I barely knew what they were talking about or why Taya had sounded so bitter when she talked about her mom hanging up on her, yet I’d never connected to a person more.
Barely knowing her hasn’t stopped the constant loop of thoughts in my head about her. It’s probably because she lives one floor below me in the same house, and there is this magnetism that has me second guessing if I shouldn’t just go down there and kiss her. See what it would be like.
“Nah, I didn’t.” I wave him off, pretending to look something up, so the conversation ends.
“Damn, she was fucking fine. You mind if I talk to her next time I come over? She’s your roomie, right?” Gio’s thick black eyebrows wiggle up and down.
“Yes, I mind.” I glower at him, and his surprised look has me sidestepping. “Because, uh, she’s my roommate. You know? It could get complicated.”
Gio looks at me like I’m insane. “If I hooked up with a girl who you’re going to live with for, what? Four months? And then could avoid her by not coming to your house? Sounds super complicated, dude.”
We both know my quick reaction is not because she’s my roommate, but at least he lets it drop.
“Anyway, are we still on for that fantasy baseball draft?” he asks, grabbing another sub.
The guy has the metabolism of a cheetah. When we eat out at Brick Tap, the local burger restaurant in our college town, he can eat three quarter pounders and still be hungry.
“Hell, yeah. I’m going to win this year, I can feel it.” I rub my hands together maniacally.
“You are not getting the bowling trophy.” He wags his finger.
“Brian is not winning. We have to at least block him from that. If I win, I’ll split the pot with you. As long as Brian doesn’t win.”
We’ve been playing fantasy baseball together, the four of us, including Evan and then some other buddies we rounded up, since sophomore year. And so far, no one but Brian has won. It’s not about the money for me—a two-hundred-dollar cash prize at the end of the season. It’s a little about keeping the bowling trophy that is awarded to the winner. Although, next year, whoever wins will have to mail it to the new winner since we’ll have graduated and all be living on separate coasts.
But Brian is a ninja when it comes to fantasy sports, and I’m determined to beat him this year.
“I can get in on that action.” He nods, polishing off his sandwich.
My stomach grumbles, and it’s like his hunger is contagious. I pluck a turkey and cheese off the tray and start to eat.
“All right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Let me know if I can come over. We’ll play video games, I can hit on your hot roommate …”
“Screw off.” I chuckle, only half-joking.
But it does make my mind pivot back to Taya. At some point, I am going to see her with another guy. Right under my nose, in my own temporary house.
Why does that thought make me so pissed off jealous?
8
Taya
The thought, you’ve got to be kidding me, nearly leaves my lips as I walk out the front door.
Because out of the only two people home right now, I’m the one who is blocked in. By Austin.
I was going to head to campus to study in the library since my brain won’t properly digest Mandarin prepositions in the warmth of my bed. That is, until I walked outside and saw that Austin’s shiny, beautiful car was blocking in my hand-me-down, sputtering mess of a truck.
The last thing I want to do is ask him to move it. But I know that I won’t learn this information if I don’t go to the library. And I have an oral exam coming up in my Mandarin course, one I need to prepare for. Some languages are easy for me, and I pick them up with no problem. Mandarin isn’t one of them.
It’s been a busy week with classes, trying to craft the perfect application for the UN internship, and just general college student living. We had our dryer break, so wet clothes have been hung over every surface of the first floor as we wait on the maintenance guy. Our landlord is a prick, and Bevan threw a fit when one of her favorite black sweaters was damaged right before the dryer went kaput.
And now this? Is mercury in retrograde or something?
I realize I’ll have to ask him anyway since I planned to go get groceries after the library.
With shaky legs, I walk all the way up the stairs to the attic. I’ve been up here plenty of times, since the boys used to play video games in Gannon’s room. Am and Gannon would hang out up here all the time, and I don’t know why it became a hangout spot. We have a full living room downstairs. But that’s Gannon for you, bringing the attention around like he was the sun and we were all orbiting him.
It’s no wonder my hometown friend was selected to be on a reality show, he has the perfect personality for it. There’s no doubt that the boy will be famous, and we’ve all known it from an early age.
My fist raised, I knock, and my heart stutters as my knuckles tap the wood of the door.
“Yeah?” comes from inside.
With a deep breath, I enter his space.
The large attic room, which is probably the size of my normal living room at home, still looks like Gannon’s. Not much has changed aside from a Blink 182 poster and the stack of textbooks on the desk. Gannon wouldn’t have been caught dead studying or working on something, which is what Austin is doing on the large cream-colored hand-me-down couch in the center of the room. His bedspread is also different, a hunter green where Gannon used to have tie-dye blue.
“I think you parked me in.” I don’t bother with small talk.
Honestly, I don’t think this guy even wants to talk to me. Because, well, he hasn’t in over four days. We see each other in the house, smile or nod, and then move on. He never meets my eyes and barely strikes up a conversation, so I’ve put a safeguard on my heart.
I shouldn’t have expected anything to change. We lived in the same town for years and he never cared to notice me. Now, we’ve gone to the same college for two years and have never crossed paths. Living in the same house shouldn’t change his blissful ignorance of me. I am the dumb one that thought it would have meant something.
Austin begins to rise, patting his sweatpants pockets for his keys. “Oh, shit, sorry. Yeah, I’ll come down and move it.”
I nod, saying nothing else, and turn on my heel to go. The guy doesn’t want to talk to me? Fine. But I’m not getting my hopes up by forming some kind of acquaintance-ship with him.
Footsteps sound on the stairs behind me as we descend together, about five or so stairs apart. I feel Austin’s heat behind me, or maybe I just imagine it because the sexual tension that invades my space when I’m near him is palpable. Though, there is no way he’s reciprocating that or feeling it, too.
Jesus, I need to move on. I’m going out this weekend and bringing the first boy I’m interested in home with me. Seriously, I need to bang these feelings away. I was fine; I was good. Until the guy moved into my damn house. I’ve been with other people since getting over my crush on him years ago.
Once we’re in the kitchen, I twiddle my thumbs, waiting for Austin to put his stuff on and grab his keys. I should have just studied in my room. This whole experience is too long and too awkward, especially because I’m pretty sure we’re both aware he blew me off at that party.