I kept the door between us. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s past seven,” he said, edging closer. “Your work-study starts at eight. You weren’t answering your TB.” He frowned disapprovingly. “Were you sitting with the Lawson last night?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you watching me?”
Brody scowled. “You’re alone. You need a keeper.”
Fear crawled down my back. I started to shut the door, and Brody slid his foot forward, stopping it. “I don’t like your new friends, you shouldn’t have been drinking last night.” He gripped the edge of the door, and anger filled his gaze. “You should have been out with me. Not with them. They’re not the right friends for you.”
My heart skipped a beat. Friends. Winston and Ezra’s similar words came back to me. My stomach twisted.
“Let go of my door,” I said coolly.
Brody dropped his hand but didn’t move his foot. “I want the same chance you’re giving Hero and the Lawson.”
“I’ve been here for four days.” I glanced down at his foot, renewing my grip on the door. “I’m not giving Hero or Cayden a chance for anything. I’m still figuring myself out. Please, Brody. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not. I’m helping you.” Brody put his hand on my door again. “Let me help you.”
I slammed my weight against the door to close it. Brody jerked back as if realizing what he was doing, his eyes going wide.
“No, sorry. You're right.” Brody put his hands up, though his foot still didn’t move. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I only came here to make sure you were okay. That’s all.” He slid his foot back.
“If you really want to be my friend, you’ll give me space,” I said, before slamming the door so hard it jarred my arms. The lock clicked into place.
A wave of nausea made my skin prickle with sweat as my hangover reminded me of its existence. I slid down with my back to the door, listening for Brody’s retreating footsteps. Time ticked by. My sweat cooled. My butt started to ache on the cold stone.
“What are you doing in my hallway?” a voice called.
“I’m waiting on a friend,” Brody answered.
I closed my eyes and brought my fists to my forehead. He was waiting for me.
“Get the fuck out. This isn’t your dorm,” the voice continued.
“I’m not hurting anyone waiting,” Brody insisted. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
Footsteps approached my door. “If your friend wanted you here, you’d be in the room. Fuck off.”
Brody let out a pitiful meeping sound, and a set of footprints booked it down the hall. A heavier set walked past my door, grumbling. I waited for either to come back, but they didn’t.
I sagged. This wasn’t real. All of this was another delusion. Miss Q messing with me. I bonked my head against my door, utterly aware that last night, I’d partied with my new friends, believing the exact opposite.
This couldn’t be real when I was happy, and a delusion when I was sad. Except that’s exactly how I’d started viewing it. I pressed on my throbbing head before pushing away my existential crisis. I was getting good at that; hopefully, it wouldn’t bite me in the ass later.
The Architect’s castle was still better than nothing, which is exactly what I’d go back to if I missed my work-study.
As fast as I could move in my current state, I spread out my dirty trainee uniform on the couches alongside my now dry but sweat-stained gym outfits. Airing them out was the best I could do at the moment. A laundromat hadn’t shown up on Brody’s tour or during orientation.
Still cursing my lack of fundamental knowledge, I stumbled into The Happy Rooster, dressed in a clean, red-checked button-down and heavy overalls, which made up my work-study uniform.
A few folks were eating breakfast. A man with glowing puce eyes gave me a huge grin and sang a verse of ‘Sweet Caroline.’ Three men turned their heads in confusion while the table next to them joined in. “So good, so good, so good.”
I smiled, having thoroughly enjoyed teaching everyone the Neil Diamond song last night. After I’d bought a round, Cayden and Everly had also escalated the evening in a way I’d only ever seen in movies. My heart pounded. I loved it. We’d talked and danced until everything became a blur of pure joy.
Riding my high, I walked up to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. His burnt-caramel hair framed his terrifyingly average face.
“Good morning.” Some of my high eased. “Ah, you have my TB behind the bar.” I batted my eyes, having no idea how to pay my tab.
