NOVA: EXCUSE ME??????????????????
Me: It wasn’t like THAT. We just… talked. A lot. About everything. Then fell asleep.
Another buzz.
NOVA: You FELL ASLEEP next to a hot hockey player in PAJAMAS and you want me to believe it was innocent???
Okay, when she says it like that, it soundslessinnocent and a lot more reckless.
I type back, biting my lip:
Me: It WAS innocent. But also I wanted to kiss him so bad I thought I might die. I swear, my vagina was begging for it.
There’s a long pause as if Nova doesn’t know how to properly react to that.
Then—
NOVA: First of all, R.I.P. to your self-control. 2nd, this is not normal roommate behavior. 3rd, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO??????
Me: I don’t know. Probably start looking for apartments. Or a condo. Or…
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
I don’t know how I’ll pretend I don’t want to curl into him every night. Strip him naked. Let him touch me.
Have him fuck me…
Me: No fucking idea.
I roll onto my back, holding my phone above me, thumbs poised to type out something self-deprecating and dramatic?—
When there’s a soft knock at my door.
I squeak, nearly flinging my phone across the room like it’s a piece of radioactive evidence.
The door cracks open. Turner leans against the frame, one arm braced above his head. His voice rumbles low, sleep-rough, like gravel and honey.
“Poppy?”
Sweet Jesus.
“Y-yeah?” I croak, scrambling to sit up, shoving my phone under the blanket, smoothing my hair like that’ll somehow erase the chaos of five seconds ago.
“Cash is home, if you, uh, want to…” He clears his throat, glancing back down the hall before meeting my gaze again. “I made eggs if you want to come meet him. And the dog.”
I hear the clickety-click of nails scratching across the hardwood floors in the other room.
Nugget.
“Sure. Let me put on some actual clothes.”
My roommate’s gaze skims down the front of my top. The short, white sleep shorts. Heat flickers behind his eyes—so quick and so potent it almost knocks the breath out of me.
He catches himself, dragging a hand through his messy hair, muttering, “No rush.”
Then he backs away from the door like it’s physically dangerous to stay a second longer.
