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My dynamic with Hannah has always been a point of amusement for Sage. When it was decided that Hannah would be moving in with her, I dealt with weeks of questioning from her about my disdain for her impending roommate. Unfortunately, it has only gotten worse as they’ve become friends and Sage insists on picking apart every interaction between the two of us.
As if Hannah’s ears are ringing, a key turns in the apartment door, the sound of the door swinging open traveling out the open balcony door.
“Sage?” Hannah yells, a distance in her voice as she sets her keys down on the entry table.
“Balcony!” Sage responds, her eyes not moving from the lively screen in front of her.
“Why is the TV on the balcon—” Hannah’s voice skips as her eyes meet my own, her amused expression shifting from jubilant to sour in a matter of seconds. “Park,” she quips before shifting her attention back to the screen in question.
“Hannah.”
“Braves are in the World Series,” Sage says, her attention not breaking from the screen.
“Ah.” Hannah fakes interest, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Well, as fun asthisis,” she waves her hand at the display in front of her, “I’m hopping in the shower.”
“Have fun!” Sage yells as Hannah disappears into the apartment, her attention still focused entirely on the game.
My eyes linger on the door for a moment before shifting back to the game. Much to my dismay, Sage is staring at me when I look back toward the TV.
A few moments pass before the lingering silence outside of the speakers gets to me.
“What is it?”
“Are you into Hannah?”
I nearly choke on my beer at her words. “Jesus Christ, Sage. No.”
Her expression lets me know that she more than likely doesn’t believe me. I’ll be the first to admit things have been weird with Hannah recently, but I’d hardly call that interest.
I can feel Sage’s invasive gaze on me as I chug the rest of my beer, grasping onto any opportunity to get away from her scrutiny.
“I’m grabbing another beer. Do you want anything?”
As if this pulls her out of her thoughts, Sage’s eyes driftback to the television, and she gulps down the remaining beer in her can before she hands it to me.
I’ll take that as a yes.
The moment I step back into the apartment, I hear music emanating from the bathroom at the end of the hall. The clear tune of theHamiltonsoundtrack carries through the space, causing me to unintentionally start humming along to “Wait for It.”
“Hamiltonfan?” Hannah’s voice startles me as I step into the kitchen, a smirk painted across her lips. She’s standing on the tile, the water from her hair dripping down her decolletage before soaking into the towel wrapped around her body. My eyes can’t help but fixate on the way her breasts are barely contained under the terrycloth.
“Jesus, Hannah!” I yelp, my hand covering my heart.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
“Me, dramatic?” I scoff. “What are you doing anyway?”
She reaches for the kitchen table, grabbing a bottle of shampoo from inside a Publix bag. “I forgot my new bottle.” Yanking the bottle off the table, she goes to turn around.
“Are you okay? After yesterday, I mean.” I’m talking before I can stop myself.
She slowly turns on her heels, shifting her attention back toward me with a puzzled expression on her face. “Why do you care?” The aggression in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m just a spoiled princess with no work ethic, right? I would think you’d agree that I need to change course for my career.”
To my surprise, this stings.
I’ve expressed that exact sentiment on numerous occasions, so why does it suddenly bother me that she thinks that is what I think?
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think that.”
