“He’s being a fucking dick!” she cries, looking to Am and me.
“Oh, come on, baby!” Callum starts to walk toward her, and Am steps in.
“Let’s all cool down, okay? I’ll make some breakfast, Bev, you go up and I’ll bring you coffee—”
Just as Amelie is about to keep detailing her plan of attack in that calm, soothing way of hers, our doorbell rings.
“Huh?” I swing my head to it, just feet away. “Anyone expecting someone at the crack of dawn on Wednesday?”
Really, it’s eight thirty, which to college students is pretty much the crack of dawn.
The doorbell rings again because we’re all standing here, either staring at it or at Bevan and Callum, who are angrily staring at each other.
“Is someone going to get that?” Bevan harrumphs.
Callum, probably trying to get on her good side, walks to the door and opens it.
“Oh, shit, I forgot you were coming this morning, man. Come on in!”
My roommate then steps back to reveal the one person I would be mortified not to have a bra on in front of. Or the pimple cream still crusted on my chin. Don’t get me started on how humiliated I am that I’m not done up to my fullest potential when the only guy I’ve ever wanted to notice me, and hasn’t, just walked into my house.
There he is, standing in the middle of our crappy college house foyer with a black duffel plopped down beside him and a Talcott University hat pulled low on his forehead.
Sandy blond whiskers paint his sharp cheeks and dust along that jaw I’ve dreamed about for years. The botanical tattoo, comprised of ivy and other plants, snakes up from his right wrist and disappears under the T-shirt stretched over his bicep. I have to crane my neck to look at his beautifully rugged face, and I’m not a short woman.
Everything inside my belly clenches when those dark brown eyes, the color of creamy hot chocolate, roam over me and stop. He’s the college version of Aleksander Skarsgård, and internally I’m freaking out that the sexy guy from that vampire show just invited himself in, even if I didn’t allow him to enter the doorway.
“Meet our new roommate!” Callum announces the tall Norse god’s presence, and I want to smack my best friend’s boyfriend.
Had I known this was the person he’d gotten to sublet Gannon’s room, I would have nixed it on the spot. There is absolutely no fucking way I can live with this guy. Hell has to be freezing over.
Austin Van Hewitt, the guy I’ve had a crush on since I could ascertain what a crush was, is moving in.
2
Austin
Six Prospect Street isn’t a bad place to land on your feet.
It’s close to the bars, I have my own room in the finished attic of the house, I’ll be close to all the house parties going on away from campus, and hopefully, I won’t have to answer to anyone. I don’t know these people, so my last semester of senior year could be spent without having to explain myself or work out interpersonal conflicts.
When my roommate decided to move his girlfriend into our two-bedroom on-campus condo, it got a little crowded for me. We were friends, but not the tightest of buddies I have here, and I wasn’t about to third wheel their honeymoon stage in my own house.
So when Callum, a kid I knew from back home, told me there was going to be a vacant room for the spring semester in their house, I jumped on the chance. Er, well, maybe I cautiously stepped into it.
Because now I’ll be living with a bunch of people who know exactly who I am.
The perks of the house almost outweigh the fact that I’m living with a bunch of kids from my hometown. Not that I know them all that well, but I generally try to avoid anyone who knew me in high school.
Shit, not because I was an asshole or a bully. I feel like I’m probably explaining it all wrong, so let me introduce you to the Van Hewitt effect.
My family, for all intents and purposes, owns the town I grew up in. They paid for half the high school to be built when it was first constructed. My relatives own the liquor store; the library is named after our family; we throw the homecoming parade each year. At the summer carnival, my dad gives a speech, and my uncle is actually the mayor. My grandparent’s farm is a hometown staple, and the locals shop there for meat and milk rather than the grocery store.
So, being a Van Hewitt comes with strings. Everyone knows who you are. I went to high school with six of my cousins. Our family is so big that Thanksgiving has to be held in a tent in my grandparent’s backyard. And when someone in our hometown learns my last name, they want something from me. Guys want an in with my family for some weird reason; girls want to date me just to say they might get the Van Hewitt last name.
When I was ready to start picking colleges, it was pre-determined that I would go to Talcott. Almost every Van Hewitt had, and I’m not the type to buck against the family legacy. It only creates more drama, and Talcott is a good school. True, it’s only forty minutes from my hometown of Webton, but I don’t go home much.
I do, however, control who I hang out with here. And the fewer Webton kids I interact with, the better. I’ve created a social circle here who have no clue what my last name means or what pressures I carry because of it. I suppose that will change now, not that I owe much to my five roommates who I will only share a house with for four months.
Graduation is on the horizon, and I suppose a return to Webton is in the cards. There are no careers in my chosen field of sports radio, but my dad wouldn’t hear it. I’ll go home, try to get a job at the crappy local station and make ends meet, or I’ll end up working for one of the family businesses.
I rub my temples as all the frustrations I’ve been dealing with invade my mind. Senior year is supposed to be fun, the last taste of freedom. Instead, I find myself moving in the first week of the semester into a house with a bunch of kids who know exactly what family I come from, no less. Then there are the worries about getting a job and secretly applying to the kind of ones I want all over the country.
Heading down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen, I don’t bump into a single soul. The house is quiet, and I assume some of my new housemates either have class or went to the fitness center before it’s too busy. I need to get my ass over there, but lugging all my shit to the attic will probably suffice for today. Not that I’m complaining, having a whole floor to myself will be nice, even if it’s a hike to get there.
As I get the lay of the land in the kitchen, a big open-air room with a huge island constructed of wood with a cutting board surface instead of granite or marble, I realize this might be the best decision I’ve made. My friends, the ones I should have taken up on their offer to live together last year when I had the chance, will love this place.
I’ll have to convince my roommates to throw a party.
My water bottle is half full when I hear a noise in the hall, and I poke my head around the fridge to see who it is.
The brunette of the three girls living here is practically tiptoeing through the hallway like she doesn’t want anyone to hear her. I smirk because she looks damn cute doing it, and because her ass is …
Incredible.
All the people living in this house, aside from Scott, who I was introduced to just ten minutes ago and didn’t go to high school with, are two years behind me in our hometown. They were sophomores when I was a senior at Webton, as they are now at Talcott. So I don’t quite remember any of them, aside from Callum, because we played sports together growing up.