Making the Move: Mill Street Series #2

by Calla, Jessica

  “Don’t worry about me. Go take care of your family. If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

  “Thanks. What will you do this week? What about Oliver?”

  I wasn’t sure what I’d do, but I didn’t want her to concern herself with it. “Please. I’ll be fine. No worries. Call me when things settle, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks for understanding.”

  We ended the call, and I plopped onto the couch, debating my next move. I didn’t want to be in the apartment when Oliver came to town, that was for sure. Even though he’d be in the city, I was fairly certain he’d make an attempt at seeing me. I had no interest in seeing him. Not yet. Not when my life was turned upside down, by him, by his roommate, by the uncertainty of my future.

  I called my mom to tell her that I wasn’t going to Florida. “I’m not sure what to do this week.”

  “Sweetheart, it’s too crowded for you to come home. Your father has his associates from work in and out, the home nurse, the dietician.” I’d talked with my father every day. He felt better but still insisted on working. The man didn’t know how to rest. “It’s not the best week for you to be here.”

  “I don’t want to be there anyway.” But where did I want to go? I could stay. If I could just get myself to open the violin case, then maybe I could finish the composition piece and graduate. “I’ll just stay here, Ma. I’ll come visit Daddy next weekend.”

  “Okay. Bring Josh if you’d like. Isn’t Oliver coming home? Last time I talked to his mother, I thought she said he’d be visiting. Maybe all of you can figure out your issues and work things out.”

  “I don’t think so.” I hadn’t heard from Josh since the kiss to end all kisses and the awkward conversation afterward. Last I’d heard, he would be home in Virginia for the week.

  “That’s fine, Violet. I have to go, so call me later in the week, okay?”

  Her rush to get me off the call didn’t surprise me. She was a busy lady who couldn’t be bothered with my personal nonsense. “Sure.”

  Dreading being stuck in the Mill Street apartment all week with the ghosts that haunted it, I thought about Josh. I’d been purposely staying away to prove something that wasn’t true—that I didn’t need him anymore. But the truth was, I did need him still. Most of all though, I missed him.

  The day after the “fluke” incident, after my first night alone again in Mill Street, I’d gone back to Campus Apartments when I knew Josh would be out. Sampson had let me in, and I’d packed all of my stuff in a few duffle bags. My hair clips, my makeup, my snacks. Even my nightlights, except for the one Sampson asked to keep. Considering the guy was famous and had seen me half-naked, he seemed pretty decent. Still, it was odd seeing him using Ollie’s space as his own personal studio.

  My heart ached from missing my best friend. I could text Josh. Ask how things were going. Wasn’t that what “friends” did?

  Me: Hey.

  He texted back immediately.

  Josh: Are you okay? Where are you?

  Of course, he’d gone into worry mode.

  Me: I’m fine. At Mill Street.

  Josh: Um, aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Miami?

  Me: Rachel had to call off the trip. Family emergency. How’s Virginia?

  I wandered through my apartment, stopping in my recently-renovated music room. Josh’s frat brothers had done an awesome job finishing the painting, and they’d even bought me some tables and chairs at the thrift store to fill the space. I kind of loved that, although the room had been done for weeks, Josh hadn’t wanted me to move back. Control freak, maybe, but he’d wanted me with him. And I’d wanted to stay.

  I groaned. Why did we have to kiss? That dumb kiss had ruined everything. Our perfectly wonderful cohabitation had been blown to bits. And for what?

  For everything. For an earth-shattering make out session against his wall.

  His reply text dinged.

  Josh: Not leaving until tomorrow morning. Wanna come?

  I let out a scoff at the phone and reread the text, my pulse quickening at his question. Was he for real?

  Me: What about our fluke?

  Josh: Ancient history. Come with me. Friends can spend spring break together, right?

  Ancient history? Hadn’t taken him long to move on.

  Me: Friends? Really? Because you haven’t spoken to me in a week.

  I waited while he typed out his reply.

