Page 13 of How I Ruined Everything by Kissing My Roommate

“Hart, you sure know how to kiss,” Sophie confessed with an adorable smirk. “God, and here I thought you hated me.”

I squeezed her arm, smiling with stunned relief. "I do hate you."

"No," Sophie corrected, pulling me close. "You don't. You just proved it."

And then, she kissed me. I kissed her back, and we kept doing it until we lost track of time.

CHAPTER 4

Sophie

I woke up tangled in my duvet, utterly disoriented. The room was bathed in the weak, pale sunlight of a Saturday morning, a stark contrast to the dark, feverish intensity of the night before. I’d kissed my roommate, and we’d spent the night together. The most surprising part was that I loved every moment of it. My mouth still tingled from the kiss, a furious, consuming thing that had broken the silence of weeks.

It happened. It's real.

I had finally kissed Sophie Mercer, the woman I had been systematically fighting for weeks, and in doing so, I had confessed the deep, ugly shame of my past. I sat up in bed, grabbing my shirt and putting it on. The air smelled different, filled with a possibility I’d previously denied.

I glanced across the room. Sophie's bed was empty, the sheets tossed back neatly, her pillow punched into place. She was already gone.

A tight, cold knot formed in my chest. See? Casual. She got her experiment. Now she’s running, just like Riley.

I scrambled out of bed, grabbing my pants, the familiar self-loathing and shame flooding my system. The instinct to deny last night was strong. It was a pressure release, the explosion of my suppressed feelings, a momentary lapse in judgment. My mind filled with excuses.

I walked stiffly to the small kettle to start my coffee, avoiding looking at Sophie's side of the room. A small, neatly folded note was propped up against my mug.

I snatched it up. My name, Iris, was written in Sophie’s neat, slightly slanting script.

Iris,

I have an ankle therapy appointment at 8:30 AM. I’ll be back before noon.

Don’t burn the toast. And don't you dare run away from what happened. We have a lot of new ground to cover.

—Sophie

She wasn't running. Sophie had left me a note. With a smile, I held the note against my chest, feeling the glow of a new love. The note was a tangible tether to the reality of the kiss. The last line was a gentle, insistent demand for continuity, a promise that we were moving forward.

I felt a rush of warmth and profound relief. I allowed myself to sink onto the edge of my bed, reading the note again. The knot in my chest loosened.

A moment later, Maya burst into the room without knocking, already mid-sentence.

"Oh my god, my best friend is alive," Maya declared, tossing her jacket onto my desk. "I’ve been calling you since morning, and since I haven't heard from you since Thursday night, I thought you might be missing.” She looked at me, then at Sophie’s empty bed. “Did you kill the roommate?"

"No," I replied, folding the note carefully and slipping it into my jeans pocket. "I kissed her."

Maya stopped dead, her eyes wide, and whistled. "I admit, I didn’t see that one coming. You actually kissed the object of your contempt? The girl you said was too easy and too blonde?"

I blushed as Maya surveyed the room and took everything in.

"Yes. It turns out she's not easy. She's actually incredibly smart, intense, and really nice," I confessed, my voice still a little hoarse. "And Mark is her gay best friend. Not her boyfriend."

“I would say I told you so, but you never listen. A gay best friend? Iris, I swear to God, you couldn't write this stuff. Your weeks of misery were based on a fundamental misreading of your roommate’s friendship."

"I know," I admitted, rubbing my face. "It was stupid, Maya. Sophie told me she overheard everything I told you about Riley. About the experiment and the shame."

Maya’s laughter immediately died. "She knows?"

"She knows," I confirmed. "And she didn't pity me."