Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Jay
“And if you can just look into each other’s eyes for me…” I pull my camera up to my face and snap a picture of the couple showing me how in love they are. In fact, five minutes ago, I had to ask them to stop making out. Man, I really need to find a new job.
I look down at my watch and back up at the couple and decide to call it a day when he leans in again. There’s only so much I can take, and watching people eat face when I know I’ve barely even dated, kissed, or had sex with another person for over a year… well, I’m over it. I don’t need to see it.
I pack up my gear faster than usual, muttering a half-hearted, “You’ll get your proofs soon,” like the robot I am, before making a beeline for my car once they leave.
The drive to Daphne and Hudson’s place is quiet, save for my stomach grumbling. I’m praying they’ve ordered pizza or something… anything right now.
One knock later, and I’m met with a smiling Daphne. “You’re late,” she says, but pulls me into a hug that I return.
I carefully place my camera bag by the door. “You try spending eight hours photographing people trying to tongue each other’s souls. I deserve a medal.”
Quinn pops her head out from the kitchen. “What kind of couple shoot was this again?”
“Engagements, back-to-back.”
“Oof,” Miles mutters from the floor, where he’s surrounded by what looks like seventeen half-used washi tapes. “Nothing says everlasting love like visible saliva.”
I drop onto the rug beside him. “Thank you. That’s the validation I needed.”
From the kitchen, Quinn calls out, “Hot chocolate’s almost ready. No one spill anything near the pages this time.”
“That was one time,” Hudson says.
“You knocked over two mugs,” Daphne fires back.
“And now your pages have that vintage look, you’re welcome.” He leans over and smacks a kiss on his fiancé’s lips.
“Guys,” I groan. “No more kissing, my quota is met for the day.”
Quinn comes in with a tray of hot chocolates, covered in whipped cream and marshmallows, and my stomach makes itself known again.
“Pizza is also on the way,” Miles says, hearing my growling.
Daphne’s phone rings at that moment. “Hey, Liv, you almost here?”
My ears perk up at the sound of her name.
Over a week has passed since the diabolical dinner, and the kitchen still smells like smoke, but we’ve slipped into something that almost feels like routine.
She goes to class, I work, we’re home around the same time, and then I cook too much food and pretend I’m not hyper-fixating on the hums of appreciation she gives every night.
Being around her is easy, but every so often she laughs, and there’s that same pull I felt outside Scoop Dogg and when we were in the kitchen together, there’s something there that feels impossible to ignore.
Daphne gets up to answer the door, and there she is, cheeks pink from the cold, hair pulled back with a few pieces falling loose around her face, and four pizza boxes in her arms.
“I come bearing gifts,” she says, breathless.
Daphne takes the boxes, revealing Liv wearing one of my hoodies and leggings that hug every curve she has.
Something about her being in my clothes tickles my brain just right, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
Daphne asks, “How was your day-date this week?” Damn, I didn’t even know she had another one already lined up.
Liv lifts her thumb, then twists it so it points down, the sleeve falling over her hand as she blows a raspberry. “I cancelled it.” I’m not sure why the side of my mouth twitches at that.
Hudson takes the boxes from Daph and eyeballs her hoodie. “Isn’t that Jay’s hoodie?” Her sheepish smile spreads as she glances around the room, and her eyes land on me for a second, and I swear to god they twinkle because she knows exactly what she’s doing wearing my clothes. “Hey, roomie.”
“Hey, I came straight from work.”
She laughs that musical, raspy laugh. “Good to know.”
The words are there, I know they are, but one look at her, and they scatter like dice rolling across a table. She looks really pretty tonight, and not just because a part of my brain is malfunctioning seeing her in my clothes. “Nice hoodie.”
“Thanks, I found it lying around the apartment, figured it was fair game.” She winks at me, and a little seed of interest plants roots further into my chest. The familiarity that she’s able to create between us has been as easy as breathing, and I like it, maybe a little too much.
It probably hasn’t helped that she’s also enlisted me to get her out of situations with other guys.
The hero complex that Hudson told me I have is well and truly satiated with her around.
Then, before I get the chance to talk to her again, the room erupts with motion, grabbing paper plates, shifting supplies, and moving Rosie’s own little scrapbook of sticker chaos a safe distance from the food.
Liv sinks onto the floor next to me, crossing her legs as she grabs a slice of pepperoni.
“Did I miss anything important?”
“We were discussing whether glitter borders are timeless or tacky,” Miles says, mouth full.
“They’re tacky,” Daphne says immediately.
“Timeless,” Hudson counters, reaching for a second slice already.
Liv chews thoughtfully, then leans toward me. “Are there… rules I need to know?”
I swallow a bite of pizza, feeling her soft apple scent and warmth around me, and nod. “Unspoken ones. But yeah.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Like?”
“Don’t steal tape from Hudson, it’ll end in him crying like a baby. Don’t suggest Comic Sans even as a joke, Quinn will not allow it.”
Liv chews thoughtfully. “Got it. Anything else?”
