Nova: Girl, I’m the wrong one to be giving advice. I was sneaking around with my boyfriend like a teenager…
Me: Not even the same. Not a little.
Nova: I had to hide him in my bedroom once, remember?
Me: Still not the same!!
Nova: It kind of is. It’s messy and inconvenient and thrilling.
Me: It’s horrifying. He saw my ass.
Nova: Please—he liked it.
Nova: In fact, he was probably jerking off to it when he was “taking his nap.”
Me: LOLOL why are you like this?
Nova: Like what? TRUTHFUL?? You’re welcome. No one else is going to be this honest.
This is ridiculous. It’s been one day.
One!
I haven’t even learned where the extra toilet paper is kept yet and already I have the hots for one of my new roommates. Not cool. Not okay. I’m new here. I’m vulnerable. I’m going to get my bearings and find my footing and this little blip of attraction will pass. Like a cold.
Still, I don’t unpack right away. I scroll my phone instead, flip my pillow twice, and wonder if he’s still in the dining room building his castle.
And whether he’s thinking about my bare ass…
turner
. . .
The weight room is quiet.
There’s music playing overhead—some EDM remix someone left on the playlist—but I’m barely aware of it. I should be focused. I usually am. This is the part of training I actually like. The solitude. The burn. The repetition that lets my brain zone out and lets my body take over.
Except today, my brain won’t shut the fuck up.
All I can think about is Poppy.
More specifically: I cannot stop thinking about the way her hips curved, the way her mouth fell open when she saw me, the way her voice squeaked when she threatened me with a spatula.
Her ass in that pink thong. Tits in that lace bra, framed by the refrigerator light like some kind of half-dressed kitchen angel sent to torment me.
I drop the barbell back into the rack and scrub a hand down my face.
I’m a terrible roommate.
She deserves to feel safe. Comfortable. Not ogled.
And to be clear, I didn’t ogle. I caught a glimpse. A very sudden, very intense glimpse. One I’ve been actively trying to erase from my brain for twenty-four straight hours.
Hasn’t worked.
As a form of punishment, I load more weight onto the bar, like that will purify me.
It doesn’t.
