by Alex Rosa
I lean back into the couch, huffing like a child. He’s right, unfortunately.
Shaking it off, I say, “Sorry. You’re the only true friend I have.”
“What about Rich?”
“He would be a friend too if he stopped asking me out on dates and focused on studying.”
“Oh, the troubling life you lead. In all fairness, it does seem like you lead the guy on.”
My body feels like it is overheating with the conversation. “I don’t lead anyone on.”
“I’ve seen you two studying in here, all cozy and close. He buys you an endless supply of drinks, and studies here until the early hours of the morning just to spend time with you. You can’t be that oblivious.”
“Are we really about to ridicule my terrible love life?”
“I didn’t mean to, darling, but I don’t think you have the worst problems in the world. You have the into-you med student and the tempting bad-boy roommate. If you’ve got a problem with your life, we can switch places.”
Wrinkling my nose, I continue. “The ridiculousness never ceases with this guy. Last night after work, I caught him loving up an entirely different girl on the couch. It was awkward and uncomfortable.”
“That seems like normal boy behavior if you ask me.”
“Oh, it gets better.”
I delve into explaining this mornings breakfast debacle, my roommate’s inherent doucheiness, and how I couldn’t stand being in the house. I might have even huffed and puffed through the explanation.
Tucker hums his understanding as he sips his drink. “Damn, girl. Sounds like an interesting character.”
“He is not interesting. He’s an asshole.”
“An asshole? I hope we aren’t talking about me.”
My eyes swing upward and over Tucker’s head to lock with green eyes that are beginning to feel annoyingly familiar.
I let out a sigh and see Tucker holding back a laugh.
“Funny, you’re exactly who I was talking about.”
Blake’s tousled hair looks to be in adorable disarray, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward, revealing a dimple I didn’t notice before.
“Ouch, I didn’t think my eggs were that bad.”
Tucker lets out a laugh at my expense, and Blake joins in with him.
I set my lips in a hard line and nod, watching them share a moment that I want to end.
“Please tell me you have something better to do than stalk me, Blake?”
His chuckles stop as he examines my face. He looks hurt by my no-nonsense stare. Good. I’d like to think I affect him in some way.
Tucker is quick to get out of there. As he stands, he looks to me and says, “I’ll see you in a bit.” He turns to Blake, jabbing him in the chest with his finger. “You better watch it with this one. She’ll eat you alive.”
I reluctantly lock eyes with Blake.
“Would stalking you be that bad?” His tone is milk-chocolate smooth.
“Do these lines work on all the other bimbos you bed? Because I think you should take a look at my GPA before you start to make your assumptions.”
Not taking the hint, Blake takes the seat that Tucker previously occupied.
We just stare at each other for seconds, minutes—I don’t know how long. I become curious and nervous under his watch, wondering what’s happening and what he’s looking for. Are my demons obvious?
Catching me completely unaware, he speaks. “You’re so guarded. Who the hell damaged you so badly?”
The drink I’m bringing to my lips slips from my grasp and spills over my textbook. My anger vanishes in a puff of smoke. My shoulders tense as my emotions overwhelm me.
I need space. I need to clean up this mess. I need to get a grip.
I stand, stumbling with my words and my footing.
“Excuse—I just—um—I’m going to get napkins.”
Blake looks sympathetic but confused by my reaction, and I’m scared he knows my secret. I don’t want his pity.
He stands and places a firm grasp on my shoulder. His touch is electric.
“I’ll get it. Just take a seat, please.”
I feel an anxious need to leave. I don’t know this guy, and he doesn’t know me.
I watch him make his way to the counter and ask for napkins. My panic is leveling out as I watch him meander back to me.
Shaking myself from potentially wayward thoughts, I grab for my book and the cup I knocked over. He hands me a fistful of napkins, and I sop up the mess that’s now covering an important chapter. I close my book and take in a deep breath, trying to regain my confidence.
“Although time spent with you, Blake, be it brief, is always fairly entertaining, I should probably be going.”
“Don’t you have to work soon?” His tone is sincere and wanting, but why?
“Yeah, I do. I should probably get some food or something.”
“Let me take you to lunch.”
“What is it with you?”
He runs his hand through his hair. I think he knows what I mean, but instead responds, “What do you mean?”
I roll my eyes and slip my damp textbook into my backpack.
“Please let me take you out. I’m sorry if what I said was crossing the line. I’m just trying to figure you out. I would like to get to know you better. We are friends, right?” The word “friends” is emphasized as it exits his lips, and I eye him, still ready to run, wondering who he’s trying to convince.
“Friends?” I repeat.
He looks around, looking for—what? A sign? An answer?
“Yeah, friends. We’re roommates, and obviously I’ve been, what did you call me? Oh yeah, an asshole.”
I bite my bottom lip and retort, “A giant asshole.”
“Okay, fair enough. Plus, don’t you think Josh wants us to be friends?”
I nod, assessing the words in my head, and say, “Yeah, just friends.” And I do my part by enunciating friends, too.
