“Yeah, that dickhead. He gets on me for studying too late but forgets to inform the entire house that he found someone to sublet the attic bedroom and it just so happens to be Austin Van Hewitt?” Bevan seethes in her seat next to Am.
Amelie gives her a warning look. “We’ll get to your problems in a second, but you know I’m going to tell you the same thing I always have.”
The two of us have been telling Bevan for months now that she and Callum should break up. For at least a month or two, and he should move out. Yes, I love Callum like a brother. Yes, it would make the housing situation messy. But the two of them are toxic. They couldn’t have a healthy relationship, and it’s slowly eroding both of their souls. You can practically see it.
“Fine. Taya first. She’s the more pressing issue,” Bev agrees and turns to me with an expectant expression.
I hate the way they both study me, Amelie’s blush-pink blouse perfectly laying across her enviable chest and Bevan’s leather moto jacket intimidating. My best friends are a seriously scary package, and I throw up my hands.
“I don’t know what you want me to say! I’m not the one who did this.”
Randi returns with our food, thank God, and I get a reprieve for a few minutes as we all shovel pancakes and bacon into our mouths. I didn’t go out last night, but this week’s set of quizzes was annoying and exhausting. Why does every college professor insist on testing your knowledge during week two of a new semester?
Amelie breaks the silence. “Tay, we know you didn’t do this. But you’ve had a crush on the guy for like ten years. And he doesn’t know it. And now he’s living in our house.”
I roll my eyes. “Give me more credit than that. I’ve barely seen him in the last four years, you don’t think I’ve moved past it?”
“The way you stared at him like an alien had just invaded Prospect Street would say you have not. Maury determines that is a lie,” Bevan cracks, and I scowl at her.
“Fine. I mean, seeing him brought back some memories. Some feelings. But like you said, he’s never known I existed. It shouldn’t change now. What does it matter if he’s living in the house?”
I’m trying to act nonchalant, and my best friends see right through my bullshit.
The truth is, it matters. A lot.
I’ve been half in love with Austin Van Hewitt since … well, probably the fifth grade. The first time I ever saw him was at a town carnival, and he and his seventh grade friends were goofing around on the Ferris wheel. They kept getting out of their cars and hanging from the bars, and the ride attendant was so pissed. But in typical pre-teen boy fashion, they were obnoxious and cocky enough to stick around and laugh about it.
Everyone thought they were effortlessly cool. Especially me, but only about one boy in particular. Austin. With his young Justin Bieber haircut, smile that made my heart skip a beat, and wrist full of woven bracelets made by some seventh grade girls … he was my heartthrob.
Then I learned who his family was, they practically own my hometown, and it was even harder not to be obsessed with him. And obsessed is the right word. I daydreamed about him all hours of the day, as one does about the boy they think they’re going to marry even though they’ve never talked to him or been in the same room as him.
As I got older, the stupid little crush became a living, breathing thing. When I got to high school, things intensified. I got pretty, or as pretty as I’d ever be. I watched him in the halls at our shared lunch period. I was on the freshman girls’ basketball team, while he played varsity for the boys, and I’d moon over him at practices. I thought someday he would notice me.
Cue my sophomore homecoming, where my mission was to get him to talk to me finally. Or at least dance with me. And dance we did. I’d been scooting myself over to his position all night, trying to look cool and not desperate. But my plan was for him to notice me. Notice the effortlessly beautiful high school sophomore with hair that was too stick straight since I had wrestled my waves with a hair tool and eyeliner out the wazoo.
Austin bit. He finally noticed me, and as the opening chords of “Yellow” by Coldplay floated over the dance floor, he took me in his arms. We swayed; he said something about how he liked my sparkly navy dress. They were the best four minutes of my life.
And then the song ended, a rap beat came on, he grabbed a different girl, and I was forgotten. For the entirety of that year, until he graduated and went off to Talcott two years before I arrived, he never once noticed me again. I was devastated. I’m pretty sure I took a sick day when I realized he never even asked my name.
My crush on him is—was—completely irrational. I know most everything I’ve learned about Austin Van Hewitt through hallway gossip, secondhand conversations, and that one dance we had. As ridiculous as my feelings were, I just couldn’t turn them off.
Coming to Talcott and knowing he attended college here as well gave me a spark of hope. But we’ve barely run into each other. And my crush has cooled off. It’s been over four years since I drooled over him, since I cried when he didn’t fall madly in love with me after one dance.
I’m more mature now; I have things I’m focusing on and a list of requirements that I want in a boyfriend. It’s why I don’t date much; I’m too picky. Who even knows if Austin actually fits my perfect mold.
With a defiant nod that my friends look bewildered over, I settle it within my own soul.
This will not affect me. Who cares if Austin is living under the same roof that I am? I can be an adult, I’m not in love with him anymore, and we barely know each other. I’m a strong, independent, valuable woman who doesn’t need a man to make her whole.
Absolutely nothing is going to happen between us, and I am completely okay with that.
Now, if only I can convince my rapidly panicking heart.
4
Austin
Two days after I move in, we have our first house meeting.
I’ve barely seen any of my housemates in that forty-eight-hour period, what with our overlapping class schedules, gym time, some of them having jobs, and just generally missing each other. Scott seems like the party kid, already staying out both nights I’ve lived here, and the girls definitely like their beauty sleep.
I’ve already been witness to the sounds of Callum and Bevan loudly fucking, Amelie’s pretty singing voice, and the hot water going out since I’d been the last to hop in the shower.
The only person I’ve really not seen at all is Taya, but now I am sitting right across from her. All of those shining mahogany waves are flowing over her shoulders, her lips are painted a shade of deep mauve, and thin gold hoops hang from her ears. The tank she has on barely grazes the top of her belly button, and with the way she’s wearing those black jeans, I could make out every curve of her hips, ass, and waist.
Damn, but she’s making it hard to focus. It’s a good thing I haven’t run into her much, or I’d be in trouble.
It’s six p.m. on Friday, and Scott, the only non-Webton roommate, picked up pizzas for dinner while we have this meeting. I grabbed a few cases of beer, since I’m the only one over twenty-one, and we’re all seated around the large wooden coffee table in the living room. The room is more suitable as a dance floor at a party, it’s that big, and I’m sure it’s been turned into one many times over the years by the many people who have lived in this house.