My Summer Roommate

by Bridie Hall

  “Tell her this is from old Sal. She needs to get better ASAP, to make my boy here smile again.”

  He slaps my shoulder, and I nearly buckle under the weight of his bear paw.

  “Take a day off if she needs you,” he calls after me when I’m getting into my car.

  Like I said, almost family.

  It takes me half an hour to find the address for the delivery, but by the time I’m driving home I’ve already forgiven Chloe’s messing with my head and I just want to see her.

  It’s hot as hell, and spending time in a bakery certainly doesn’t cool you down. As I run up the stairs, sweat starts dripping down my back.

  Chloe is right where I left her, only she’s asleep. I worry that her condition has worsened, but when I close the front door softly, she opens her eyes. She lifts herself on her elbows.

  “Don’t get up,” I tell her, dropping the bag with the pastries on the table and walking to the couch. “How are you?” I feel her forehead, but I’m so hot that I can’t really tell if she’s still feverish.

  “Better,” she whispers.

  A drop of sweat rolls down my nose and drops onto her hand.

  “Sorry.” I wipe my face in the hem of my t-shirt. It’ll probably gross her out, but what can I do.

  She lies back and makes a strange moaning sound. Her throat must be killing her.

  “The fever’s gone,” she says.

  “That’s good. That’s really good.” I notice how flushed her cheeks are. She looks sweet and vulnerable. Delicious. My eyes drop to her mouth and I catch myself wanting to kiss her again. Then I remember how that ended last time, and I hold back.

  I have to get up before I do something stupid. “I have to take a shower.”

  ****

  I leave the bathroom with apprehension. I’m not sure I can trust myself around Chloe while she is in her damsel-in-distress mode and all cute about it. I hope she’s at least regained her sense now that the fever is gone. At least one of us needs a cool head if we are going to keep up with this ‘only roommates’ plan.

  Feeling so tense around her is strange. I’m not used to it. It makes me jumpy, like my heart has gone into overdrive. I panic every time she speaks to me. The whole situation has become bizarre. When I offered her to crash at my place more than a month ago, this was not what I imagined. I was trying to help her out, and then I was trying to get her to like me. Now I am in a situation where I have to stop her from doing something stupid, something that she would later regret. Although I’d like nothing more than for her to do something stupid.

  Like I said, bizarre.

  When I enter the living room, she’s not there.

  “Chloe?”

  I look around and see the door to her bedroom open. I don’t dare go in there.

  “I’m in here, reading,” she calls back, and she sounds better. There’s no more of that rasping in her voice.

  I’m actually relieved that she’s out of the room.

  I take a croissant from the bag Sal gave me for Chloe (there’s plenty left in there for her) and make myself a cup of coffee. I haven’t had lunch today, but I don’t feel very hungry. I’m too nervous for that. Shit, it’s like I’m back on that slope up in Tahoe poised to do my first double cork. My stomach is in knots, and I think I’d feel more relaxed competing against Stale Sandbech at the Olympics. Which says something about the state Chloe’s gotten me into.

  I try to distract myself by checking my mail (two shredding vids from my brother, and a message from Mike that I have to read three times to understand). I get my earphones and watch some videos. Time is crawling by.

  Despite the loud music, my mind keeps going back to the girl in the next room. I catch myself sighing loudly every two minutes. I’m desperate here, man. What do I do? I want her, and she says she doesn’t want me. But her behavior is confusing, so I’m not sure I should believe her. Is it worse that she’s lying about not wanting me, or that she truly doesn’t want me? This is getting borderline insane.

  I just wanted a fun last vacation before college. Now I’ve got a huge mess instead.

  I pull the earphones out, tired of staring at the screen and not seeing anything. Even the music didn’t manage to calm me down. The situation is dire.

  I hear Chloe move around her bedroom. She could’ve at least closed the doors to spare me. Now I just keep wondering what she’s doing in there. Chloe and a bed in the same context is not a good thing for a guy who’s lusting after her. Badly.

