[2017] We Said Forever

by Marie James

  After an hour of silence, I decide to try my luck and finally leave my room, heading back into the kitchen. I crinkle my nose at the dirty cup in the sink. I have a feeling it is only the beginning—a small annoyance I’m certain is going to get worse.

  I wash the cup, then place it in the dishwasher. Reaching into the cabinet above the stove, I grab the bag of Kisses, pull three out, and replace it in its proper bin on the shelf. My hands still stretched over my head, I can feel his eyes on me. Although he enters the room with ridiculous stealth, the air around me changes, becoming charged.

  I ignore him, hoping he’ll take note of my mood and walk away. Most men tend to willingly avoid unhappy women.

  The doorbell rings and I flinch with a start, dropping one of the chocolates to the floor. He grunts when I bend over to retrieve it, and I snap my head up, my spine stiffening. To say I’m appalled is an understatement. That’s a lie, but I should be upset, all things considered.

  When I turn to face him, the only thing I find is his retreating back. The person at the door has to be for him, so I don’t even bother walking in that direction. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I make my way out of the kitchen, only to be blocked in the doorway by Bryson, a large pizza box in one hand and a two-liter of soda in the other.

  The smell hits me and my stomach reacts immediately, growling, begging for a slice. Embarrassed, I place a hand over my abdomen and try to skirt past him.

  “Don’t run away, Olivia.” He places the box on the tiny table in the kitchenette. “Join me.”

  “No thank you.” My stomach rebels against my decision, making its displeasure known.

  “Look,” he says with a sigh, “I know you don’t want me here, but I’ll try my best to make this work. We looked everywhere. This was literally the last room available for forty miles.”

  I turn back and pull out a chair opposite of him with a sigh. “My mother blindsided me with you. I thought the girl who came to look was moving in.”

  “Emerson,” he confirms as he opens the box and spins it in my direction. “She’s my sister. Twin, actually. I couldn’t make it, so she came to check things out.”

  “My mother informed me earlier she knew you were the one moving in, but she left that little detail out when we discussed everything.” More like when she insisted.

  “If it’s any consolation, I showed up today thinking ‘Ollie’ was a dude.” He takes a huge bite of pizza, but does his best to chew without opening his mouth. I force myself to look away. Handsome, personable, and clearly a caveman.

  “I get that a lot.” I open my bottle of water and pick at the toppings on my pizza.

  “Every other Olivia I’ve met goes by Liv,” he says around another bite.

  I shrug. “My dad wanted a boy.”

  He nods in understanding.

  “Your sister asked about the baseball complex. Do you play?”

  He has the grace to swallow his food before responding. “Yeah. I played at La Grande. Their program is subpar. Figured I’d get a better shot at making a career out of playing for a better program.”

  “You must be pretty good to have the potential to go pro.”

  The husk of his laugh comforts me for some reason. He shakes his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not that good, but a decent shot at the minors would be great.”

  The baseball team at Oregon State is incredible. One of the best group of guys I’ve ever known. “My boyfriend used to play baseball.” I look down at my hand, fingering the diamond encrusted band. Fiancé, actually.

  “He played here?”

  “No. In high school. He stopped playing before graduation.” I stuff my mouth with pepperoni, hoping he leaves it alone and doesn’t ask any more questions.

  “You dated in high school?”

  Damn it. I nod.

  “Wow, that’s a long damn time. He doesn’t live here?”

  I shake my head, my eyes skirting to the sink. “I have some ground rules we really need to discuss,” I say, moving my gaze back to him. I may be using the change in topic to deflect his questions, but after remembering the cup in the sink, I know it’s a must—for my sanity and his safety.

  “Ground rules?” he asks, raising a brow.

  “Yes,” I say after taking a sip of water. “They’re important to me. I’ll be upfront with you, Bryson. I didn’t even want a roommate. I was fine on my own. This is my mother’s doing.”

  “Okay. Ground rules then. Lay it out.”

  I point over his shoulder. “If you dirty a dish, you need to wash it immediately and put it in the dishwasher.”

  He grins. “Simple enough. Clean dishes in the dishwasher.”

  I cringe. “No. Gross. When the dishwasher is full, you have to run it.”

  “But I already washed the dish. So, you mean rinse the dish, then put it in the dishwasher?”

  I almost question his GPA, but I can accept what I’m asking isn’t the norm. “No. I need you to wash the dish, then put it in the dishwasher, where it will be washed,” I say, enunciating every word to spell it out for him.

  “Again?” His tone forces me to realize he’s toying with me. Either he’s amused by my need for things to be super clean, or he’s trying to force me to realize how silly my rule is.

  I nod, narrowing my gaze. “Moving on. Towels have to be washed after each use.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Don’t give me some complaint about conserving energy or wasting water, I don’t want to hear it. My nerves wouldn’t be able to handle wet towels hanging in the bathroom.”

  “What if I take them to my room?”

  “Are you being obtuse? I’m not going to go into your room—that’s your private space—but it will drive me crazy if I know there’s a damp, mildewing towel in there. I think it’s best if you just wash it.”

  “Okay,” he says with a sigh, leaning back in his chair, his hands clasped against his stomach. I force my eyes away from his trim waist. “We’ll wash a load of towels each day. I can throw my workout clothes in there as well. They do better on a sanitize cycle anyway.”

  “We’ll? There’s no we here. I’m not washing your clothes, Bryson.”

  He grins at me. “Okaaay. I’ll wash your towel then. Really, I don’t mind.”

  My stomach turns as my face contorts in disgust. I try to hide my reaction, but I fail miserably. “Gross. My clothes aren’t coming in contact with yours. As a matter of fact, that brings me to rule number three. I need you to pour bleach in the machine and run it on a quick cycle after you’ve washed clothes. I’ll do the same.”

  “Once the load of laundry is done, the clothes are clean, Olivia. I don’t see a point in running an empty load. I’ll agree to not reusing towels—I’m not some ‘save mother earth’ tree hugger—but that is beyond wasteful.”

  I sigh and lean back in my own chair, mirroring his posture. “It’s nonnegotiable. I need things to be clean.”

  He looks around my kitchen. “I noticed. Is this one of those germaphobe fetishes?”

  I chuckle. “Fetish? No, definitely not a fetish. That word implies something of a sexual nature.”

  He hmphs, a deviant glint in his eyes. “Isn’t it, though? Sounds like you’re getting off on your rules over there.” I glare at him. “Fine. I’ll waste a load of water and some bleach. Listen, it’s clear you could spend the next hour telling me the ground rules, and I’ll do my best to follow each of them.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Seriously. I’ll do my best, but there’s no way I’m going to remember all of this. You need to email it to me.”

  “I can do that,” I state, nodding. I may even make up some labels for each rule and post them around the apartment. If the extensive rules happen to run him off, so be it.

  My cell phone alarm goes off and I silence it, but stand from the table.

  “It’s video chat time with Duncan,” I say as Bryson gives me a questioning glance.

  Not wasting any time,
I wash my hands and head out of the kitchen.

  “If he knew I had a male roommate, he’d shit a brick,” I mutter to myself.

  “Wait,” Bryson’s booming voice stops me in my tracks, “you’re not going to tell him I’m living here?”

  I shake my head and walk out of the room.

  If only it were that simple.

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