Just Down the Hall

by Alessandra Thomas

  I really, truly loved this girl. It was more than an infatuation, more than an afterglow-clouded fascination—I loved her. I actually wanted to bring her baked goods, and sit in bed with her while she ate hers and talk with her while our coffee got cold and lay her back down on top of the crumbs I knew she would leave in the sheets and spend hours kissing her from head to toe.

  I wanted the rest of the day, the rest of the year, the rest of my foreseeable future with her.

  And her job was dating someone else—lots of someone elses. A job which, by the way, I had been making harder and harder on her for months, just so I could keep her for myself.

  Sighing, I grabbed my keys and toed into my shoes. I stabbed at the screen of my phone with the dexterity of a caffeine-deprived lovesick idiot. Which I guess I was.

  Kiera was screeching in my ear before I even had the door shut behind me. “JORDAN ALBERT JACOBS WHY WAS ELIZABETH PALMER TEXTING ME FROM YOUR BED???”

  I scrubbed my hand over my face as I strode to my car. I slumped in and let the door fall shut behind me. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do about this whole situation myself yet, and I sure as hell didn’t want Liz to think I was going to consult my baby sister, one of her best friends, about it before I got up the courage to talk to Liz about it.

  Even though that was exactly what I was doing.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying to make my voice sound groggier than panicked. Of course she knew there was something going on between Liz and I—my sister was some kind of a relationship psychic, and her powers only got stronger the closer she was to the people in question. There was probably some alarm bell or something in her head that woke her up as soon as I’d decided that I had fucking fallen hopelessly in love with Lizzie Palmer.

  “You slept with Lizzie. And then she texted me from your bed this morning.”

  “How in the world could you possibly know that? If it was even true?” I mumbled as I turned the key in the ignition and started to drive in no particular direction. This conversation might take a while and I wanted to come back to Liz calm, happy, and fueled by enough coffee to be coherent.

  “First, it’s 8:45 on a Saturday morning. You never wake up until eleven on a Saturday, not ever, not even for the SATs. Remember how you lied and said you were Jewish and had to take them on Sunday because the idea of waking up that early on a Saturday had you so emotionally compromised you said you’d mess up the test?”

  “Yes,” I grumbled.

  “So I know you were in bed. And I also know that you would have never sent me a text message like that.”

  “Like what? Some stupid emojis? KiKi, I send you those things all the time!”

  “Excuse me, asshole, I am a mathematician. A statistician, actually. Which means that I can tell you that exactly forty-one point six percent of the messages Lizzie has sent me in the last three months consist of four thumbs-up emojis in a row. Do you know how many of your texts have given me the quadruple thumbs-up, Jordan?”

  “Um. One. Because I just sent it to you.”

  “Jordan…” Kiera’s voice was full of warning. She was giving me one last chance to come clean. I didn’t want to, but even I had to admit it—I needed her help.

  “I hope you feel bad about what you’ve been doing,” Kiera said, her voice suddenly somber. “I know I’ve been teasing you about all this, but honestly you’ve been dragging her along in more ways than one for a while.”

  My heart twisted. “Have you been talking to her?”

  “Not about you. Exactly.”

  “About who? Is she telling you about her dates? Like, more than she writes in the column?” Suddenly I felt like I was going to throw up.

  “Jordan. Please. Don’t do that. Jealousy does not sound good on you.”

  I growled. “You know what I mean, Kiki. You said I was dragging her along and I didn’t know if she thought…”

  “No, Jordan, I don’t know any details about the crazy sex you’ve probably been having all over your new apartment with one of my best friends that I haven’t even been invited to visit yet, thank you very much. She wouldn’t even admit to playing tonsil hockey with you, though I have no idea why.”

  “No, Kiera, I can’t imagine why Liz wouldn’t want you to be deeply, painfully involved in whatever relationship she’s having.”

