“Any dates this week I need to be informed of?”
“Nope. Took the week off.”
“Good, I think it’s good to have a break.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
We walk out of my room, and Jay appears from the kitchen, hair slightly rumpled in my favorite way. His hair has lots of ‘ways’ that I’m becoming accustomed to. Like when he’s just woken up, it sticks up like crazy, when he’s working out, it’s damp and flat, but right now it’s disheveled like he’s run his hands through it, and giving vibes that no woman could ignore. I’m not sure I should be thinking this hard about my roommate’s hair, but here we are.
“Whoa,” he says, eyes flicking to me and staying there, roaming dangerously over my bare legs and down to my boots. Then, slowly, so fucking slowly, his gaze dances up my body in a way that feels like a gentle caress. My skin prickles under the path of his eyes, every inch of me suddenly aware of itself—of fabric, breath, space. I stand a little too still, pretending not to notice while everything in me does.
Daphne’s already halfway out the door, but I linger just a beat, unsure if this is just him thinking I look nice, or if I’m imagining that pull of attraction. “I, uh, I’ve got my key.”
He nods once, mouth still open a little, and as if he realizes, he swallows, blinking rapidly.
“Daphne isn’t drinking, so she’s my babysitter for the night.”
He still doesn’t say anything, but I catch the lick of his lips as I go.
“See you later, roomie.”
***
The living room is loud and too warm, and somehow exactly what I needed. Who doesn’t love a stranger’s house full of random people to bare your soul to?
Someone passed me a pink drink with something like candies floating in it that may or may not have been edible. I drank itanyway. Then someone else gave me a shot of something that burned going down and tasted like regret. I didn’t ask questions.
Now I’m nestled in a bean bag, one leg curled under me, cup in hand, talking to a girl I’ve only just met but apparently really vibe with because I’ve been telling her my entire life story for the past seven minutes without taking a breath.
“I’m just saying,” I slur slightly, gesturing too wide and nearly sloshing my drink, “you think you know someone, right? You think, hey, this guy likes the same books as me, he’s got good hands and a good jawline, and he says all the right things in all the right ways, and then boom—turns out he’s a liar. He has a dog, a wife, kids. And a whole-ass mortgage.”
The girl—Maya? Marie?—gasps, hand on her heart. “He wasmarried?”
“I know, right?” I laugh, but it’s too sharp around the edges. I can feel it. Like I’m trying to make it funny before it caves in on me.
Maya-or-Megan nods slowly. “So what’d you do?”
“What do you think I did? I ran. Packed up, deleted everything, told my parents I was transferring, and left the city like someone lit it on fire behind me. Which—fair. Because itwason fire. Emotionally.”
I reach for another drink from the table behind me, something red this time. Or orange. It’s hard to tell in this light. I don’t even care anymore.
“Anyway, now I’m here. Starting over. Dating anything with a pulse to make sure I’m not dead inside. Taking classes I’m good at but don’t love, and living in someone else’s room because renting around here is a freaking nightmare, and campus housing was useless. And the guy I’m living with? He’s like a househusband already. Preps dinners and lunches, has a real job, labels his spices.”
“Is he hot?” she asks.
I pause.
“He’s...” A weird bubble forms in my chest because I was about to downplay his hotness. Jay Oliviera is insanely hot in that understated, slightly nerdy, definitely packing but hides it kind of way, but do I want to give that information to someone else? Admitting that I want my roommate feels greedy; it feels like I’d be taking something that isn’t mine. And I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again, but there’ssomething,a look maybe, that he gives me that feels like a secret I don’t know yet.
Melanie—or Marnie, I still haven’t figured it out—leans in conspiratorially. “So you think he’s hot, girl, you don’t have to say the words. What’s the catch?”
I shrug, swirling the mystery drink in my cup. “There isn’t one. He’s decent and hot. Like... the guy who asks how your day was and actually listens to the answer. He cooks”—I moan at the memory of his food, it really is legendary—“makes space in the bathroom cabinet without being asked. Takes me for ice cream after crappy dates. And he didn’t even fight me on taking his room.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait, you tookhisroom?”
“Technically borrowed,” I say, holding up a finger. “It’s temporary. I’ll be moving out in January to the new campus housing. But yeah, he’s sleeping on the sofa bed and hasn’t complained, even though I can see it’s uncomfortable.”
“Girl…” she breathes, smiling slowly. “You’re indanger.”
