With only my bag and the small box in my arms, I make my way up to the top floor. I hadn’t had enough time to pack more than this, but I didn’t really need much. Everything important to me lived in my bag, hidden away and ready at a moment's notice should I need it.
I could have taken the elevator, but the stairs gave me more time to get myself together. Time I desperately needed, seeing as I’d started halfway through the year. Already behind before I was even through the doors.
310, 311, 312.
Here it is, the place I’ll call home for the next three and a half years. As bad as it might seem, it can’t be worse than the house I grew up in; nothing is. Not anymore.
It wasn’t always like that. Once upon a time, I would have come here and felt homesick, impatiently waiting for a break so that I could go back to a loving family. But those days feel almost like a dream now, memories so long forgotten that they might as well belong to someone else.
I count to ten in my head, allowing myself a moment to breathe before lifting my hand and slamming my knuckles down on the door three times.
No going back now.
Time ticks by more slowly as I wait for someone to answer the door. So damn slow that for a second, I worry nobody will answer.
Wouldn’t that be fantastic? I finally made it here only to be locked out because the admin didn’t have a key for me yet, despite knowing I was coming. Yeah, that would be my fucking luck.
The door finally swings open, startling me from my annoyed thoughts and leaving me face-to-face with one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen in my life.
He’s tall, lean, and covered in tattoos, up his neck and down his arms onto his fingers, which are covered in rings. His eyes are dark like liquid chocolate, warm and playful.
He leans out into the hall, his forearm braced on the doorjamb, his short-sleeve shirt giving me an eyeful of his tan skin, tattoos, and muscles as he peers down at me.
His hair is messy, longer on the top to fall in his face and shaved short on the sides, but beyond that, it’s bright blue.
He’s breathtaking and probably the reason I can’t seem to get a word past my suddenly dry lips.
“Guys! Housekeeping’s here. Anyone got anything?” he calls out, turning back into the dorm and leaving me standing in the doorway.
“Housekeeping was here yesterday.” Someone calls from farther in the room. Peeking around the guy who answered the door, I spot a dark head of hair on one of the two couches in the center of the room, his back to me. Even from here, I can see that he’s tall, at least as tall as the guy in front of me, maybe taller.
Before I can think much more about it, the sound of heavy steps pulls my attention to the far side of the room.
What the fuck.
If I thought the other two were tall, this guy makes them look average at best. On top of being tall, he’s also built like a brick wall. I’ve never seen someone so big in my life. He’s like the professional bodybuilders you see on shows or scrolling Instagram late at night. His black muscle shirt is loose, showing off a lot of skin, not a single tattoo or blemish in sight, and his gray sweatpants make me understand a little more why girls constantly gush about them.
He walks past the couches and disappears into another room without so much as looking at the other two or me.
Something tells me he’s not happy to see me or anyone that might come to the door.
“Sorry, pretty girl, we're all good here.”
It takes my brain a moment to process the fact that his words are directed at me. By the time I do, the door is already swinging closed in my face.
With only a second to spare, I put my foot out, wedging it in the door and stopping it from closing.
It’s not my best idea. Pain flares in my foot where the door hits it, but I ignore it in favor of looking back up at the now-confused, beautiful face that stares back at me.
“I’m not housekeeping,” I tell him in way of explanation as he watches me, taking a step back as I push the door open once again.
He doesn’t say anything as I step into the dorm enough to let the door fall closed behind me, but when I turn to face him again, I find a smirk on his face and mischief shining in his eyes.
He’s trouble.
“This is my room.”
My words wipe the smirk from his face as his brows knit in confusion before his eyes dart to the couch. Following his gaze, I find the dark-haired one now turned toward us. His arm slung over the back of the couch as he looks between the two of us. His face is less telling than his friends, but I get the feeling he’s confused.
