I don’t know what to do with someone like that.
“So,” he says. “I was gonna order some food and play Xbox for the rest of the night. You wanna hang?”
He says it like it’s simple. Two people who are both known to sleep with other guys can hang out without consequence.
But I know that’s not true.
My eyes trail over him. The rings. The band tee. The tattoos on his knuckles and the black bands around his arm. The way he’s standing there, looking up at me withthoseeyes, waiting for an answer.
I think he might actuallywantto spend time with me.
Me.
It’s too easy. Too much like something I would fall into if I let myself.
I can’t do that.
“Nah,” I say, feeling bad the second I do. “I think I’m gonna go to my room.”
Something crosses his face. Quick, barely there. Something I would call disappointment if that wasn’t crazy. “Oh. Okay. Right,” he says, his lips turning down before he gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’re tired after all thatunloading.”
I don’t say anything to that. Instead, I go upstairs, close my door, and sit on the edge of my new bed in my new room and stare at the wall until the tightness in my chest goes away.
Chapter 4
The thing I can’t wrap my head around is that Mike is nothing like Ryan said.
I’ve been living here for a week, and he hasn’t thrown a single party. He goes out a lot. There have been more nights than not that I’ve heard the front door open in the middle of the night. Or early in the morning.
But he does dishes. He cleans up after himself. When he’s in his room, I can hear music through the wall, but it’s usually bands I listen to, so it doesn’t bother me.
The worst part is, he asks.
If his music is too loud. If I wanted him to turn it off. If I need anything from the store. If I want to hang out.
He’s nice. Annoyingly, confusingly nice, so much so that it makes it hard to keep my distance. I built my whole strategy around him being someone I wouldn’t like, and I’m finding that’s the complete opposite of who he is.
And that’s becoming a problem.
Tuesday evening, I’m sitting on the armchair with my laptop, working on an assignment due next week, trying to stay ahead of it after falling behind all of August, when Mike comes downstairs.
I glance up briefly before looking back at my screen.
Not distracted at all.
He goes to the kitchen, comes back with two sodas, and holds one out toward me without a word, wiggling the can to get my attention.
I take it because refusing would be rude. “Thanks.”
He drops onto the couch across from me, crossing his legs. He doesn’t turn the TV on. Doesn’t say anything. Just sits there and watches me in comfortable silence.
It’s not comfortable for me.
I type something. It doesn’t make sense. Delete it. Type it again.
“What are you working on?” he asks after a while.
“Paper.”