The wry curve in his lips is back, and I know my big brother must have said something to Blake about keeping his grimy paws off me, too.
“I think I can manage that if you can. What do you say? I have some groveling to do to my new roommate. You can even get a free meal out of it. Friends?”
“Thank you, but I think I will actually just head home for a shower. I do appreciate the gesture.”
I almost feel bad for declining, but I feel more terrible that I can’t stop looking at how his chest rises and falls with each of his frustrated breaths.
“Skyler, I haven’t treated you as I should. Gimme a second chance?”
I swing my backpack over my shoulder. “This morning was your second chance.”
I walk past him.
“Okay, but third time’s the charm.”
Before I make it halfway to the door, I swivel around. “Can you cook? Or are your cooking skills as bad as your eggs?”
He lets his smirk fully appear in glorious Technicolor as he says, “Macaroni and cheese?”
“My favorite. You owe me a home cooked meal, roomie. I’m off at eight tonight.”
My boldness surprises even me. He could have plans. He could have all sorts of things to do tonight, but here I am, demanding his third chance.
Without hesitation, he says, “You got it.”
I let my eyebrows shoot up. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
With that, I turn back around and leave, hearing the jingle of the door shutting behind me.
I can do this. We can be friends. He seems to know the rule, too.
Chapter 5
I’ve been sitting in my car for ten minutes now. I tap my fingers furiously on the steering wheel as I debate whether to go inside. It’s already nearing eight thirty, and I fear if I don’t go inside, he might think I’ve stood him up.
Maybe it would be good for him.
I shake the thought, trying to convince myself to give him the benefit of the doubt.
All day I could barely focus on the schema
tics of a perfect mocha, knowing that I had an evening with Blake, albeit an innocent one.
I huff loudly and decide to face him.
I step out of my car and make my way inside.
When I open the front door, the delightful smell of garlic greets me, and my eyebrows rise as I walk through the house.
I half hoped he would be shirtless, but then wanted to smack myself at the ridiculous secret confession.
As I follow the wafting, delicious smell into the kitchen, I see Blake’s broad (shirted) back, his narrow hips swaying to something he’s singing quietly to himself.
I hold back a laugh at the innocent scene. “So are you going to serenade me while we eat, too?”
He whips around. Without missing a beat, he replies, “If you want.”
My knees go wobbly for a second, and to hide it, I take a seat on the barstool next to the kitchen island. “So many talents, roomie.”
His eyes perk up at my words, as if my instigative attitude intrigues him, but he moves swiftly past it.
“Hope you’re hungry.”
I try to relax. This is home now, isn’t it? I heave in a large breath. “Famished, actually. Smells good, like garlic.”
He grins and swivels around to open the oven. He grabs for an oven mitt and then pulls out a pan, setting it on the counter in front of me. Garlic bread.
“Just for you,” he quips.
I purse my lips, holding back a laugh, and dramatically pretend to be looking under the counter, turning my head in different directions. “There’s no skanky girl hidden anywhere, is there? Someone that delicious food is really for?”
He rolls his eyes, and lets his grin shift into a no-nonsense one. “I deserve that.” I nod, agreeing. “And now for the main dish, macaroni and cheese!”
Surprising me, he turns back to the oven to remove two ceramic bowls of baked macaroni and cheese.
I let my mouth hang open. “I’m impressed.”
After placing my bowl in front of me, he hands me a fork. “Dig in. I am hoping this redeems me.”
I take the fork from his hand. My fingers tingle as they brush against his, and it makes me yank my hand back. He doesn’t seem to notice as he watches me intently, and having his direct attention with those green eyes makes my skin feel as if it’s on fire.
I gulp down the odd sensation and try to keep my cool. “It won’t be that easy.” I stab my fork into the bowl, attempting to pull my stare away from his. “Tell me about yourself, Blake. Something I don’t know.”
“There isn’t much to know. You already know the good stuff.” He takes a large forkful of food in his mouth, and my eyes linger too long on his lips.
Before taking a bite too, I reply, “You’ve got it wrong. You told me the boring stuff. Where were you born?”
His face softens, and he leans over the counter next to me as he forks more macaroni and cheese.
“I’m from Wisconsin.”
I take a bite and manage a half-mouthful remark. “A Midwestern boy, who would have thought?” He laughs, and I shy away for a moment as I continue to chew. “The food is divine, by the way.”
“Why, thank you. A compliment from you? I’ll take it.”
His playful side is growing on me.
When I look up, I notice his eyes darting over my face. I want to ask what he’s looking at, but the tumbling thought that he knows my secret scares me. I try to steer the conversation.
“So the Midwest. Why did you come to LA?”
“Now that’s a boring question. I’ll ask you one.”
I tense, watching him, and his long fingers come up to his mouth, distracting me once again.
“What’s your favorite food?”
I lick my lips. “Simple: popcorn.”
He laughs, and the warm tone wraps around me like a blanket. I don’t think I’ve really heard him laugh. Well, not with me anyway. Normally it has been at me.
“That isn’t a food,” he retorts.
