond hair, blue eyes and a square jaw. If I wanted to flatter myself, I’d say I resemble the jock character you’d see in a teen chick flick.
Taylor’s the opposite of me. His hair is ink black, and so silky even I have thought about running my hands through it. He has dark eyes that make his condescending glares all the more irritating, and his skin is smooth and perfect. And then he has these cheekbones. They’re high and sharp enough to cut glass, and they make him look like a supermodel.
As much as I hate to admit it, the truth is that he’s so attractive, he could be paid for it.
I know I’ve gone on about Taylor’s looks, which might suggest I’m preoccupied by his appearance, but I’m totally not. I just needed to paint a picture of how he looks so I could properly convey my horror when I realised he was my roommate.
So. Back to the moment in the kitchenette.
Taylor looked down at me, which made me feel like I was tiny compared to him even though we werealmostthesame height. His features twisted into disgust.
“The fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.
I puffed up my chest and tilted my chin upwards. “I should ask you the same thing. Did you stalk me or something?”
He scoffed. “As if I care an iota about you, Archie.” He said my name the same way someone might saydung beetle. “Now answer my question.”
I hated the way he always bossed me around like he owned me. But I answered anyway, to prove I was in the right.
“This is my dorm room. You know, because I got into Halverton too.”
“Oh, did you?” He raised a eyebrow.
“Yes,” I snapped.
“So you’re the fucker who stole the big bedroom.”
“I was here first. Finders keepers.”
His eyes dragged over me, from the top of my head to my toes, his face screwing up like I was revolting to look at. It made my skin burn.
“Tell the truth, Archie,” he said, voice imperious. “Did you request to room with me?”
I crossed my arms. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re obsessed with me?”
I dropped my jaw. “I amnotobsessed with you.”
“Yeah. That’s what all stalkers say.”
“I’m not — you’re a fucking narcissist. An actualnarcissist. Look it up in the DSM.”
He rolled his eyes. “I forgot how much of a fucking nerd you are.”
I sucked in a breath. He’d been valedictorian, and he had the gall to callmea nerd? “You’re…you’re…” I couldn’t even manage full sentences, that’s how pissed I was.