  Josh: I’m sorry. I thought we needed space, but in all honesty, I miss the fuck out of you. We’ll have six hours in the truck to catch up. I’ll pick you up at nine a.m. Be ready.

  Without thinking too hard, I smiled a goofy grin as I looked around the apartment, mentally unpacking for Miami and packing for a week in the Virginia mountains at Josh’s beloved home. Maybe going with him would prove that we could be friends, nothing more. The trip would be a great time to talk, and it would get me away from NJU, and New York, and Oliver. Or the trip would be a great time for me and Josh to make out like maniacs and confuse everything even more.

  I hated myself sometimes.

  Me: Where will I sleep?

  The typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. Finally, the phone dinged.

  Josh: I’ll take the couch.

  I raised an eyebrow. Could I do it? Probably not. Deciding it was the worst idea ever, I started to type out a text. In no scenario should I be going to Virginia with Josh King.

  Apparently, my fingers had a mind of their own.

  Me: Rambling, VA here I come.

  Chapter Ten

  Josh

  Sampson poured the beer as we sat at the bar in The Study, on the stools that Ollie and I used to occupy. “You asked her to come home with you for spring break?”

  I picked up my beer and tapped it with his. Old habit from Oliver. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” Sampson clinked my glass and shook his head. “You’re a masochist.”

  “Can’t argue with that. I miss her, but I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  The Study was fairly empty for a Friday night since everyone had finished classes and spring break had officially started. They’d put an extra bouncer on Sampson—Phil, a six-foot-seven, retired New York City cop—since it turned out that Sam actually did have a celebrity following. We’d been there about twenty minutes and at least two dozen people had approached him, asking for autographs and selfies.

  Over the past week I’d gotten to know him a little, and I had to admit, the kid was pretty decent. He’d been creating content, but I hadn’t even noticed. Best of all, unlike Oliver, I didn’t have to caretake him. He had his shit together. It was interesting that he made a fortune doing stupid, immature stunts like jumping off dormitories, yet his business sense was as mature as a Wall Street viper twice his age. He was intense, driven, and focused, and I wished I had his confidence and instincts.

  He leaned close, talking over the music. “Alright, you want my advice on Violet?”

  “Sure.” Officially, Sampson was the only person who knew about me and Vi, except I had my suspicions that Rachel knew also. She’d been giving me anxious looks in the hallway whenever I’d see her, and I had to stop myself from asking about Violet.

  “Here’s what I understand.” Sampson spread his fingers on the bar as if he were making imaginary calculations. “You’re in love with her, you’re completely friend-zoned, and you’re both a little shy about pulling together a romance.” He karate chopped the bar as he laid out my life. “She’s afraid she’ll lose you as a friend if you take it further. Is that correct?”

  I nodded. “She hyperventilated after you caught us. What should I do?”

  Leaning back, he crossed his arms. “This is a tale as old as time.”

  Relief washed over me since, from his relaxed body language, it seemed Sampson had all the answers. “Well?”

  “Let me tell you a story.” He looked at my half-full mug. “First, finish your beer.”

  He lifted his gla
ss to his lips and chugged his down. I did the same. Another thing about Sampson—he could drink me under the table. Upon finishing, I pounded the mug into the wood a little too hard. The bartender scowled at me from the other end of the bar.

  “When I started this little project of mine, I had no idea what I was doing. I was heartbroken and emotional, a kid lost in the early days of YouTalker, limping around on a broken leg from a nasty fall. But I invested my entire college savings into equipment and production anyway. Why did I do that?”

  “’Cause you’re fucking insane?” I was only half-joking.

  He bobbed his head back and forth, weighing my conclusion. “Well, yes, actually. But no. I did it because the chance of it working out was worth the risk of it not working out.”

  “So I need to decide whether or not to risk it all?” The thought made my stomach twist. Risk wasn’t really my thing. I preferred to be in control of situations, and to be in control, I needed the ability to predict the outcome.