  “Fuck you, Jordan. I’m just trying to help. What I do know is that Liz has been dating all these gross, weird, or generally awful guys and it’s your fault. So, do you want to be with her, or not? Because I know Lizzie and she hasn’t fallen for any of those guys she’s been on dates with, but she’s got a thing for someone and I would bet my bank account it’s because she’s falling for you.”

  Thank God I’d come up to Joey and Hawk’s parking lot by the time she said that, because I had to stop and clap a hand to my chest. I knew what it had felt like when I was inside her, knew that the way she stroked my face and moaned my name meant more than just good sex. I’d just always assumed I was the only one feeling it.

  “JJ? You okay, there, buddy?”

  I wanted to tell Kiera this wasn’t a damn joke, but somehow I thought that would make it even worse. “I’m fine, KiKi. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “About what?”

  “About any of it.”

  “Can I give you some advice? Even though you’re the big brother and I’m your baby sister?”

  “We’re both kind of grownups now, aren’t we? And you’re only younger by fourteen months so I guess it’s practically nothing.” I scrubbed my hand over my face again. I just wasn’t used to feeling like this - like any decision I made could have far-reaching consequences that I might come to seriously regret.

  “Figure out what you want, and then tell her.” I could hear Kiera slumping back against something, her chair or a couch, and I could just see her being all smug and confident that this advice would actually work.

  I, on the other hand, could only think of all the different ways I could screw it up. My answering sigh blew static into the phone. “Thanks, sis.”

  “Keep me posted? Please? I am stuck here in the ‘Burgh with no dates and even fewer prospects. And that’s not even mathematically possible.”

  “Yeah, I will.” I sighed long and loud into the phone, still a little annoyed but mostly loving my baby sister for her kind heart and persistence. Even when they made me do really uncomfortable, ridiculously tough things. “And Kiki?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I wasn’t lying. She was texting you from her bed.”

  “You are the literal worst, Jordan. And I love you anyway.”

  I laughed as I parked and headed into the bakery. Coffee helped. I sucked the ultra-sweet hot liquid with its bitter aftertaste through my teeth. Sip by sip, my thoughts were becoming clearer, my determination stronger.

  I knew how I felt about Liz. I knew what I wanted. All I had to do was figure out what I wanted to do about it - and I was almost certain that was to stop this stupid dating thing and be with her, we’ll figure out everything else after.

  Yeah, we shared an apartment, and a little bit of a past, and she had a conflicting job right now, but there was something between us, something I’d never felt with any other girl. She made me feel happy and self-assured in a way I never had. More than that, if someone had told me she was the only girl I’d ever be with for the rest of my life…

  Let’s just say I wouldn’t have objected to a life with Liz at all. I probably wouldn’t even freak out if someone had dropped in from the future and showed me our wedding pictures.

  Well, now I was getting ahead of myself.

  All I knew, with coffee and Liz’s favorite blueberry mascarpone scone in hand, was that this girl had given me a home where I had none, and just maybe a new outlook on life to go with it. I could do this—I could be honest with her, lay my feelings out at her feet. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter 22

  Liz

  O
nce upon a time, I thought this would be complicated.

  Having a massive lust-crush on my new roommate who I also happened to have grown up with while it was my job to date other people should be complicated. And maybe it was. Maybe it was weird that I went on dates with other guys and came home to Jordan.

  But just that thought, coming home to Jordan, filled me with such warmth that I couldn’t help but grin. I buried my forehead in my pillow and let out a half-scream, half-squeal, kicking my legs against the sheets. Right now, in the afterglow, basking in the streaming sunlight and tangled in his bedding, it didn’t seem complicated at all.

  What had Kiera said just the other day? The voters probably just wanted me to follow my heart. All anyone wants is a good love story.

