Elliot
“I can’t thank you enough for letting me move in with you, Ellie.”
“Would you stop calling me that? It’s weird.”
“Sorry, I’m just so freaking excited! If my bed was put together, I’d totally be jumping on it like a little kid.”
“I don’t think the springs on mattresses are boing-y enough to make them bouncy.”
Anabelle rolls her eyes, skirting past me into her new room. She wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t have much. Half a dozen boxes and an inexpensive bed that was delivered earlier in the day. I’m standing in the doorway, box hoisted on my shoulder, waiting for instructions.
“Stop being so literal, Elliot. It was a metaphor for my level of excitement.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Can you come in here and help me with this bed frame? It’s awkward maneuvering in here. If you could hold that end up while I screw in these bolts, I’ll be good to go.”
She’s arranged herself on the floor, grabbing a brown metal piece and resting it in her lap like a boss, ready to kick this project’s ass.
“I sound like a broken record, I know, but my God, I am so pumped. Do you think it’s because you’re a guy and I’m used to only living with women?” Anabelle gushes again, holding the two metal parts together, fitting them into place.
“Maybe.”
To be honest, now that Anabelle Donnelly is sitting cross-legged in the middle of her new room—my old storage space—I’m a little fucking nervous.
Fine, a lot nervous.
There are things I clearly didn’t think through before inviting her to move her shit into my house, such as:
What if I walk in on her naked while she’s showering and she thinks I’m a pervert?
What if I accidentally leave the door open while I’m taking a piss and she sees my junk?
What if she decides to walk around the house with no pants on and I have to see her ass cheeks? What if I like it?
Why do I keep worrying about all these naked, nonexistent body parts?
Fucking Devin and his nagging about living with a girl, that’s why.
Christ.
“How long are you planning on standing in the doorway holding that box? I know you have those firm muscles and all, but you can set it down if you want. I don’t expect you to stand there all day.” She laughs, concentrating on tightening a screw, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“Shit, sorry.” I give my head a shake. “Where should I put this?”
“How about on the floor there, maybe in the corner so it’s out of the way? It’s course books from my first year, and I probably won’t be needing them—I don’t know why I even brought them here.”
“You want to try to sell them?”
She shoots me a radiant, content smile. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
“I would, yeah.”
“All right, how about we put them back on the porch? I’ll sort them later and list them online.”
“Sure thing, roomie.”
Anabelle shoots me a look, a smile breaking out on her face. “Oh my God, it feels so good hearing someone other than my father saying that! He really was starting to drive me crazy.”
“If I still lived with my parents and was going to college, I’d want to drive my car off a fucking cliff.”
Anabelle winks, watching as I lift another heavy box from the hallway, damn near toppling to the side.
“This is going to be fun. I can feel it.” She giggles.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You’re so big and strong, and here you are, tipping all over the place.”
Big and strong?
Shit, that’s like…music to every guy’s ears—except when I look over to study her face, I see no hint of flirtation there.
She looks happy and comfortable sitting on the floor of this tiny room that’s not really fit to be a bedroom, surrounded by her unpacked boxes.
Anabelle emits a few grunts, twisting the wrench in her hand, face turning pink. “Ugh, can you give me a hand? This is so hard to push in.”
Hard to push in…did she seriously just say that? In that breathy tone?
Devin opened a floodgate to the gutter, and I can’t keep my mind out of it.
“Sure.”
“Great. Can you just hold that end?” She wiggles her fingers toward the end of the bed frame. “I’m almost done. Then if you could help me flip the mattress on, I can start putting on the sheets.”
Together, we finish her bed frame, arranging it in the center of the room. Add the box springs and mattress to the top. Anabelle disappears and returns with a white, padded cover. Fitted sheet.
Shaking the top, it billows into the air like a cloud, white, crisp, and fresh. It flutters onto the mattress, resting there gently, and my roommate fusses around, tucking here, tucking there, until the bed is neat as a pin.