  Suddenly, I hear her make a surprised sound and then a crash follows.

  “You okay?” I ditch the laptop and run to her room. I find her slumping on the edge of the bed, and the first thought that crosses my mind is ‘thank god, she’s dressed’.

  She smiles confused at me, but her eyes are all crossed. “I’m dizzy,” she says like it’s funny.

  I notice she toppled a glass to the floor where it shattered, the water seeping into the frayed rug.

  “Did you cut yourself?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Lie back.” She tries to resist at first, but I push her shoulder until her head touches the pillow. “You’re weak. You shouldn’t be walking around just yet.”

  “I’m fine. I just got up too quickly.” Despite her words, she’s breathing deeply and slowly, as if being careful not to faint again.

  I clear up the mess of the spilt water and glass shards on the floor. All the while she’s lying there and watching me––I can see it out of the corner of my eye. When I look at her, she smiles dreamily.

  Is she playing with me? Is she doing this on purpose? Was I naïve for thinking she was honest and uncomplicated? My mind’s a mess, thanks to her. I don’t know what to think anymore, but I know, right down to the last atom in my body, that I need to touch her, to feel her skin under my fingertips. I need to kiss that full mouth of hers to stop her from uttering any more baffling and distracting words. I plain need her.

  I stifle a groan as I get up from the floor and carry the shards to the trashcan in the kitchen. I swallow a large glass of frigid water, but that only chills my stomach, not my crazy, horny thoughts. I have to get away, but I know I can’t leave her alone. She’s not well yet, and she needs me. Or so I tell myself, just to have an excuse to return to her bedroom.

  Chapter Seventeen

  CHLOE

  I’m better. Even my throat is not so sore anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy is Chris. I keep wondering how I managed to get myself into this situation. I mean, everything’s perfect. I’m enjoying the last vacation before college, my mom’s happy, the weather is sweltering hot just how I like it, I have the sexiest roommate on the planet … Earlier, when he came home from work, all breathless and sweaty, his hair hanging in his eyes, I nearly lost it. And then he lifted his shirt to wipe his face and his stomach glistened with sweat … I think my temperature rose for a moment there. He’s too good to be true. I could so have my way with him, if only … If only he weren’t in love with me. But I can’t do this to him, knowing I’d break his heart. And mine.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He walks in, and my brain shuts off as if he’s caught me. Luckily, he can’t hear my thoughts or he’d be running for his life. He looks anxious as it is.

  “Sorry about the glass,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. He makes a sound of dismissal.

  I start to panic when he stops right next to my bed and motions for me to move over. I can’t let him get any closer, but I don’t know how to say it without sounding like a bitch.

  “Chloe,” he says, and I know something’s up. I can hear it in his voice and see it in his intense gaze. For a second I think he’ll kick me out. But he wouldn’t do that. Not Chris.

  “Huh?” I try to act cool, but my voice hitches and I just sound pathetic. I’m not fifteen. Christ.

  “I think we’ve got a problem.”

  Oh, yes. I couldn’t agree more. My problem right now is that my heart is going a hundred
miles per hour. My hands are clammy. I’m salivating like there’s a bowl of Greek salad in front of me. My insides itch with the need to jump him.

  I’m pretty sure this is at least partly due to the earlier fever. This visceral need can’t all be natural, right?

  Yeah, right.

  “You know I’m crazy about you.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mumble, because I can’t get anything else past the lump in my throat. I feel the nervous heat rising up my neck and onto my cheeks. I imagine I must look ridiculous—half paralyzed and flushed like I’m having a stroke.

  “I get it that you don’t want anything to happen between us. But you’re confusing me, and you’re making it pretty hard to … um, well, not to do anything.” His hand is torturing the seam of his jeans, and his eyes are flitting around the room. I can almost feel the tension in his muscles without touching them. But I have to make sure. At least, that’s the only way I can explain my hand reaching out and touching his upper arm.

