“And what things have you heard?” My head cants with interest.
“Nuh-huh.” She pushes my shoulder. “You answer my question first.”
I finish my last bite of crepe before answering her. “Well, I grew up in New Jersey. I’ve always been close to my dad. We spent two years restoring this baby.” I lovingly stroke the bed of the truck. “I have an older sister—ten years older, actually. My mom … she was the best, most loving person ever. She could brighten anyone’s day.” Slowly, I meet Lou’s gaze. “She passed away when I was fifteen. Breast cancer.”
Her lips part in surprise. She should be surprised. That isn’t information I share with just anyone, but I feel strongly Lou can be trusted. Yeah, I’ve only known her a week, but you don’t have to be around her long to realize she’s real and genuinely true to herself. She isn’t like other people who are willing to stomp on others to get somewhere in life.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her eyes sad. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was.” I look straight ahead, staring at the leaves on the trees as they’re stirred by the wind. “What about you?” I nudge her knee with mine in encouragement.
“I grew up further south near the Blacksburg area. Only child to a single mom.”
“You and your mom are close then?”
She smiles, setting the empty container to the side. “The closest. She was my best friend until I came here and met Miranda.” She gives a small laugh. “She’s always number one in my heart, though.” She flicks a crumb off her leg and raises her eyes up to mine. “What made you move from Jersey to here?”
“My sister.” I exhale heavily, wondering how much detail I want to go into, but figure if I told her about my mom this should be no different. “After my mom passed away, my dad slowly started shutting down. He was still there for a while, but by the time I graduated high school I just … needed to get away. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I couldn’t stay there and watch him fall apart any longer. So, I came here for school to be closer to my sister and her family. I didn’t want to feel alone anymore.”
She’s quiet beside me, rubbing her top teeth over her bottom lip as she ponders what I’ve spilled.
Finally, just when I start feeling embarrassed, she says, “That’s really sad. I-I’m sorry, Abel.”
“Thanks.” I start to gather up our trash and pause, looking at her. “My birthday is next week. My friends are throwing me a birthday party but I have a feeling it’s going to turn into a house party where the cops are called. You should come. If you want. Bring your friend.”
She looks up at me with a mischievous smile. “Can I bring a date?”
Her words catch me by surprise, and that pisses me off at myself, because I shouldn’t care if she brings a date or not. Yeah, I’m attracted to my roommate, but that’s it—an attraction. I have my life, and she has hers, and just because we’re suddenly living together that shouldn’t change. I never knew her before this, and she didn’t know me. Things should be simple, easy, but … fuck.
“Yeah,” I choke out, “bring a date.” I force a smile, and pick up my coffee, taking a long sip. “It’s going to be fucking awesome.”
10
Lou
I finish typing up my article for the school paper and click submit, sending it to the editor. It’s dark in the room since I’m the last one to leave, like usual. I’m a perfectionist when it comes to my articles.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I lock up the room behind me—our editor, Arnold, gave me a key last year since he got sick of waiting for me to be done—and head out of the building to the parking lot and my waiting Dodge Neon. It’s purple, with peeling paint, but it gets from point A to point B with no problems.
The sun is almost completely down as I get behind the wheel. It’s only Wednesday and I’m ready for this week to be over. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the rest of this school year, and next.
It’s going to take a miracle, lots of Capri-Sun, and most likely papers being submitted one minute before they’re due.
I make a pit stop at the bakery before I finally arrive home.
Stepping inside, my nose is assaulted with the smell of spices and food cooking—which never was the case before Abel.
“Hey.” He greets me in the kitchen, standing over the stove tending to something in a skillet. He’s shirtless, a pair of low hanging gym shorts barely clinging to his hips. He looks entirely too sinful and it makes me feel disoriented and slightly grumpy because my lady bits insist on reminding how long it has been since they’ve been serviced.
But I swore off guys, especially ones like Abel who use girls and leave them by the wayside. Yeah, he’s been nothing but a gentleman the week and a half we’ve lived together, but he’s my roommate. We kind of need to get along or this will never work. Besides, after the day that Danika chick showed up, I haven’t seen her, which tells me she’s probably one among many he’s used and tossed aside.
But all of that is okay with me, because I’m not interested in sleeping with him.
Yes, he’s hot, I’m not going to deny that and I’ll look all I want, but I have no intentions to touch. Besides, I think we could become good friends. So for now, it’s window-shopping only over here.
Dropping my bag on the floor and placing the box from the bakery on the breakfast bar, I ask, “What are you making?”
“Chicken with spinach.”
“Bleh, boring.” I slide onto one of the barstools, crossing my arms on the counter before laying my head on them.
He gives a small smile over his shoulder. “It’s healthy.”
“I’d rather eat cake, and speaking of cake,” I nudge the box, “open it.”
He turns away from the stove and eyes the large white box. “What did you do?”
“Oh, nothing major.” I bat my eyes innocently.