  The only problem was that Liz Dates Philly was working, at least on one level. Sponsors were rolling in. Monica had been beside herself when Cosmo called to say they were looking into featuring the column, and then there was the interview with the National Inquirer…maybe all this wouldn’t get me a spot at the political desk, but it might be good enough to at least write the relationship column I wanted. Maybe I could spin it. An epic love story, G-rated of course, and then let the readers vote again on dates for Jordan and me to go on. I could work with the food critics. Day trips around Philly would be good topics for columns too, and maybe, just maybe, when the time was right, I could review some caterers, bridal salons, jewelers…

  My head shook back and forth rapidly at that thought as I blew another long breath into the pillow. That was so far off I had no business even thinking about it. If it was going to happen at all. If I wasn’t imagining that Jordan felt the same way about me as I did about him.

  It wasn’t the craziest thing to imagine. We got along so well. He knew how I liked my coffee and always remembered where I’d left my hairbrush. He understood my jokes and appreciated my political geekiness. Hell, he participated in it with me, at least in the fictional worlds on Netflix. He knew embarrassing things about me as a kid and he still wanted to hang out with me.

  In the other room, my phone pinged with a text. I growled into the sheets. Probably Kiera. The last time Jordan and I had discussed our between-the-sheets relationship, it was casual, just for fun and blowing off steam. By the time I talked about my Liz Dates Philly conundrum with Kiera, she could tell something was up. Sure, that girl had a radar for relationships - she could sniff out a couple from farther distances than merely across the state. My feelings were leaking out, staining every word I said.

  When the phone pinged again, I thought about getting up. When it sounded the tone for three more text messages, right in a row, I started to tug the sheets around me and drag my torso off the bed. I shivered against the chill in the air - November in Philly this year was colder than usual, and with our wonky radiators, it was almost impossible to keep the place at a steady temperature. I was just thinking about collapsing back onto the sheets when my phone started to actually ring with an incoming call.

  “Geez,” I muttered as I wobbled up onto my feet and stumbled over the bunched-up sheets and articles of clothing strewn everywhere to the door. The ringer stopped before I found my phone buried inside my handbag. Just as I was about to try to find some real clothes, it started ringing again.

  “What the hell?” I hissed. Why was Monica calling me on a Saturday morning?

  I pasted a smile on my face - everyone said that it affected your tone so that the person on the other end could “hear” your smile. If I had any question about how important this job was to me, this gave me an answer. I was standing in my living room, wrapped in a sheet, fake-smiling into my cell phone on a damn Saturday morning.

  “Hey, Monica. What’s up?” Don’t sound annoyed. Do not sound annoyed.

  “Elizabeth Palmer. Get in here. Now.” I couldn’t quite place Monica’s tone, but I could tell there was a tight jaw and slight growl involved.

  In other words, this could not possibly be good.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I just need you here. Now. You have a ride?”

  “Jordan…I mean, my roommate…should be back in like 20 minutes. He can drive me.”

  “Nope. Need you sooner. Take the train.”

  “On Saturday?” This was truly getting ridiculous. “You can’t just tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’ll send Alphonso for you.” Then the phone clicked off.

  I groaned and ran my hands down over my face. Alphonso lived just a few blocks north of me - something I was distinctly aware of whenever I took the train, because I did not want to end up sitting next to him. Our relationship had gone from antagonistic to awkward to tolerable, but I still didn’t want to chat him up on our commute.

  He was honking his horn outside the apartment ten minutes later. I slumped into his passenger seat. He was dressed casually, in a form-fitting hoodie, jeans, and bright white sneakers, but somehow still looked just as polished as he would any other day in the office. He smelled good, too. Damn him.

  “I didn’t think you had a car,” I said awkwardly, at a loss for any polite words before coffee.

  “It’s my boyfriend’s. Who’s still snoring away in bed all by his lonesome,” Alphonso replied with just an edge of bitterness to his voice. I was guessing he enjoyed the drama by association of this situation too much to be truly angry.

  “Well, thanks for doing this. I guess.”

  Alphonso scoffed. “What the hell did you do?”

  “If I knew, do you think I’d tell you?”

  He whistled, low, and pulled back out on the road. “You don’t even know, and Monica sounds like that? Can’t be good.”