  “Like you said, you miss her. Make the move. Maybe it all falls apart but then you figure out how to pick up the pieces. Or you don’t, and you graduate and move on.”

  “I can’t imagine my life without her in it.” I wasn’t sure I could take the risk of losing Violet forever.

  “But think how your life could be if the risk pays off. Make. The. Move.” He faked an American accent and exaggerated a dumbass face. “Be the hunkarrific guy you always wanted to be.”

  I stifled a laugh, but my brain started to hurt from the seriousness of the talk. I’d have to think on his words, and tonight, I didn’t feel like thinking. “How about this—let’s get drunk and not talk about women. In another few hours, I’m going to be inundated with women. Tonight is guy night. Deal?”

  He chugged and refilled his glass. “Deal.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I texted Violet that I wouldn’t be at her house before ten. Hungover as fuck, I popped four ibuprofens and cursed out Sampson, then stopped for coffee and bagels on the way to Mill Street.

  In the alley, I tapped my horn, then got out to help Vi with her bag. She was halfway down the metal stairs by the time I reached her. I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling my body come alive again. I felt like I hadn’t seen her in years, even though it had only been a week.

  Her hair was up in a clip thing, and her face looked clean with no makeup. Her hot pink puffy coat matched her gloves, and her boots peeked out from the bottom of a pair of black, fleece pants. Even in sweats and no makeup, she was cute, and I resisted the urge to pull her into my arms and tell her I’d missed her. She handed me her flowered duffel bag.

  I lifted it and feigned annoyance. “Does everything you own have flowers on it?”

  “I like flowers, what can I say.” She blushed, and I could tell she was fighting a smile as her eyes searched mine. She’d missed me too, I could tell. “Ready for our road trip?” she asked. “I wish spring break wasn’t so early this year. It feels like winter.”

  “It’s colder in Rambling too.” I blocked her from continuing down the stairs, smelling her clean, girly, flower soap as she almost ran into me. “I forgot to tell you there’s a price to pay for the ride.”

  “Oh? What exactly is that?” She tilted her head and squinted.

  After taking a moment to appreciate her sexy smirk, I tsked. “Your fiddle.”

  “It’s a violin. And what about it?”

  “You have to bring it.”

  Her smirk turned to a scowl. “Why?”

  “Um, gee, let’s think.” I rubbed my chin and looked to the sky, then back down at her. “Because you have to do your composition to graduate? You can do it at my house.”

  “I have plenty of time after spring break to compose.” She leaned closer and touched my nose. “I want to go to Rambling, Virginia, home of the King family, and play games in the country, far away from NJU, my ex-boyfriend, and my uninterested parents.”

  I let her pass me. I hadn’t gotten around to telling her that Oliver wasn’t coming home until next week. But when she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at me with those big puppy dog eyes, my gut wretched.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Even though it would be the right thing to do, I didn’t want to tell her that he’d changed plans and wasn’t arriving until next week. If I did, she wouldn’t come home with me, and I really wanted her to. This could be the last chance we’d have together, and I selfishly wanted her to myself—somewhere new, away from our history.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t do it. “Nothing.” It was a risky move. But I’d tell her during the week, once I had her there, in my space, and we cleared the air between us. I’d tell her that Oliver would be back the next week, and that I’d do whatever she needed me to do to make things right—with her and him, and with her and me.

  She waved her arm, motioning me to follow her. “Well, come on.”

  Ignoring her, I turned and climbed the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” she called from behind me.

  Flipping through my keychain, I found the extra key I’d had made to her apartment and unlocked the door.

  When I got to her bedroom, I couldn’t help but grin at all the Violet things that I’d come to learn and love. Her water bottle. Her “Bach Rocks” mug. The watermelon lip gloss that I’d tasted the night we kissed.

  But I was on a mission.

  The violin stood tall in the corner, waiting for Vi to remember that it was part of her life. I grabbed it and headed back outside. After setting the alarm and locking the apartment door, I jogged down the stairs and found Violet in the truck, sipping the coffee I’d gotten her.