He uses his finger to break the tape on the sides and lifts the lid on the box.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Popular,” he reads, “You’re getting old.” He lifts his eyes to mine, fighting a smile. “Thanks, Lou.”
“It’s chocolate cake and chocolate icing, like you said was your favorite.”
I asked him yesterday what kind of cake he liked, otherwise I would’ve ended up buying my favorite and not sharing it, which defeated the purpose of being nice and gifting my new roomie with a birthday cake in the first place.
“Thank you,” he says again, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t quite decipher.
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” I didn’t get a chance to wish him that this morning since he was gone before I was out of bed, probably at the gym or something equally as exhausting that people who look like him subject themselves too.
Abs, or a piece of cake?
Sorry, but I want the cake.
His party at his friend’s place isn’t until Friday night and I’m nervous about going. I mean I’ve been to parties before, of course, but not with his crowd. The popular guys and girls don’t usually want us peasants crashing the party, which is cool because I don’t want to hang out with them anyway. But when Abel asked I couldn’t say no. Especially when it’s for his birthday.
I’m clearly a sucker.
“Seriously, thank you, Lou. You didn’t have to do any of this. You barely know me.” He turns back to the stove and finishes making his meal, sliding it out of the pan and onto a plate. “You want any of this?” he asks me. “There’s plenty.”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I didn’t pick anything up, and since I can’t cook to save my life, I’m stuck living on cereal and frozen waffles.”
He gives a small laugh, grabbing another plate and dividing the food. It looks pretty yummy and smells delicious.
“I could teach you sometime.” He slides a plate in front of me, setting the other beside me. He comes around the counter, pulling out the stool and sitting down.
“Teach me what?” I ask stupidly, cutting into the chicken.
&
nbsp; He laughs outright. “To cook.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, my brows furrowed. “Why would I possibly want to learn that when I have you to do it for me?”
“Excellent point,” he concedes. “But it’s still something you should know.”
“True,” I agree reluctantly. “I was traumatized from the kitchen when I caught spaghetti noodles on fire in home economics in middle school. The fire department got called and we were out of school the rest of the day.”
Abel spits out his food as laughter bursts out of him. “Why am I not surprised something like that would happen to you?”
“I’m an interesting person, therefore, interesting things happen to me.” Taking another bite of chicken I chew and swallow before asking, “Your birthday is today, so that means,” I draw out, “you’re a Virgo.”
He shakes his head, fighting a smile. “Are you into that stuff? Astrology?”
“Not really,” I admit. “At times some of the things they say about our signs seem to make sense, but I don’t believe anyone should ever pigeon-hole themselves into one box they think they have to belong in.”
“What about this fate you seem to believe so steadfastly in?” He challenges with a raised brow. There’s a spot of creamy white sauce in the corner of his mouth, and I itch to wipe it away but I keep my hands firmly to myself.
“For me, fate is still freewill. We always have the right to choose. I don’t believe fate is not having any choice at all, I feel like it’s the guiding light. It leads you in the direction of things you didn’t know you needed or stuff that has to happen to make you a better person. The good things in life keep us motivated, but it’s the bad things that build us and make us who we are with how we choose to handle them. It’s all just … fate.” I’m sure I sound like a lunatic, but that’s how I view things. “Fate, for me, is finding a reason for everything that happens.”
“So, me finding you … that was fate, then?” His dark eyes look at me intensely and suddenly I’ve completely forgotten about my hunger.
“Yeah, it was,” I whisper, my cheeks heating.
Sometimes my obsession with fate sounds silly hearing it from someone else’s lips, but that simple four-letter word has been my guiding force in life. I’ve always believed in its power and I won’t stop now.
The landline rings and I jump, my fork clattering against my plate.
“I … uh … that’ll be my mom,” I stutter, sliding off the stool.
Abel nods in response and I blow out a breath, feeling ridiculously awkward.
I answer the phone before it can stop ringing and lean against the counter.
“Hey, Mom.” I don’t even have anything witty to say after the conversation I just had with Abel.
“Baby, girl,” she replies. “How are things?”
“Busy,” I answer, stifling a yawn. “I had to stay late to get my article submitted. Like usual.”
She gives a small, amused laugh. “You’re such a perfectionist with your words.”
I stick my tongue out, even though she can’t see and Abel chuckles. “If only I could be a perfectionist when it comes to other things.”
“How’s it going with the new roommate?”
My eyes meet Abel’s and he gives a grin as if he somehow knows he’s become a topic of conversation. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, making it obvious he’s listening to everything I say on my end of the conversation.
“Good.”
“Is he hot?”
“Mom!”
“What? It’s a legitimate question, Louise Myrtle.”
“Okay, there’s no need to bring out the big guns with the middle name, Mom.”
She giggles on the other end. “I take that to mean he’s very good-looking.”
“Is there any point to this conversation or did you just call to be a snoop?”
“Ummm,” she pretends to think, “I wanted to be nosey.”
“Of course you did. I’m tired, I want to shower and go to bed.”