White sheets.
White quilt.
White pillows.
Immediately, I wonder what her dark hair would look like fanned out on the stark, snowy bedding, her pale skin…
Stop it, Elliot.
Get a grip.
Fantasizing about your new roommate will lead to no good, and she’s already had shitty luck with men at this university; there’s no need for her to trouble herself with one more.
“I’ll be here! Oh! Wait.”
I poke my head back into her room.
“Are you hungry for anything? Maybe we could start thinking about dinner?”
Am I hungry for anything?
I wasn’t.
But maybe I am now.
I crash in my room a few hours later, flopping on the bed and grabbing my phone. Ten missed messages, all of them from my old roommate, Oz.
Swiping my thumb to open the messenger app, I shoot him a return text.
Oz: Hey dude, what’s up? We haven’t talked in ages.
Me: Hey. Not much going on.
Oz: Really? Because I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all week.
Me: What are you, my girlfriend?
Oz: No, but if I was, I’d feel neglected enough to not give you a blow job.
Me: Sorry man, I really have been busy.
Oz: Busy doing what? Since when do you do stuff?
Me: Real funny asshole. I was helping someone move into the spare room of my house.
Oz: Shit, that’s cool. You finally have a new roommate?
Me: Yeah, it’s nice not having to fork over the entire rent and shit.
Oz: Who’d you end up with? One of the guys from the team? They still hanging around you like flies on shit?
Me: Nah, just someone who really needed a place to stay. I lucked out not having to look.
Oz: What’s his name?
Me: Anabelle.
Oz: LOL that fucking sounds like a female’s name.
Me: That’s because she is a female.
Oz: I don’t get it. I thought you said your roommate was a guy.
Me: I never said that.
Oz: Hold up, you’re living with a GIRL? One with tits and everything?
Me: Yeah, she was kind of desperate to get out of her parents’ house.
Oz: Her PARENTS? Please tell me she isn’t a minor and is over the age of eighteen? DUDE. Elliot, what the fuck? Are you living with jailbait?
Me: You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you.
Oz: Oh really? Try me.
More than a few minutes tick by while I debate telling Oz Osborne my new roommate is his ex-wrestling coach’s daughter, but I hesitate, not sure how he’ll react to the news.
Oz: Dude, I’m waiting. You’re giving me blue balls.
Me: It’s complicated.
Oz: What the fuck does that mean?
Me: Had you heard that Coach Donnelly has a daughter?
Oz: Yeah. Daniels might have mentioned he saw her in Coach’s office a few weeks ago shooting the shit with him. Said she’s cute.
Me: She’s my new roommate.
Oz: Come again? I’m sorry, what?
Me: Anabelle Donnelly.
Oz: Yeah, I got that, but I thought you just said you’re now living with COACH FUCKING DONNELLY’S DAUGHTER, but that can’t be right, because only a fucking moron would do that.
Me: Why? It’s not like I’m dating her—she just needs a place to stay. And I’m not on the team so what difference does it make?
Oz: Because Coach warned everyone away from her. He will blow his shit if he finds out she’s living with a dude, trust me.
Oz: Was he there the day she moved in?
Me: No.
Oz: Yeah, you’re fucked.
Me: Seriously, stop saying shit like that. I am not fucked.
Oz: Has she told him yet? That you’re a guy?
Me: How the hell should I know? She’s 21, she can do whatever the hell she wants.
Oz: You can’t see me, but I’m laughing my ASS off so hard right now. You’re so cute and naïve, Elliot. So fucking cute.
Shit. What if he’s right? When I agreed to letting Anabelle live with me, call me a fool, but I honestly didn’t think her parents would give a shit about her having a male roommate.
Me: I’m not telling her she can’t live here, dude. She just moved her shit in.
Oz: Hope she doesn’t have a lot cause she’s gonna be moving it all back out, LOL.
