Chapter 2
The Story Really Begins
Eight Years Ago
"Can you hold your end up higher?" Grey yelled from his side of the sofa that we hauled from the moving truck up the stairs to our second-floor condo.
"You do realize I'm a woman and not as strong as you," I groaned as I unsuccessfully tried to lift my side higher. Our front door was still several feet away, and my arms ached painfully.
"Always shouting women are equal to men until it's time to do physical work."
I took a deep breath, trying to ease the burn in my arms. “Equality... doesn't mean we are ...even in every way. Just means we both have our strengths. Men are physically stronger, and women are mentally —"
"Don't you dare finish that thought, or I'm dropping this sofa right now." He warned as we slowly approached our front door.
"No, you won't because it's your sofa, and I'll say it. We are mentally stronger. Exhibit A. We keep taking cheating men back time after time, and the minute you believe your woman is stepping out, you're about to die. Just fall out and die." I grunted. "Okay...enough talking. I can't feel my arms."
Suddenly, my end became lighter, and the clean scent of soap wafted under my nose, and I looked to my right. A man grinned. "Looks like you could use some help."
Thank God he was strong enough to handle my load because I dropped my end without thought when I realized that CarterSt. Patrick stood beside me. He quickly moved to grasp both ends of our side before Grey could notice.
"Sorry...you just startled me." I tried to grab my end again, and he nudged me away with his shoulder.
"Didn't mean to. Hate seeing you struggle," he replied. "You're moving in next door?"
What the fuck?Carter is my neighbor. My heart and mind raced to comprehend the magnitude of being able to be this close to my crush.
Carter St. Patrick.
A decadent and delicious name most befitting of a man with the creamiest mocha skin and dark wavy hair that he usually wore in thin corn rows. Sculpted cheekbones that hinted at Cherokee somewhere in his bloodlines. Thick brows, a perfect nose, and the audacity to have cupid bow lips. And that's just his face. If one could stop staring at his face, one would be captivated by his tall and muscled body from years of football. He was a senior like me and destined for the NFL, so unlike me. Like, seriously, I do not understand why God spent more time on him than the rest of us humans. Carter was most definitely an impossibility, but a girl could wet dream.
"Yeah," Grey finally answered, breaking through my silence. "Figured living by the beach for a year might be cool. I'm Grey, and my speechless roommate is Darren."
My brain hadn't yet caught up with my vocal cords, so I half-waved. Grey rolled his eyes to the ceiling, recognizing my silence for what it was. I always grew tongue-tied around fine men, especially dark-skinned ones. I wouldn't be able to talk to him either if I hadn't met Grant “Grey” Jameson when he was a scrawny kid with braces. He'd grown into a gorgeous specimen of a man with his skin and taut muscles coated in butterscotch and curly hair courtesy of his mixed heritage. His maternalgrandmother, unused to colorblind love, had given him the nickname Grey when she first held him. And that name stuck.
Carter nodded. "You're on the track team, right? Heard you were thinking of trying out for the Olympic Team."
Grey beamed. "You heard right. I am. Training as we speak." He then addressed me, "Can you be useful and open the door for us?"
"Oh...yeah." I pushed up my glasses, hurried to the door, put in our code, and stepped back so the men could enter our spacious condo. Boxes and bags littered our sunlit space. We were proud of our condo and planned to enjoy the next nine months before reality seeped back in, and we began our lives after graduation.
Grey and Carter carried the sofa to the center of the room and placed it down. Grey stretched his arms. "Thank you."
"No problem. You need any more help? I have a few minutes before I need to leave," Carter offered.
I'd never imagined him being friendly. He seemed aloof and distant, even when surrounded by a group, whenever I saw him on campus. We shared a philosophy class together last year. Since then, he's haunted my dreams.
"Yes." Desperation to keep him in my space found my vocal cords.
"No," Grey firmly replied.
Carter glanced at both of us, waiting for the final answer.
"We got it. Most of the heavy stuff is already inside," Grey concluded. "Appreciate the offer."
"The least we can do is offer you water or a drink," I said as I stepped toward our kitchen, which was centered in our open-space living area.
"I didn't do anything. The hard part was already done. See ya." He tipped his baseball cap and walked back out the door.
