She gives me a reassuring smile, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s not that bad.”
“Uh—hi,” Chase says, sitting up in his bed, his brows nearly to his hairline. Chase knows I never bring girls to our room. Not even to hang out.
“Chase, this is Olivia. Olivia, this is my roommate, Chase,” I say, giving them a rushed introduction as I stride over to my desk, picking up one of Chase’s shirts from the floor along the way and quickly tossing it at him. It hits him in the chest and lands in his lap.
Chase just stares at Olivia in confusion as she stands in the doorway, waiting for me.
“Hi.” She gives him an awkward wave, probably wondering why he’s staring at her like she has two heads.
“Dude,” I hiss, wishing he’d stop staring at her as I throw my backpack on my desk chair.
Chase snaps his head in my direction, giving me awhat the fucklook.
“Can I borrow the truck?” I ask, already reaching for the keys on top of his desk. In the past, Chase has let me borrow his truck if I need it, since the only vehicle I have is a motorcycle that I let him borrow in exchange.
“Uh, sure,” he says slowly, still beyond confused.
“I’m giving Olivia a ride home,” I explain. I know there’s probably no way in hell she would let me drive her home on the motorcycle.
“I hope that’s okay,” Olivia says politely, looking at Chase.
Chase shakes his head, seemingly clearing his mind and sobering up. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine, uh, it was nice meeting you,” he says as I snatch the keys from his desk and usher Olivia out of our room.
“You too. Thank you,” she calls over her shoulder as I close the door behind us.
“Sorry about him,” I apologize, mentally shaking my head at Chase for making that so damn awkward. Sure, I may never let girls into our room, but it wasn’t like I had her draped over my shoulder, ready to throw her onto my bed and toss her around in my sheets—something he’s fond of doing himself. He lets girls come and go as he pleases, not finding that concept as messy as I do.
Olivia and I walk to the parking lot and hop into Chase’s truck. She gives me directions to her house, which is fifteen minutes away from campus, and I’m not surprised when she tells me to turn into a nice subdivision and pull into the driveway of a beautiful home.
It’s a sizable split-level house with light-gray siding, white trim, and shutters. With the colorful flowerbeds, careful landscaping, and literal white picket fence, it looks like it could grace the cover of a home magazine.
“This is it,” Olivia states, reaching for her backpack on the floorboard. “Would you like to come in? It may take me a minute to find that lab manual for you.”
Again, unexpected excitement bubbles up in my chest. “Sure.”
We climb out of the truck and she leads me up the sidewalk to the front door. Pulling her keys out of her backpack, she unlocks the door, which has one of those decorative wreaths with a largeMon it, and leads me inside.
Stepping into the foyer, I note that her house is just as beautiful inside as it is outside. With a relatively open floor plan, the space is homey, filled with soothing neutral colors. Nothing is too modern or dated, everything seemingly designed to show that it’s a well lived–in family home.
“Dad?” Olivia calls, dropping her keys on the table next to the door.
“Hi, honey,” an older male voice calls, followed by the sound of footsteps. A man, who I’d guess was in his late forties, comes into view. His dark hair is starting to gray, as is the well-groomed, full mustache resting above his top lip. “Oh, hello,” he says, momentarily surprised to find someone else in his home.
“Dad, this is Bronx, we go to school together. And, Bronx, this is my dad, Stan,” Olivia introduces us.
I politely extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. Bronx Miller.”
He gives me a warm smile, removing the reading glasses from his light-blue eyes before placing his hand in mine, giving me a firm handshake. “Trust me, son, I know who you are. You sell me a lot of jerseys.”
It takes me a long moment before I get it all to click.
McCausland.
As in, McCausland Sporting Goods.
I nearly smack myself for not realizing it sooner. McCausland Sporting Goods is the largest local sporting goods store. They sell and make the team’s jerseys and apparel. Stan must be the owner.
I let out a soft chuckle. “It’s my pleasure.”
