I peek at the fridge where my budget goal chart is hung up with two magnets.
Almost there.
One more year and I’ll have the money required to go back to Grandma’s house and turn it into a Bed & Breakfast like we always dreamed.
I exhale and rub at the flower-shaped birthmark over my heart. The ever-present grief squeezes me unexpectedly tight.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than wait around for me?” I ask, trying to keep it light. “Hang out with friends? Play video games? I don’t know—maybe ask the cute receptionist out on a date instead of your roommate?”
I deliver that last tidbit with a poke to his chest, but it loses its effectiveness when doing so only ends up hurting my finger.
The man doesn’t even flinch, but raises his brown eyebrows at me, and I let out a small huff.
Damn him and his chiseled pecs.
I’m not even sure when he finds the time to work out. Maybe lifting heavy tires and tools all day is all that it takes?
He flashes one of his trademark lopsided grins—the one that’s impossible to ignore—and heknowsit.
The grin morphs into a smug little smirk and that’s when I realize my mistake.
Curse my poor choice of words.
I saiddateandroommatein the same sentence.
Shit.
I usually avoid that landmine. Our just-friends arrangement was born out of convenience and shared ambition. A clean, clear, drama-free setup before we chase our dreams and go our separate ways. I’ll renovate Grandma’s house in Creek Haven into a B&B, and Casey will open his own auto shop in the city, bringing his clientele with him.
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
No feelings involved.
Except… he blurs the lines sometimes. And I’m starting to like it more than I should.
Which is a problem. Especially when I don’t have time to date someone else and get my head straight.
I grumble and stuff my sandwich into a brown paper bag, shouldering past him. But he just shrugs and runs a handthrough his messy curls like he’s not painfully aware of what that does.
I totally don’t notice how the motion makes his pecs pop. Nope. Not at all.
“I’d rather not date someone from the shop,” he says. “Makes things awkward when it doesn’t work out.”
When, notif.
Last time I visited, it was painfully obvious that Sally, the cute new receptionist at the auto shop, was trying to climb him like a tree. She’d love a taste of Casey’s services, if you know what I mean.
It’s not lost on me that he tends to favor one-night stands over dating anyone long term. But that could also be because he, too, has plans on leaving this crappy apartment in a year. His goal chart hanging on the fridge beside mine shows he’s a lot closer to his goal than mine, though.
Then again maybe he’s just trying to avoid attachment. Can’t blame him.
Still, the guy’s working the nerdy-but-fit vibehardthese days. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Honestly, good for him.
One of us should be enjoying their twenties.