  He stiffens, and looks alarmed at me.

  “Chris,” I say.

  “What?” he asks hoarsely.

  I’m leaning closer. I’m feeling dizzy again. “Just … Chris.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  CHRIS

  I think she must be feverish again, but not that sort of fever. I’ve always somehow known Chloe would be passionate, but this is ... intense. Like she’s still battling between kissing me and pushing me away. After the first few moments of almost desperate kissing, I manage to make her laugh and then she relaxes and softens. Fuck, she feels good. So good that I’m afraid I’ll lose it.

  Her soft, gorgeous body is pressed flush against me. My jeans are getting tight, and on occasion, I forget to breathe. After a month of lusting after her, I have her right where she’s supposed to be. Only, she’s supposed to have fewer clothes on.

  She stretches her arms above her head so I can pull her t-shirt off. She wriggles a little and all my blood migrates south.

  “Easy,” I whisper, but the next second I have difficulty remembering why I wanted her to slow down when she feels so good.

  She giggles, her cheeks pink, eyes bright. When I think she looks like this because of me, I’m blown away. This. This is right. This is so good.

  Only… No, shit, stop. Don’t go there.

  She pushes my shoulder until I roll onto my back, and if I thought this couldn’t get better I was mistaken. She straddles me and then pauses. She stares at me with wide eyes as if she can’t believe this is happening either. Because I sure can’t.

  Slowly, she lowers herself until her skin touches mine and my nerve endings fire up. I’m beginning to understand what people mean when they say you can have too much of the good stuff. This is bordering on too much. I’m afraid my skin will burst from the blood pumping violently through my veins. Shit, this is how being high must feel.

  I groan when she presses down on my groin. She’s killing me. And I let her.

  “Chris,” she murmurs in my ear, and I’m about to ask what but then I realize she just likes saying my name. I never thought something so simple could be a turn-on.

  It’s then that I realize this is more than just sex. For both of us. It’s then that I realize the horror of it all and that I have to stop before it gets worse. I have to tell her what I did. Oh, god, I fucked up.

  She’s about to kiss me and I ache to feel her mouth on me, but I push her shoulders away.

  “Chloe.” My voice is strangled. I’m panting and I feel a painful pressure in my head. She just looks surprised, but I know after I tell her everything, I won’t stand a chance with her anymore. For a second I consider letting it go and let her make love to me while she’s still willing. Because once she finds out about what I did, there won’t be a chance in hell of her even being my friend, much less my girlfriend. I’m so torn, I feel physical pain.

  But I can’t be such a bastard. I care too much about her to do this to her. With the last bit of energy I push her until she slides off me and sits on her heels on the bed.

  “What’s wrong? Chris?”

  I feel sick to my stomach. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Can’t it wait?” From her serious expression I know she already knows it can’t. She looks vulnerable, even more so than when she was half-unconscious with fever. I think she can feel it, she can feel that this is the point of no return. It’s all there, on her beautiful face, the insecurity, fear, annoyance, and hurt. And it’s fucking killing me.

  “We’ve got to stop,” I blurt out. I have difficulty getting the words out. I wish she could just read my mind, so I wouldn’t have to put my shame into words.

  “Are you sick?” she asks worriedly.

  I imagine I must look ashen, but then I realize she thinks I have an STD.

  “God, no! No. You’re safe,” I say hurriedly.

  “Oh,” she says and there’s relief in her sigh. “I thought, from the way you panicked …”

  “I did something terrible, Chloe.” There’s no going back now. It’s confession time. I’m shocked to realize this feels just as bad as when I was told by the doctors that I’d never snowboard again. Oh, I’m so fucked. I feel like crying and I haven’t done that in about fifteen years.

  “I made a bet.”

  “Sorry?” The flush is gone from her cheeks, she looks pale and a bit scared, I think. She’s fumbling for her t-shirt that’s buried somewhere under the pillows.

