Anabelle
“Anabelle, hey.”
I hear his voice before I see him, sitting at the table I’ve been occupying on the sixth floor, the one I apparently stole from him and have now happily surrendered as a thank you.
“Hey to you, too, stranger.”
I haven’t seen him since that morning in his kitchen, but I’ve thought of him every day. He’s a sight for sore eyes, spread out at that corner table, the entire surface a mess of books, laptop, and pens.
“You just get here?” he asks politely.
“Yeah. Thought I’d check to see if this spot was taken.”
“Have a seat.”
“Gosh no, I’d hate to interrupt. You were in the middle of something.”
“Big deal. There’s plenty of room.” The chair across from him shoots out, his foot propped on the seat. “More than that shitty desk over there.”
“Okay. All right.” I set my bag down on a different chair and he removes his feet, sitting up taller.
“How have you been?”
“Good. How ’bout you?”
Elliot slides down in his seat, slouching against the back, legs spread. “Same shit, different day. You know how it is.”
“That good, eh?”
It doesn’t take long for me to settle in, for us to quietly begin working on our own tasks, comfortable with the companionship. It’s not necessary to fill the void with words or chatter; it’s nice being in his presence.
Every so often we exchange glances—friendly smiles—but work in peaceful silence.
My phone vibrates.
Vibrates again.
When I finally flip it over, I see it’s a text from my dad, asking if I plan on being around tonight to watch his favorite series on cable.
My groan is louder than I intend.
“I have got to get out of that house,” I mutter, plopping my phone face down with an irritated huff so I can’t see the screen light up again.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Yes. My father is driving me nuts.”
Elliot’s brow rises.
“I don’t know if I told you this, but since I transferred, I’ve been living with my dad and stepmom. They’re both great, but…”
“But you’re living with your dad and stepmom?”
I laugh. “Exactly.” Sigh. “I love them to death, obviously, but they’ve completely forgotten that I’m twenty-one years old and not fifteen.”
“When I go home to visit my folks, my mom still tells me to hit the sack at ten o’clock. Then she’ll come in my room to turn off my light if I’m up reading too late. It’s so obnoxious.”
“That is my life. Every. Single. Day.” I want to bang my head on the table repeatedly.
“Dude, that would suck so hard.”
“It does suck, harder than you know.”
“No comment.” He laughs, tipping his head back. “What’s your plan? I mean, are you going to stay with them all year or what?”
It hasn’t been very long, and I won’t last much longer without losing my mind.
My fingers shred the end of a sheet of paper as I mull over his question. “I don’t know if I have a choice. I’m keen on living with a roommate, but it’s second semester and everyone is settled, so finding one has been impossible.”
Someone needs to take pity on me.
Soon.
“Yeah, the timing kind of blows.”
Blows hard.
I blush, dipping my head so he won’t see it.
As soon as he says the word blow with those gorgeous lips, my mind wanders south on his body. All the way south.
I clear my throat. “I think at this point, my best option might be to rent an apartment, which I was hoping would be a last resort. I don’t want to pay the full rent on a place.”
The last thing I want is my dad shelling out money for me to live on my own.
Elliot agrees, nodding his head. “That part of having a roommate is nice. I kind of miss having someone else around, you know? Coming home to an empty house sucks sometimes.”
“How so? Because right now, it sounds like it would be paradise.”
“Well…” He tips back in his chair, balancing on the back legs, hands braced on the table. “For example, my last two roommates were kind of assholes. The walls of the house were really thin, you know, and they’d barge in on me sometimes—”
I raise my brows, and now we’re both blushing.
“That’s…no. I didn’t mean it like…Jesus, I just meant they constantly went where they weren’t supposed to, and brought girls home when they were single, and had one too many parties.”
That doesn’t actually sound all that terrible, but I scrunch up my face anyway and make the appropriate sympathetic noises.
“But you kind of miss having someone around?”
“I totally do.”
