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I think about psycho girl again and shake my head. “Not really.”
He looks down at his hands, clenches and unclenches them, turns them palms up as if trying to read something written there, something I can’t see. “I just think we’ll be okay living side by side, Mercury Watson. That’s all.”
Yeah, well, let’s hope he’s right on that account.
My new roomie and I rarely cross paths in the next few days. He’s already out when I get up—and I’m an early riser—then when I come home after classes and work, ready to faceplant into bed, he’s either out, or in his room, doing some thing or other.
Kind of a mystery. He’s a mystery, choosing me as his roommate, but as long as he keeps his end of the deal—low rent, no problems—then I’ve got nothing to complain about.
Today I’m running late for my afternoon Introduction to Statistics class, so I race through campus, my backpack thumping on my back. Truth is, I don’t even know why I’m taking these classes. What they are for. Haven’t settled on a career yet.
Matt, my brother-in-law and owner of Mancave, the garage I work part-time at, was asking me again yesterday if I decided what I wanna major in.
I have no clue. Maybe engineering?
No big deal, right? Not everyone can know their future from the start, even though my sisters seem to. Still, it fucks with my head. Here I am, sleepwalking through life, obsessing over a girl who’s always hot and cold with me, sleeping in an apartment with a guy I barely know, wondering if I’m a sum of nightmares and song lyrics, a sum of fears and doubts that I never dare show, and…
…come face to face with the object of my obsession.
She’s walking toward me, down the hallway leading to the classrooms, doing something on her phone.
Like always, my heart does a weird backflip at the sight of her, and despite my resolution to stop talking to her, thinking about her, I raise my hand in greeting and yank the headphones off, letting them hang around my neck. The music continues, tinny and distant.
“Hey… Sophie. What’s up?”
Like an idiot, goddammit. And it gets worse when she glances up and frowns, as if trying to place me, or remember if she’s ever met me before.
But then she says, “You’re Marty, right?”
“Merc.” My teeth clench. “We’re in Calculus together.”
“Oh right, right.” She waves a hand in the air, like it doesn’t matter—and it obviously doesn’t to her, get a fucking clue, Merc—but all I do is stare at her pretty face, all pale skin and long dark hair, those big hazel eyes, those soft, lush lips.
The fine curves of her body, barely hidden under her light blue dress and gray coat that’s cinched at the waist with a black belt.
She’s so sexy. Like always.
“Did you… want something?” She glances back at her phone, then back at me, a hint of impatience in her gaze. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have Calculus today.”
“You’re right. We don’t.” I lower my hand and give her a half-smile, trying to hide my disappointment.
What did I expect, huh? Looks like it’s an ‘Ignore Merc’ day. That’s most days with her, truth be told, and fuck if it doesn’t twist me up inside.
A girl who barely knows I exist.
A girl who isn’t attracted to me and won’t even talk to me.
On most days. That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Because sometimes she does notice me, and seems glad to see me, and all it does is breathe new life into my dying hope, just when I thought it was over.
Dangerous game. Playing with fire.
She walks by me, gaze glued to the damn phone, and I sigh and tell myself to stop. To fucking stop wanting her. That’s all this is. Lust. It’s time to move on. Plenty of girls around. Matt already told me that’s what I should do. He’s the only person I’ve told about Sophie. It’s been over a year now. The girl doesn’t see me, simple as that.
And if I see her way too much—in my good dreams, in my daytime fantasies—well, tough.
Time to let go.
Chapter Two