  “At Mark’s party. The guys found out about you staying with me and they wouldn’t stop yanking my chain about it. I had too much to drink.” I know I’m babbling, but it’s the best I can do, considering the blood still hasn’t returned to my brain. My hard-on is even more painful now that I know she won’t be there to do something about it.

  “Someone, I don’t remember who, dared me to…”

  “To what, Chris?”

  When I close my eyes, I see red circles dancing on my eyelids as if celebrating my demise. I pull the pillow into my lap. This whole thing is painful enough without my crotch being a ridiculous reminder of better times.

  “To sleep with you.” I thought I said the words quietly, but they ring out through the room like I’d screamed them. They pierce my eardrums with their awfulness.

  “What?” Her breath hitches, and I can hear all her hurt in the simple, short word.

  I hope it’s a rhetorical question. I can’t possibly repeat that ever again. I can’t look at her. I stare at the hideous pattern on the carpet. At the water stain from earlier. At the torn wallpaper. Everywhere, but at Chloe.

  I hear her move. It sounds like she has difficulty getting off the bed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “How much was the bet for?” she asks, standing next to the bed. I still haven’t looked at her. I’m gathering courage.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, but I already know that won’t stop her.

  “At least have the decency to be straight with me.” Despite the sharp words, her voice sounds brittle. I want to hug her to me, cuddle her until she forgives me. But I think if I touch her now she might kill me with her bare hands.

  “Hundred bucks, I think.” The words are so quiet I’m sure she can’t hear them. But apparently, she can read lips.

  I finally look at her. I realize what a coward I am. I humiliated this wonderful girl, I hurt her terribly, and I don’t even have the balls to face her anger. I used to think I was a fairly decent guy. Think again, dumbass.

  I don’t think I can fix this anymore, but I decide to try.

  “You know this wasn’t about the bet, right? Chloe?” I point between us, indicating the mind-boggling kissing and cuddling earlier. God, I wish I could turn back time... Back to before the bet, not just before me admitting to it. I could never be with Chloe while keeping secrets from her.

  “This was real. I’m crazy about you, babe. You know that, right?”

  “Right now I just know you’re a dick, and I was right to keep my distance.”

 
“No, don’t say that. I’m a dick, I give you that. But I’m sorry. So very sorry, Chloe. Please forgive me. Please.”

  “How could you?” She sounds breathless. More hurt than angry, and I can’t stand that. I’d prefer anger anytime. I’d prefer she scream at me and hit me rather than seeing this horrified, painful look in her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean it. It was just a joke, Chloe.”

  I get up of the bed and I want to hold her hands but as soon as I touch her arm, she jerks away like she’s disgusted with me. Oh, god.

  “I wasn’t serious about it. Please, believe me.”

  “How can I know you’re serious about anything, Chris? Am I a joke to you? Is that what this was all about? Am I your comic relief before college or something?”

  “God, no, Chloe, don’t say that. I meant every word, every kiss. I was never joking about us, about this.”

  I cup her face in my palms and I think I’d be willing to give all my snowboarding wins to be able to wipe the hurt from it. “Babe, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Now I at least know how much I’m worth to you.”

  “No …” She interrupts me before I get anything out, although I’m not even sure what to say anymore to convince her.

  “Do you need me to compensate you for your loss of the bet?” she asks and her voice is scathing, even though her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “Fuck, Chloe, don’t be like this.”

  I think the door after she closes it in my face is showing more emotion at my pleading than Chloe did.

  Fuck, this hurts.

  Chapter Nineteen

  CHLOE

  “Hey, wait up,” Harper calls as I run ahead. It’s an early morning and we’re running in the park. Isabelle suggested I join Harper on his regular run when I mentioned to her that I started running two weeks ago. Harper was dubious at first. I think he was afraid I’d slow him down. But I push myself every day to get the poison out of my system.

  The poison being Chris, of course.