He can be such an asshole sometimes.
Me: She’s just renting the spare room—it’s not even a bedroom, dude. That’s how desperate she is to get out of his house. And I really need the money for rent, so…
Oz: Okay man, whatever you say. Keep the lies coming.
Me: What the fuck, Ozzy?
Oz: Look, all I’m saying is, keep your dick away from Anabelle Donnelly and you should survive the rest of the semester. That’s just some advice from one friend to another.
Me: I’ve been on the receiving end of your advice before, but I’m not one of her dad’s wrestlers so I’m not going to worry about it.
Oz: Seriously Elliot?
Me: Dude, trust me. I won’t even know she’s here.
Won’t even know she’s here?
Who the hell was I trying to kid?
It’s like an Anabelle Donnelly bomb was dropped on my house overnight and detonated—her presence is everywhere. Her makeup is in my bathroom, on the counter, and in the cabinets. Her adorable baby blue narwhal slippers are by the front door, and the perky little coffee mug she plunked down next to mine winks up at me as I slough into the kitchen.
Taunting me.
Grabbing an orange from a basket, I peel it as Anabelle enters the tiny room, hair piled on top of her head. Makeup-free.
Beautiful.
She’s wearing a short gray robe made out of some satiny material, brushing past me when she reaches to pull open the fridge, bending to peer inside, ass in the air.
I turn to stare out the window so I’m not staring at her butt; this space is way too fucking small for both of us now that she’s no longer just an overnight guest.
“Morning,” she singsongs, clearly in high spirits. Leans against the counter, sizing me up. Twists open a bottle of water.
It’s the weekend and there are a few errands I have to run, but first I want to stare at her, this girl in my kitchen, both out of place and belonging here.
I’m staring because I simply cannot help myself. Anabelle Donnelly in the morning is a sight to behold. Chipper, cheerful, and looking none too worse for the wear.
I just assumed she would look the way she did that morning she was hung-over, but I’ll be the first to admit, she most certainly does not.
This could be a problem; she is way too good-looking and wearing far too few clothes.
“Morning,” I mutter.
Anabelle takes a sip from her water, smiling around the bottle. “You feel weird right now, don’t you.”
“Kind of,” I admit.
“Because you’re not used to having a girl sleeping in the next room, or…”
Or because I’m starting to seriously doubt my decision to let her live here based on the fact that I find her attractive, that I’m attracted to her, and if it’s not fucking cool getting a semi-boner while eating breakfast together for the first time, someone didn’t send my dick the memo.
“Are you always this awake in the morning?” I deflect, avoiding her question.
“Most of the time.” Her gaze rakes me up and down, dark brows rising. “But it’s not that early. Aren’t you a morning person?”
I grunt, peeling off an orange slice. “Not usually.”
Not when I lie in bed all damn night, awareness that everything inside the house has changed hovering like a goddamn storm cloud.
“What are you doing today?” she asks, making casual conversation.
“Running to the mall to pick up something I ordered online. If you have nothing going on, you wanna come?” Jesus, Elliot, what are you saying?
“I would love that! We can bond.” She winks. “Get to know each other better.”
Super.
Nonetheless, I just hammer the nail deeper into my coffin. “Maybe we can stop somewhere before we come home and get dinner?”
“When do you want to leave?”
“I don’t know, the mall doesn’t open for a few hours, but if you want we can stop to get coffee and shoot the shit.”
“Okay! I’ll get changed. Just knock on my door when you’re ready to go.”
Which ends up being exactly one hour later.
By nine, Anabelle is walking out of her bedroom in a fitted pair of jeans, wedges, and a tucked-in gray T-shirt that says Good Vibes Only in white block letters.
“Ready?” She pushes a pair of sunglasses to the top of her head, tucking a purse under her armpit, and when she breezes past me toward the door, I catch a whiff of her perfume.
“Ready.”
As I’ll ever be.
Which is not ready at all.