Before I can reply, the tablet on the coffee table pings, and Indie’s face fills the screen.
“Hellooooo, nerds,” she singsongs, Seb waving behind her with a mouthful of food.
“About time,” Quinn says, grinning as she leans forward to get a better look at her brother. “You look like you haven’t seen sunlight in days.”
“It’s Seattle,” Seb replies, deadpan. “I haven’t.”
Hudson leans back against the couch, one arm draped lazily behind Daphne. “You gonna be this dramatic when we play you next month, or are you saving it for the press conferences?”
Seb’s eyes flick to the screen like he’s been waiting for the jab. “I don’t need drama to win. I have skill.”
“Oh jeez,” Miles mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Here we go.”
Liv looks between them, eyebrows raised. “Wait—you two are playing each other soon?”
“Yup,” Hudson says, and I make a mental note to deliver those caramel M it’s a slip of the tongue. Imagine if I called him Foxx in class. I’d die on the spot.”
Quinn sighs wistfully. “I miss school.”
“I do not,” Miles snorts. “Getting through my degree was more than enough for me.”
“And now you get to work with me and rub me down every day,” Hudson beams.
“For my sins, yes.”
“Liv, this should be a walk in the park for you, anyway,” Daphne says, reaching for the stickers.
My head turns automatically. “It should?”
Liv’s blue eyes go wide, and she shoots Daphne a look that’s practically begging her to shut up.
Daphne doesn’t notice. “Liv’s an artist,” she says casually.
I blink, looking back at Liv. “You are?”
“Was,” she says quickly, gaze fixed on her blank scrapbook page. Her voice is too quick, like she’s rehearsed the denial. “It’s not really a thing anymore. I only study art history now.”
Quinn glances up, curious. “Wait, what was your medium?”
Liv shrugs, the motion small and tight, her eyes down. “I used to paint. Nothing serious.”
Daphne gives her a soft nudge. “She got offered an internship at the Tate in London last summer and turned it down.”
“Wow, Liv, that’s huge.” Quinn gapes.
“Okay,” she says quickly, eyes on the floor. “That’s enough about me.”
She leans forward, grabbing a sticker sheet like she’s suddenly very invested in glittery moons and watercolor florals. But I notice how her fingers hesitate. How her lips press together.
The conversation drifts to color palettes and layouts, but I can’t stop looking.
Because now I’m picturing her at the Tate walking those halls, her hair pulled back, chewing the end of a paintbrush.
I don’t even know where that image came from, but it lands in my chest with this weird sense of…
emptiness for her. She turned that down.
And from the way she shut the topic down, I don’t think it was just logistics.
***
As the night comes to an end, Liv’s curled up on the rug beside me, watching Quinn try to convince Miles to add a glitter border to his page, the evening’s debate that still doesn’t seem settled between the two of them.
Her knees are pulled to her chest, just before she stretches her arms overhead, stifling a yawn. “Alright, I’m tapping out before I accidentally bedazzle my own face.”
Daphne’s already halfway to her feet. “Do you need a ride or—?”
I grab my keys. “I drove. She’s with me.”
Liv tilts her head. “I am?”
“Did you drive here?”
“I Ubered after grabbing the pizza.”
“So, you’re with me.”
She nods, but I swear I catch a faint flush under the neck of her hoodie—my hoodie.
“You’ve got an early class, too.” Shit. I hadn’t meant to let that slip. I saw her whiteboard in my room the other day when I was grabbing my clothes. It had her schedule scribbled in pink marker, half of it crossed out and rewritten with arrows and stars. It was chaotic and totally her.
Liv’s head tilts. “You snooping through my stuff, roommate?”
I shoot her a look as I stand. “It’s not snooping if it’s in plain view on a whiteboard in fluorescent pen in my bedroom. Hard to miss.”
She raises a brow but doesn’t argue. “Still, kind of bold of you to memorize it.”
“I didn’t memorize it,” I say too fast.
She hums as she stands, brushing off her leggings. “Sure you didn’t.”
I smile, pushing my glasses up my nose. “Come on, before you start accusing me of knowing your star sign, too.”
She grins, but Quinn pulls her into a hug, and the moment breaks.
We make our rounds, saying goodnight to the group.
Miles salutes us with a glue stick. Hudson makes some crack about not letting Liv take over the entire apartment.
A little too late for that, since all her shower stuff is now decorating the bathroom, and her purple blanket is draped over my sofa bed when I’m not sleeping on it.
The entire place also smells like her, fresh apples and a hint of vanilla. But I don’t say any of that.
Daphne hands us two Ziploc bags of leftover pizza, like we’re children being sent home from camp, and reminds Liv of the party they’re going to on Friday night.
The front door closes behind us with a thud, and we walk down the quiet hallway side by side. Just as we reach the stairwell, Liv bumps her shoulder lightly into mine.
“Sagittarius,” she says casually.
My gaze flicks over her. “What?”
“In case you needed to know. That’s my star sign.”
Then she starts down the stairs, leaving me with one more thing I know about her, but with no idea what to do about it.