  “She sounded like that on the phone with you too, huh?” I bit my lower lip and worried it with my teeth.

  “The last time she used that tone of voice was when our last intern forgot to renew one of our domain names and an anti-Planned Parenthood propaganda group bought it and plastered gross pictures all over it.”

  My eyes went wide. “That’s horrible.”

  Alphonso nodded, slowly, as the building came into sight and he pulled into the parking garage. “My point exactly.”

  I’d planned on going up to face Monica alone, but as we parked, I found myself wanting to grab Alphonso’s arm and drag him in with me. Luckily I didn’t have to - he was such a busybody he’d already gotten out of the car and was waiting for me to join him.

  I sighed heavily as we stood in the elevator.

  His eyes flicked over me. “You look like hell.” He was right, I knew - no makeup, hair a mess, and jeans I’d worn for too many days in a row already. He turned and brushed the collar of the shirt I’d grabbed - one of the plaid ones JJ wore to TA his classes - and raised an eyebrow. “At least last night’s date was a good one, huh? Did you have to leave the poor guy all alone at your apartment?” The corner of his mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a laugh.

  “Oh, shut up,” I grumbled, stepping off the elevator with Alphonso at my heels.

  As soon as we walked into our little area of cubicles, I knew Monica was the one sitting in my desk, in front of my computer. Shit. Shit shit shit.

  I scanned my memory for possible infractions. I hadn’t looked on any porn on there, that was for sure. Maybe the occasional picture of a hot shirtless actor, but…

  Monica held up a stack of paper, her lips pursed, and stared at me for a beat. Then she held it out to me and said, “Wanna explain this to me?”

  “Monica, I…I honestly have no idea what that is. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I’ll summarize for you, then. This is the printout that shows every single vote in every single Liz Dates Philly poll that has been cast on our site. Our auditor noticed an anomaly on the visitor logs when she was updating our SEOs last night.”

  I blinked. With no caffeine coursing through my veins, I barely understood the individual words in Monica’s sentence. “Okay. Are all our voters from the closest prison, or something?” I still didn’t see why that
would have her dragging me out of my house and away from a great morning of napping in some amazing afterglow. And maybe pulling JJ back in bed when he got back with that blueberry scone.

  Monica barked out a laugh. “I wish. I wish that prisoners had rigged the vote, because at least that would be a fun story, wouldn’t it? Something we could all laugh about?”

  I snuck a glance at Alphonso, who was craning his neck toward the stack of papers, and elbowed him hard in the side.

  “No, no. Please, Alphonso. Take a look.” Monica picked up the papers and shoved them at me.

  It was row after row of numbers, and I didn’t understand a bit of it. “Are these…phone numbers?”

  Now Alphonso was literally breathing down my neck, so I turned and shoved the papers at him. “You read it. Because seriously I have no idea why Monica is so pissed and I just want to know what I have to apologize for.”

  He ran a hand down his cheek, shaking his head. “Oh, man. Oh, geez, Liz. You were the one doing all the voting?”

  My stomach swooped down as I tried to process the words he was saying. “Me? No! What the hell? Where are you getting that?”

  “There are like a hundred random IP addresses here, and then like three hundred some that are all identical. And they belong to a router at your address.”

  I stared at her blankly for a single, shuddering breath. “So you’re saying…”

  “YOU HAVE BEEN RIGGING THE VOTE, ELIZABETH PALMER!”

  My heart stuttered, then kicked into high gear, like a butterfly flapping around my chest. “Okay, I don’t know what’s happening, but I promise you I have not been sitting on a laptop in my house voting for myself to go on dates with these ridiculous guys. I promise.”

  Monica stared at me. “What the hell am I supposed to believe, Liz? How am I supposed to explain something like this to the sponsors, who poured money into this column? It was all a lie? Nobody actually cared as much as they thought they did? The magazine isn’t exactly rolling in cash, it’s not like we can pay them back!”