  I slid into the driver’s seat and placed the violin between us. “Does the fiddle need a seatbelt?”

  “It’s a violin. And no.” She pointed behind her. “Just put it behind my seat.”

  After I situated her instrument, I twisted to look over my shoulder and slowly backed out of the alley onto Mill Street. At least she hadn’t argued against bringing it.

  She sipped her coffee as we made our way through campus. When we stopped at a red light, I grabbed the brown paper bag between us to get my bagel and handed her the one I’d ordered for her.

  The paper rustled, and she took a bite, moaning in pleasure. “You had this made perfectly for me. In five years of dating, Oliver never could get it right.”

  Violet liked French toast bagels with just a smudge of low-fat cream cheese, toasted. “Don’t think I didn’t force them to remake it when they put too much cream cheese on too... because I did.”

  I glanced at her. She smiled, a smudge of cream cheese dotting the corner of her lips.

  My heart sped up in ways it hadn’t in the past seven days. “I missed you,” I blurted, then focused on the road again, wondering if I should take it back. If she’d freak out. If I’d crossed a line.

  But then she whispered, “I missed you too.” And I knew it was okay.

  When I looked back at her, our eyes met, and she quickly turned away. “Um, the bagel is delicious. Makes me hate myself for defiling your cereal system. Which you still have to explain to me because for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.”

  “Maybe someday. For now though, I have to drive through this hangover. Sampson’s a chugger, apparently. He drank double what I did last night.”

  “Underclassmen.” She tsked, then I felt her eyes on me again. “So is that the reason why I haven’t heard from you? Your new famous roommate?”

  I gulped at the sound of her shaky voice, my head pounding even worse. I was unsure how to respond. I hated that I’d lied to her the night of our kiss. Telling her it was just a “fluke” and I wasn’t interested in anything with her was complete nonsense, but she’d practically hyperventilated at the thought of changing our friendship. Of course, earlier that night in my apartment, we’d almost sealed the deal and had a damn awesome night together.

  In a way, I wished that Sampson hadn’t stepped
in the moment he did. Now I had to figure out a crapload of relationship stuff that I had no clue how to handle. Was I going to go for it, like Sampson had suggested? I had no idea.

  Shrugging, I tried to play it cool. “I thought maybe we needed space to get us back on track.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t see her expression as I pulled onto the Turnpike, but her voice was flat, like she was disappointed in my dumbass answer. “Well, I guess you’ve had enough space since you’re letting me tag along on your trip. I know you’re just doing it because Ollie is back for the week, and you’re being a superhero by not making me face him.”

  Guilt gnawed at my gut, but I focused on the first part of her statement. “I’m glad you’re coming with me. Nice to have someone to take the ride with, and you’ll get to meet my family. I promise I’ll behave. I know how you feel about what happened between us, and I’ll respect that.” I choked out the words.

  “I’d hate for things to get awkward—”

  “Yep, understood.” Well then. Decision made. Air cleared. Not awkward at all.

  “I mean, I need you more as a friend than if we’d…you know…that night.”

  “Uh-huh.” Just thinking about how close we were to doing the “you know” made my blood pump faster. “We were off the rails. No biggie. We’re back on them now, and everything’s normal.” Again, lie. As if anything could ever be normal for me again after I’d tasted her lips on mine. Her body pressed against mine…

  “Yep. Normal. I’m glad.” She said the words to the window, but I could have sworn she sounded as miserable and twisted up as I felt. “How long are we staying in Virginia?”

  It was Saturday, and my interview was Tuesday. Ollie had texted me that he would be arriving in the city a week from today. “I wanted to get back here on Friday. Does that work for you?”

  She fit so perfectly in my truck, surrounded by her stuff—her phone, her coffee, her bagel. She’d plugged in her dopey phone charger with a cat on it. Even though she was tiny, she filled the space, just like she had in my apartment and my bedroom. “That works for me. Gives me time to see my parents over the weekend. Ollie should be gone by then too, right?”