“Fine, but if you think this conversation is over you’re wrong. As your mother, it’s my responsibility to bug you about all potential suitors?”
“Suitors?” I blurt. “What is this, the dark ages?”
“Might as well be,” she snickers. “At the rate you’re going you’ll never give me grandbabies. I’m afraid I might have to set some kind of arranged marriage up for you.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mom. I feel the love.”
“All right, all right,” she intones. “I’ll let you go. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up the phone as Abel stands up to wash his plate. I don’t feel much like finishing mine, but I sit my ass down anyway since he made it and was nice enough to offer some to me.
“I’m digging into that cake next,” he warns me, turning on the sink. “Do you want a piece?”
“What kind of idiot would turn down cake?” I scoff. “If happiness had a flavor it would be cake.”
“The chocolate-chocolate kind?” He grins, pulling out two small serving plates from the cabinet. I know exactly which ones they are. White, with pastel butterflies around the edge. When my grandma passed away they were the one thing I begged my mom to let me keep.
“You have good taste in cake flavors,” I admit. “But my favorite is actually orange cake with cream cheese icing.”
“Really?” He quirks a brow, removing his chocolate cake from the box. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind before.”
“I’ll make one some time. You know, if I ever get a break.”
I’ve babysat the last two nights, then I was late working on my article, so most days it feels like I don’t have any sort of life to do anything I want for enjoyment.
Finishing my meal, I clean up as Abel expertly cuts the slices. Stacking my plate with his in the dryer rack, I take the one with my cake from him and both of us sit on the couch. He grabs the remote, turning the TV on.
“Anything you want to watch?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’ve been thinking about starting Psych. All the seasons are on Amazon Prime.”
“I’ve wanted to watch that one, too. We could watch it together?”
I stare at him, a forkful of cake hovering near my mouth. “Starting an entire TV show together is a huge commitment. This is bigger than marriage. There can be no cheating and watching ahead. Are you prepared for this?”
He blinks at me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. The biggest sin in the world is watching a show with someone and then they don’t wait for you. I don’t care how badly you want to know what happens next, there is no watching without me.”
“And that means you can’t watch it without me?”
I hesitate. “Yeah, I have to hold myself to my own standards.” I give a small shrug and finally take a bite of cake. “Oh my God,” I moan. “That’s the best fucking cake I’ve ever tasted.”
Abel gives me an amused look before bringing up Amazon Prime to start the show.
“It’s eight seasons long,” I warn him, pointing my fork near his chest. “You can’t bail on this commitment.”
He narrows his eyes on the fork in my hand. “Or what? You’ll stab me in the heart with your fork?”
“Obviously, and then scoop it out and eat it. It’s how I stay youthful. I’m actually a hundred and fifty years old,” I whisper, like I’m letting him in on a secret.
He laughs, selecting the show. “Guess I’m in this for the long haul, then.”
“You bet your ass you are, Mr. Popular.”
The show starts and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Having a roommate isn’t nearly as bad as I thought. In fact, with Abel, it’s not bad at all.
11
Abel
The door to the apartment creaks open and I glance away from the TV to find Lou pushing her way inside, mail cradled in her arms. She kicks the door closed and drops the mail and her phone onto t
he kitchen counter.
She runs her fingers forcefully through her hair, letting out a frustrated groan. “Jamie is blowing up my phone, despite the fact I told him numerous times I was babysitting. He says he’s going to stop by tomorrow to add you to the lease. He’s such a giant pain in my ass.”
“That asshole needs punched in his face. Repeatedly.”
She turns toward the refrigerator, pulling out a Capri-Sun. When her back is turned I conspicuously pick up my bottle of Gatorade and put it on a coaster before she can see that it was on the bare table.
Lou kicks off her shoes before plopping on the couch beside me. “Jamie is harmless, just annoying. He’s let his power go to his head.” She emphasizes “power” with air quotes. “He wasn’t so bad whenever he stopped by to help his grandpa out.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. It’s still not an excuse to be a dick.”
With a sigh, she slurps down the rest of her Capri-Sun and stands. “I’m going to shower and start getting ready.”
“Yeah, I should do the same.”
Even a year ago the excuse to get drunk and party would’ve been welcome, but now I’m tired of it. As the guest of honor, however, I’m required to make an appearance.
I hang around the living room until Lou’s done showering. Once the bathroom is clear, I take my turn.
The mirror is fogged up, which makes her pink Post-It stand out even more.
I’m fucking awesome. Do great shit today. No really, take a shit.
Even though I’ve already seen today’s note I can’t stop smiling.
Showering quickly, I hop out and scrub a hand towel over my hair to dry it faster before I shave. I leave some scruff, just clean it up a bit. If my sister saw me looking like this I would be berated for looking like a, “goddamn caveman.”
Heading out of the bathroom and into my bedroom right next door, I rifle through my drawers for something to wear. Grabbing a pair of dark blue pants I tug them on and swipe a white button down from my closet. Buttoning it and tucking the bottom into the pants, I grab my black leather belt and finish getting ready.
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