I am cute. I am pretty.

I am attractive.

Somehow, though, it feels like a small victory.

We sit in silence for a few more minutes until I lose interest and stand, excusing myself for bed with a yawn. Checking the kitchen door to make sure it’s locked and putting away the plate I used for my snack, checking the front door to make sure that’s locked, too.

“No one is going to break in,” he calls from the den.

Hasn’t he ever heard of college students getting shit-faced and walking into the wrong house?

Trust me.

It’s happened.

In my room, I’m finally ready for bed and flop onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling with the lights off. Only my phone lights up occasionally with a text from Nalla or Priya, who’ve been asking about my day all day. How it went, what Ashley’s like so far, if the house is clean, blah blah blah.

A note from my mother, who’s checking in on me and wants me to call her in the morning.

Through the pitch-black darkness, I stare, rolling over to face the door, phone on the nightstand.

It pings again, lighting up, and I reach for it, expecting one of the girls.

It’s not.

It’s Ashley.

Ashley: Are you still up?

Me: Yes? What’s up…

Why is he texting me when he’s only just down the hallway?

Ashley: You tired?

Me: Um. Kind of? But I’m excited I get to sleep in tomorrow.

No practice on Sunday, obviously.

Ashley: Should we do something?

Me: Uh—like what?

Ashley: I don’t know, I was thinking we could go hiking. The Ice Age Trail in Dunhaven.

Is he serious?

Hiking is my favorite.

Me: That sounds fun.

Ashley: Cool. It’s supposed to be nice out, not hot, so we don’t have to rush out in the morning. We can get coffee and breakfast on the way out of town.

Me: Cool.

God, now I’m repeating what he said.

Ashley: Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.

Me: Good night.

Except I don’t sleep. I lie here for hours, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Living with girls is one thing; living with boys is another, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to prevent my mind from wandering when I see his tattooed arms and have to look at that gap in his teeth when he smiles.

We have class together.

We live together now.

Way too late to admit he’s growing on me in the way a roommate shouldn’t, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.

“What do you want?”

We’re in the drive-thru at a coffee shop bright and early. I couldn’t sleep in, and even though I tried to stay in bed longer, I climbed out and went downstairs to find my roomie already in the kitchen planted at the counter.

With no shirt on.

All tattoos and ripped muscles, downing a bowl of cereal, surprise on his face to see me standing in the doorway so early.

“I thought you were sleeping in,” he said, wiping milk from his mouth and sitting up straighter from a slouch.

He removed his elbows from the counter, too.

Too bad he was half naked or the manners meter would have skyrocketed.

“Couldn’t.” I stood there in just a tank top and shorts, having gotten up in the middle of the night and changed because I got hot, then went to check the thermostat in the hallway only to find it set at seventy degrees.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I was self-conscious not to have been wearing a bra.

“I’ll go change and then we can go?”

Ashley nodded, and a few minutes later we were pulling out of the driveway and heading out of town.

First stop: coffee.

I can’t choke down the regular stuff, so I order something iced—apparently a little too frou-frou for Ashley’s taste because he snorts, ordering himself an espresso shot, which comes in the cutest, smallest cup.

“Oh my god, this is adorable,” I can’t help saying when he passes our order to me as the barista hands them out the window.

I hold up the tiny cup then peer inside. “There’s barely anything in it.”

What a waste.

“It’s just a shot.”

“What do you do with it?”

He laughs. “Sip it?”

“Sip it.” Hmm. “That won’t take long. I like to take my time and baby my drink.” My hands are wrapped around my latte, nursing it even though it’s cold.

And the cup is beginning to sweat already.

“Sometimes,” I muse out loud, staring out the window watching the scenery pass by, “I’ll get a warm latte in the afternoon with a warm cookie and it’s the world’s best thing.”

I turn in time to see his brows go up. “Surely not the world’s best thing?”

“Mmm. There is nothing better than a warm cookie, I am telling you.”

“Nothing?” he mutters with another snort. “I could think of a few better things.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say Like what? but I stop myself—he isn’t talking about sex, is he?

He could be talking about the new Stars Wars Legos being released, or lying on a hammock on a beach somewhere. Winning the last match of the season, or soaking in the hot tub or the ice bath in the university’s training room.

Yes.

That’s what he means.

Ashley Jones is far from getting fresh with me.

We’re friends and roommates and nothing more.

My hair is in a ponytail, ball cap pulled down over my head so I wouldn’t need sunglasses. I’ve got on a sports bra and a tank top, a pair of cropped black leggings and sneakers.

Ashley looks over a few times—it feels like he’s sneaking glances, but that can’t be it either.

I’m a mess even though I’m put together.

Fresh face.

No makeup.

The same way he saw me last night.

Leaning forward, I turn the dial on the radio, not in the mood to force conversation when the drive is so peaceful. Find a station that plays newer songs, setting the volume at a low decibel, just loud enough to hear.

Shoot a few of my own furtive glances Ashley’s way, studying his masculine silhouette, the chiseled, defined jawline. The overnight stubble on his cheeks casting a sexy shadow. The content set of his mouth.

He has sideburns growing on the sides of his face, and rather than being turned off by them, I like it.

It feels slightly badass with a touch of I don’t give a shit on a guy who’s just here for the education and the experience and doesn’t worry what other people think of him.

He’s a decent guy.

I like him.

Thirteen

Ashley

“Should we take a selfie or something?”

Georgia’s question is hopeful, and her face is too as she shields her eyes from the sun.

It’s taken us nearly two hours to get to the top of the cliff we’ve been climbing, the view spectacular.

We’ve parked our arses on a giant boulder overlooking the city, near enough to the treacherous overhang to be stunning, noshing on the protein bars Georgia produced from the black backpack she brought on the hike.

“A selfie?” Why are girls like this?