I’m not even sure if she said thank you before she hightailed it out of here. It’s been two months, and I haven’t heard a word from her. I’m starting to wonder if I ever will.
I’m trying to decide if I care.
I continue to gaze up at the ceiling. It’s a nice ceiling. One of the nicest I’ve slept under.
Not that I’m doing a lot of sleeping lately.
Tilly—that’s Hendrix’s mom—moved me in here days after the Easter debacle. I expected a simple guest room, but I should have known better.
Tilly Creed never does anything halfway.
Somehow, in just a few days, she managed to completely redecorate the room in shades of green and gray. It’s moody and modern. I like it. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that it’s mine.
I roll over and check the alarm clock on the nightstand beside me. I double blink.
It’s only twelve thirty? Fuck.
Sitting up, I run a hand down my face and look around the room. My jacket is draped over the desk chair, and my backpack sits in the corner. Tilly and Lance bought me some clothes and a computer since I moved in, but, like the room, I’m still finding it hard to call those things mine.
It’s not like I did anything to deserve them.
With my focus still on the jacket, I stand up and make a quick decision. If I can’t sleep, I might as well do something else. So I grab that jacket and head out into the hallway. I make it halfway when I hear the faint sound of singing coming from Presley’s room.
I press my ear to the door and smile.
I had no idea she could sing.
I raise my hand to knock, but hesitate. Is it weird for me to do this? It’s the middle of the night, and although I’d never admit it to him, I’ve checked out Hendrix’s little sister more than once or twice.
Even after I swore to myself I wouldn’t.
Seeing her standing in Hendrix’s kitchen, I experienced a fleeting moment of joy, which was quickly replaced by crushing sadness.
It was the girl from the hallway.
And she was Hendrix’s sister.
Friendship is all we could ever be, especially now that I live down the hall. So I guess I might as well make the most of it.
With my decision made, I quietly knock on her door and wait. The singing comes to an abrupt halt, and I hear a shuffle of feet across the floor—then a curse as she trips.
I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the grin creeping up.
Suddenly, the door is pulled open, and I find a frazzled Presley on the other side. Her hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head, and she’s wearing a tiny tank top and plaid pajama shorts.
I quickly glance up. “Hey,” I say awkwardly. “Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?”
Her gaze darts toward her brother’s room, and I know what she must be thinking. Did I knock on the wrong door? But nope, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I think.
God, I hope this wasn’t a bad idea.
“Uh, sure,” she finally answers. “Let me just grab a hoodie.”
My eyes drift down her body, then quickly snap back to her face. “Good, yeah. Great idea.”
She gives me a puzzled look. Probably way too much enthusiasm for a hoodie, huh? “What?”