I’m suddenly very interested in the tabletop and worry my bottom lip, an idea taking root, one I’m afraid to voice out loud.
What if…
“Hey, Elliot?”
I still can’t look at him.
“Yeah?”
“What, uh, what are you doing with that extra bedroom in your house?”
“What extra bedroom?”
“The one across the hall from yours, with the desk and bookshelves in it.”
“Oh, it’s not technically a bedroom because it doesn’t have a closet. I’ve been using it as an office and a place to store my shit.”
“Do you think a twin bed could fit in it?”
“Not with all that stuff in there.”
I roll my eyes. “What if we took it all out?”
“We?”
“Yeah. What if you turned it into a bedroom?” I hold my breath.
“My storage room?”
It’s taking every ounce of my self-control not to blurt out my thoughts. “What would half your rent be?”
“Three hundred something.”
Just three hundred dollars a month for my own space?
Sign me up!
The wheels in my head start spinning, my heart rate getting faster. “Would you hate the idea of having someone move in with you?”
Elliot shrugs, non-committal. “Meh, it’s been nice living alone, but I guess I wouldn’t care if I had a new roommate. Covering the entire rent sucks up most of my savings during the year.”
“Right.” I brace myself, holding a breath. “Would you object to having a female roommate? Say, if someone female wanted to rent the room?”
“A girl? I can’t see how that would matter.” He seems to scoff at the notion. “How different could it be than living with a dude?”
“What about living with me, specifically?” I suck in another breath, waiting. “I know the last few times you saw me I was a hot mess, but I promise you Elliot, I am not that girl. I swear, that was one bad decision, one I regret and thank God you were there.” I hate that he saw me drunk, hung-over.
I hate that he might have gotten a terrible first and second impression of me, ones I can’t erase from his mind.
“But I’m other things, too. I’m really tidy, and I bake the most ah-mazing French butter cookies—and nothing unhealthy for dinner, promise. I’ll be so good for your diet.”
I beam at him, hopeful, trying not to look like the kind of girl who cries in the library and passes out drunk on a regular basis. Normal. Rational. Calm.
The perfect roommate.
“Hmm.” Elliot taps his pen on the table, thoughtful. “You serious? Because I really don’t care if you’re a girl or not, I’d just like someone who’s going to pick up their shit and pay half the utilities—on time.”
“I’m really tidy, I swear, and I only brought clothes and school supplies from Massachusetts. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“You moved here with just clothes? How is that even possible?”
“I have almost no worldly possessions.” Annnd now I sound like a hobo. “The last two places I lived were furnished, which was awesome, but it means I have nothing to my name. Blessing and a curse.”
Judging by the look on his face, he is not hating this idea.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, I did move into your storage closet—what would I need?”
“A bed?”
“I could arrange that. Anything else?”
Just then, Elliot’s phone begins playing a mariachi tune, vibrating enthusiastically across the study table. “Shit. Can we finish this conversation later? I have to go.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah. Sure.” I pause. “Do you have a class?”
“No, a pick-up soccer game. There’s a big group of us that plays a few nights a month whenever we can.”
“Really?”
He’s packing up his bag, shoving the laptop inside haphazardly, suddenly in a rush. “Yeah, down at Hadley Park.” Glances up at me. “You should come sometime and watch.”
“I would love that. I actually play soccer.”
He stops. Stares at me. “You do?”
“Varsity, all through high school. I was a halfback.” I flash him a grin, running a hand along my long, sleek ponytail. “Man, was I fast.”
Elliot studies me a few more moments. Quirks a brow. “You interested in playing? That’s what a pick-up game is—anyone can join.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Are you interested?”
“I…yeah. I mean, sure! Maybe I’ll come watch you play tonight then I can have my mom send my cleats? I’d have them by next week.”
“Cool.” Elliot stares down at my bag as he hefts his onto his broad, sexy shoulders, nodding toward the exit. “You coming or what, Donnelly?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m coming.”