“It is for the studying mind. Between school and work, popcorn fuels me while I study. I’m a pick-at-it sort of food girl. Always on the go.”
“Fair enough. Do you have a boyfriend?”
The question throws me, and I almost choke on my current mouthful.
“Why?” I have no filter.
He stands straighter. “No reason. Sometimes I wonder why you get so defensive with me. I can’t tell if you’re just always wound that tight, or it’s because I’m a guy.”
I lean back to look at him. “I’m not uptight, and I’m most definitely not defensive because you’re a guy. I’m defensive because of the way I see you with women.”
“Scared for yourself?” He has the audacity to wink.
I roll my eyes and laugh at his brazen approach. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“I like it when I make you laugh. It’s much better than your evil eyes.”
I gulp down my last laugh, shaking his comment off probably less cool then I would have liked. “My question now. What is the most important thing to you in the entire world?”
Without any hesitation, he replies, “Family.”
My gut warms at his response. I didn’t expect that one.
“A Midwestern boy with a soft spot for family. Ya don’t say?”
He laughs again. It really is a wonderful sound. “I think you’re the one who’s a piece of work,” he replies.
I let myself grin. “My brother might agree with you.”
At the mention of my brother, he smirks, and it looks as if he is chewing something over. “Can I ask you something without you freaking out? If I overstep, I apologize.”
I stand straighter, watching him intently, while blindly pushing away my finished bowl of food. I think I know what is coming.
“Sure.”
“Did your brother tell you anything about me? Ask you to do something? Or I guess I should say, not to do something, rather?”
I let out a series of laughs at his choice of words. “My brother is overprotective,” I reply.
“Actually, I think your brother doesn’t trust me when it comes to a pretty girl.”
I try not to blush at the compliment. “Can’t imagine why?” I goad. “I’m guessing Josh told you not to lay a hand on me?”
He grins. “In a manner of speaking. I’m sure his words with me were a little more colorful than with you.”
I tilt my head, analyzing his features. His short, dark brown hair sits in a well-manicured mess on his head, as if he styled it that way, and it frames his sculpted face superbly. His eyes have an amazing gold tinge around the edge of his bottomless green irises. They’re his strongest tools, I feel. His confidence is backed up by the fact that he never stops staring, and he never feels the need to break eye contact.
I bite my lip, fighting my wayward thoughts, and I notice that his stare shoots to my mouth. My heart skips a beat, and then tries to level out its rhythm.
I release my lip. This is not where I want the conversation to go.
I try to maneuver things into a safer zone. “Well, colorful or not, I’m glad we can be friends.”
There’s that word again. It’s like a safe word.
His eyes shoot back to mine, and I notice he is closer than he should be. I watch his tongue wet his lips, as if preparing for something, but I think I’m reading into it.
“Yeah, friends. I need more of those.”
His tone is whimsical.
I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at him, entranced. I can’t tell if I’m making it up or not, but his breathing sounds shallow with his close proximity, and I can’t seem to figure out if he is getting closer to me because time stops and his stare won’t let me look away.
“Helloooo! I’m home!”
Spell broken.
Reflexively, both Blake and I put distance between us to the point where Blake turns around to place our dishes in the sink, and I spring off the barstool.
Then we both knew what was going on then? Can’t he
follow the damn rules?
“Shit,” I whisper before making eye contact with my brother. “Hey, Josh!”
He embraces me in a hug, and I pray that he doesn’t notice me trying to get some control over my erratic breaths.
“So what were you guys doing?”
Josh shoots a stare at Blake rather than at me. I get the sinking feeling that there is more to this promise than has been explained, and it irks me.
“Just eating dinner.”
Yeah, simple. Just eating dinner. No, there wasn’t any sexual tension. No, not at all.
Chapter 6
At four p.m., I pull into the driveway, and do what seems like my habitual checks. I glance to the right and see Blake’s midnight-blue Honda Civic.
Does Blake ever do anything?
I heave in a deep breath and grab my duffle bag, swing it over my shoulder after exiting my car, and head inside.
When I step into the foyer, I notice that things seem silent, and Blake is nowhere to be seen. Maybe with his trying schedule, he’s napping.
I make my way to the kitchen, desperately needing water after my intense practice. This being my last year on the team, each practice or game feels exhausting, physically and mentally, and heart-wrenching at the same time. I’m sad for the end and excited for the future, but I’m going to miss the camaraderie of my teammates. I can’t fathom leaving them after how much they supported me during my break up. They’ve helped me through some tough times.
I wipe the lingering sweat off my brow and fill a glass with water, thinking about the girls who’ve been there through the ebb and flow of the past year—hell, the past few months. I use my free hand to rub my jaw, which has been bruised so badly for weeks, and remember how Jen, our goalie, spent diligent time showing me how to cover it up with makeup for games.
“Wow.”
Startling me out of my pity party, I whip my head up and see Blake. At least he’s wearing clothes this time. His formfitting white T-shirt clings to his taut chest and stomach, and I try my damnedest not to linger on the waistband of his loosely hanging basketball shorts, focusing instead on his adorable bedhead.
