I heave a resigned sigh, reaching over to set my phone down on the bedside table.Maybe if I stop staring at it, she’ll finally respond.Raking a hand through my hair, I lean back against the headboard and stare up at the ceiling, trying to shake off the tension that’s been coiling tighter in my chest with every second that ticks by since I sent that first text this morning.
Damnit, I can’t just keep laying here waiting.
I need to do something– anything– to take my mind off the persistent silence from Blair. Hitting the showers is out of the question, since the locker room will likely be crawling with co-eds at this hour, but I suppose I could go down to the gym for a workout. Lifting weights may help burn off some of this frustration. It might help me get out of my head for a while.
I keep wondering whether I made a mistake last night by choosing to give Blair space rather than chasing after her or blowing up her phone. I told myself she probably needed time to sort through her feelings about everything, but the more I wait, the harder it is to tamp down my own aggravation. She’s not the only one caught up in this mess. I’m here, too, and I’m getting sick and tired of sitting around waiting for her to decide when we can talk.
Why is it always onherterms?
The sudden buzz of my cell phone breaks through the silence like a shot, my heart stuttering in my chest as I lunge for it. Of course, I knock everything off my nightstand in the process. My clock crashes to the floor, a water bottle rolls under the bed– but none of it matters once I’ve got the phone in my hands. I swipe it open, my pulse pounding in my ears as I read the message on the screen.
Blair
Not going in today, just gonna work remotely from my laptop and I’ll drop the completed files in the drive.
That’s it. No, ‘Hey, I saw your texts,’ no acknowledgment of anything my other messages contained. Not even a, ‘Sorry, I’ve been busy’ or, ‘Sure, let’s talk.’ I re-read it over and over, thinking maybe I’m missing something, but no such luck. Her long-awaited reply is justwork, kicking us right back to thealoof, professional relationship we maintained before things got complicated.
Fuck that.
I shove up from the bed with an annoyed grunt, shoving my phone into my pocket as I stand. Pacing across the room, I grab my laptop off the desk and toss it into my backpack before slinging the straps over my shoulders. If Blair wants to stay locked away in her dorm and bury herself in work, that’s her prerogative. But if she’s not going to meet me halfway, I’ll just bring the damn work to her.
Exiting my room with a purposeful stride, I head toward the dining hall, the thud of my footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. Passing by the laundry room is a special kind of torture. Memories of what we did in there last night come flooding back in exquisite detail, to the point where I have to re-adjust myself in my jeans before stepping into the dining hall.
I make a beeline for the coffee bar and grab two cups, sipping one of them on autopilot while making my way back to the dorms to ambush Blair. When I finally reach her door and stop in front of it, my breathing stalls, chest tightening with trepidation. I momentarily hesitate, hand hovering in front of the door before I reach forward to rap my knuckles against it.
“Just a sec!” Blair’s muffled voice calls from inside, and I wait for what feels like an eternity before the lock turns over and the door cracks open.
Her espresso eyes widen in surprise when she sees me. “Matty,” she breathes, running a hand through her raven hair. She’s wearing a cropped t-shirt and a sinfully small pair of cotton shorts, her feet bare and her face free of makeup. She clearly wasn’t expecting visitors, but something about seeing her like this, in her most relaxed state, has my pulse picking up speed.
“What are you doing here?” Blair asks, her voice edged with agitation.
“I came to work,” I reply casually, motioning to my backpack straps. “And I brought coffee.”
I extend one toward her in offering, but she doesn’t even glance down at it. Her eyes stay locked with mine, narrowing in suspicion. “What part of my text was an invitation? And how’d you even know which room I’m in?”
I flash a grin, trying to play it off. “Lucky guess?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her expression deadpan. “Uh huh.”
“You gonna invite me in or what?”
Blair grips onto the edge of the door tighter, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she considers. Then she heaves a sigh, stepping aside and giving me a small, reluctant wave to come inside.
I stride past her into her dorm room, my gaze sweeping over the interior as I enter. It’s completely different from my own space. The same layout, sure, but there’s an undeniable warmth in Blair’s room; a sense of life that my own seems to be lacking. The walls are decorated with an eclectic mix of art and pictures framed in mismatched styles; a faint scent of lavender lingers in the air. Her bed is unmade, her laptop sitting open atop the rumpled sheets, and laundry litters the floor.
She’s messy.
Not that I pegged her as a neat freak, but seeing where she lives is like getting a peek behind the curtain at who Blair Montrose really is. She’s brilliant and interesting and artistic and…messy.
When I pivot back around, I find her watching me intently, brows pinched and posture tense. “Uh, I guess you can sit there,” she murmurs, gesturing to her desk with a quick flick of her hand.
I nod, grateful for the space, and move toward it to get set up. She follows me, reaching out to snatch up a shirt that’s carelessly draped over the back of the chair and tossing it toward her laundry hamper. Then she steps over to her bed, climbing on and settling in with her legs crossed and her computer on her lap.
Setting my own laptop on the desk, I take a moment to organize the clutter of papers and books strewn across the surface. “You want the coffee?” I ask, glancing back at Blair over my shoulder.
“I’m good,” she mutters, not even looking up from her screen.
I drop down into her desk chair with a sigh, going through the motions of getting set up for work. As I do, my eyes keep drifting over to Blair. She looks so effortlessly at ease here, comfortable in her own space. It makes me feel like an intruder.
