By the time she returned to her room, Josh had managed to cover himself. The sleeves of her Columbia hoodie ended at his elbows. She refused to find him charming.

“I figured you made those as a jumping-off point.” He pointed at her sheet. “We should collaborate on the final copy, no?” The struggle with the sweatshirt had aggravated his already disheveled hair.

An unwelcome image of him, tangled in sheets warm from his body heat, floated across her mind. She took a big gulp of coffee, using the bitter taste to rid herself of the unsettling vision. “Oh, sure.” She handed over the paper. Frankly, she’d assumed he wouldn’t care enough to fight her on any of the line items.

Josh sank onto her bed and reached into his wild nest of hair. From somewhere within the depths of his mane, he uncovered a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and put them on.

“Some of the stuff you’ve got here works.”

Clara bit the inside of her cheek. Josh packed a powerful punch of allure to begin with, but her inner nerd started panting at the sight of him with readers.

“Splitting utilities. Fine. A chart outlining weekly cleaning responsibilities. Very organized. We’ll need to pick up some of these supplies you listed. I don’t think we’ve got organic furniture polish.” His tongue peeked out between his teeth as he scanned the rest of the page, giving the occasional nod. “I see you’ve entrusted me with changing lightbulbs.”

Josh glanced over to where she stood, awkwardly lingering by the doorway, and gave her short frame a once-over. “Makes sense.”

He flipped the sheet. “Quiet hours from midnight to five a.m. Okay. That’s reasonable . . . but you’re missing a bunch of stuff.”

Clara folded her arms. “Like what?”

“Like sex.”

Her pulse broke into a gallop. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what’s the plan if we’re . . . you know.” He made a pumping motion with his fist.

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat. “You mean like a scrunchie on the doorknob?”

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “What the fuck is a scrunchie?”

In answer, she retrieved one from her makeup bag and flung it at him like a slingshot.

He caught the soft material in front of his chest and tested the hair tie’s durability between his fingers.

Clara averted her eyes again. So he has nice hands. Big whoop. “Haven’t you ever seen an eighties sex comedy?”

“Oh, I see,” Josh said. “I thought they used tube socks.”

“Maybe guys use tube socks. Let’s assume any item decorating the doorknob means do not disturb.” Normally she would have fought against a tacky dorm room signal, but she figured her lack of a sex life would keep her from having to employ this particular rule.

“Okay. That’s cool. Although I’ve gotta warn you, these walls are thin. When I moved in on Sunday, I could hear Everett and the manic pixie dream girl he brought home going at it like I had a front-row ticket.”

Clara inhaled sharply. Of course, she knew Everett hadn’t been celibate for the last ten years, but she hadn’t had cause to picture him with other women . . . and in the bed she had slept in last night. Could she get away with burning the sheets if she replaced them?

“Oh. Shit, I’m sorry,” Josh said.

She must have made a face. Clara quickly schooled her features back to calm.

“If it makes you feel better, she made this super annoying screeching sound when she came.”

Clara fought the urge to gag. “Let’s move on.”

Josh squinted at the ceiling. “Hmm.” He snapped his fingers. “What are you afraid of?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like if you’re afraid of snakes or big dogs or cotton balls, I should know so I can protect you.”

She squinted. “You realize one of those things is not like the others?”

“What about mice, cockroaches, opossums?”

“Exactly how many kinds of vermin do you think live here?”

Josh rolled his shoulders. “I’m trying to prepare myself, as your roommate.”

Clara saw his point. She stared at the carpet. “I’m afraid of driving.”

“But . . . you moved to L.A.?”

Her cheeks grew hot. “Yes. It’s all very stupid. I’ve ruined my life. What are you afraid of?” Her glare, warding off further questioning, must have worked.

Josh grimaced. “Ketchup.”

“You don’t like ketchup?”

“No,” he extended the vowel in emphasis. “I don’t like radishes. I’m afraid of ketchup.”

“That’s not funny. I told you a real thing.”

“I’m not joking! The sight of ketchup skeeves me out the way other people can’t look at bugs. It’s the viscosity or something.” He covered his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ugh, seriously I can’t even talk about it. It’s making my blood run cold.” He held out his forearm, where the hairs stood on end, as evidence.

“All right, but if someone dared you to eat ketchup, you could do it?”

“Why would someone dare me to eat ketchup?” He balked.

Clara shrugged. “You’re playing one of those games. Truth or dare.”

“Have you ever played truth or dare?”

“Of course I have.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah . . . but I bet you only ever picked truth.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve completed many dares.”

Josh’s mouth pulled to one side. “Oh yeah? Name one.”

Despite a prolonged sip of coffee that she used to barter for time, nothing came to mind. “Well, I can’t think of any off the top of my head. It’s been a while.”

“That’s a shame.” Something bright sparked behind his eyes. “Dares are fun.”

“Fun for whom, exactly?” Why did her voice sound so breathy?

“Everyone?” A blast of charm accompanied his words.

Spoken like someone who’s never been mocked. “No, they’re fun for the person issuing the dare and various spectators. The person performing the dare feels mortified at worse and inconvenienced at best.”

“So dares are against the rules, huh?”

“Guidelines,” she said automatically before clearing her throat. “I think it’s safe to say they are now.”

A high-pitched jingle sounded from her nightstand.

Clara grabbed her cell. Crap. She forced false cheerfulness into her tone. “Hi, Mom. . . .”

Yes, everything’s fine. . . .”

Mm-hm. Just unpacking.” She glanced over her shoulder to find Josh watching her with obvious interest.

“Everett?” Clara shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Um, no. He’s not here right now. He ran to get coffee.”

She lowered her voice. “Sure, I’ll tell him you said hello.” Clara was so not ready to confess her humiliation to her perfect mother.

“Listen, Mom, I have to go. I’ve got a pot on the stove. . . .”

Yes, I’m cooking. . . .”

Uh . . . soup. And it’s burning. . . .”

Okay. I love you too. Bye.”

Josh narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t tell your mom about Everett bailing.”

He could have at least pretended he wasn’t eavesdropping. “She’ll worry.”

“Right.”

The silence between them brimmed with awkwardness.

“So, grocery store?” Josh gestured to her abandoned mug. “I can’t drink black coffee to save my life.”

“Wait. Did you make coffee, realize you didn’t have milk, and pawn off your leftovers on me?”

A guilty grin cut across his face. “Can’t a man make a nice gesture and responsibly repurpose resources? Come on. I’ll drive.”

“All right.” She followed him into the hallway. “But I’m buying like three bottles of ketchup.”

* * *

  • • •

  CLARA’S EYES TRAVELED from Josh’s well-formed backside to the items currently occupying the grocery cart he’d insisted they share.

Cereal with a higher sugar content than most candy, enough frozen burritos to feed a family of five for a week, and a jumbo-sized bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. How could a person eat all of this and still look like that? The math didn’t add up.

She glared at the lone container of nonfat yogurt in the cart, her only contribution thus far. Clara felt better when she avoided eating things with too much sugar or salt, but all the leafy green vegetables in the world wouldn’t make her look like the svelte fitness moms in this L.A. grocery store. No matter what she ate, her prodigious boobs refused to shrink. At least her posterior had caught up over the last five years to create an illusion of balance.

By the time she looked up, Josh had managed to add an outrageous flavor of toaster pastry to his haul. He seemed to navigate the store based on spontaneous whims, completely disregarding the carefully constructed layout.

Clara parked the cart beside him. “Can I ask you an impertinent question?”

He lowered the frozen waffles in his hand. “Only if I get to ask you one back.”