Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Liv
It’s been a long-ass week. I haven’t managed to go for another run, even though Jay’s offered a few times over text.
Our schedules have been a little opposite, and most of my evenings have been eaten up by exam prep.
I haven’t had the time—or, honestly, the desire—to date again either.
Last night, I silenced the app just to stop the notifications.
It’s a good thing my mind is busy with school, because the second I stop, the noise rushes in—the usual stuff… mild existential dread, men with hidden wedding rings and poor agendas, and the fear that maybe I’m just not built for dating anymore.
Back at WSU, I used to thrive on movement, too, weekly Pilates, long runs, anything that filled my spare time. Lately, not so much. But I finally found a Pilates class nearby after weeks of searching, so at least I start that next week. Being busy is good, I tell myself. It has to be.
When Friday finally rolls around, I already know what’s happening. The plan’s been in place since before pizza night—Daphne’s classmate Sophie is hosting something at her off-campus house, and it sounds like exactly what I need.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Liv?” Daph’s voice filters through, followed by the soft creak of it opening.
She steps inside and leans against the frame, her high ponytail, black jeans, and cropped sweater that hangs off her shoulder, the effortlessly hot and wholesome combo only Daphne can pull off without trying. “Everything okay?” she asks.
I nod, even though I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my boots like they might lace themselves.
“You don’t have to come, you know,” she says gently. “If you’re too tired.”
“No, I want to,” I say, a little too quickly. I stand, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. “I just... zoned out for a sec.”
She gives me a look, a real Daph special, full of worry and concern for me. “Seriously, we can just chill here if—”
“Absolutely not. You’ve got limited time for parties, so I’m taking advantage. Plus, I need a night to mingle. I just want to drink something and forget my name for a while.”
She smiles, but there’s still something a little wary behind it. “You can drink. I’m playing it safe tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off as I fluff my hair. “Mom-mode activated, I get it.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Listen, being hungover with a toddler to look after is some kind of fresh hell I want to avoid. Hudson has practice tomorrow, so it’ll be my ass on the line.”
I reach into my purse and pull out my favorite pink lipstick.
“Any dates this week I need to be informed of?”
“Nope. Took the week off.”
“Good, I think it’s good to have a break.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
We walk out of my room, and Jay appears from the kitchen, hair slightly rumpled in my favorite way.
His hair has lots of ‘ways’ that I’m becoming accustomed to.
Like when he’s just woken up, it sticks up like crazy, when he’s working out, it’s damp and flat, but right now it’s disheveled like he’s run his hands through it, and giving vibes that no woman could ignore.
I’m not sure I should be thinking this hard about my roommate’s hair, but here we are.
“Whoa,” he says, eyes flicking to me and staying there, roaming dangerously over my bare legs and down to my boots.
Then, slowly, so fucking slowly, his gaze dances up my body in a way that feels like a gentle caress.
My skin prickles under the path of his eyes, every inch of me suddenly aware of itself—of fabric, breath, space.
I stand a little too still, pretending not to notice while everything in me does.
Daphne’s already halfway out the door, but I linger just a beat, unsure if this is just him thinking I look nice, or if I’m imagining that pull of attraction. “I, uh, I’ve got my key.”
He nods once, mouth still open a little, and as if he realizes, he swallows, blinking rapidly.
“Daphne isn’t drinking, so she’s my babysitter for the night.”
He still doesn’t say anything, but I catch the lick of his lips as I go.
“See you later, roomie.”
***
The living room is loud and too warm, and somehow exactly what I needed. Who doesn’t love a stranger’s house full of random people to bare your soul to?
Someone passed me a pink drink with something like candies floating in it that may or may not have been edible. I drank it anyway. Then someone else gave me a shot of something that burned going down and tasted like regret. I didn’t ask questions.
Now I’m nestled in a bean bag, one leg curled under me, cup in hand, talking to a girl I’ve only just met but apparently really vibe with because I’ve been telling her my entire life story for the past seven minutes without taking a breath.
“I’m just saying,” I slur slightly, gesturing too wide and nearly sloshing my drink, “you think you know someone, right? You think, hey, this guy likes the same books as me, he’s got good hands and a good jawline, and he says all the right things in all the right ways, and then boom—turns out he’s a liar.
He has a dog, a wife, kids. And a whole-ass mortgage. ”
The girl—Maya? Marie?—gasps, hand on her heart. “He was married?”
“I know, right?” I laugh, but it’s too sharp around the edges. I can feel it. Like I’m trying to make it funny before it caves in on me.
Maya-or-Megan nods slowly. “So what’d you do?”
“What do you think I did? I ran. Packed up, deleted everything, told my parents I was transferring, and left the city like someone lit it on fire behind me. Which—fair. Because it was on fire. Emotionally.”
I reach for another drink from the table behind me, something red this time. Or orange. It’s hard to tell in this light. I don’t even care anymore.
“Anyway, now I’m here. Starting over. Dating anything with a pulse to make sure I’m not dead inside.
Taking classes I’m good at but don’t love, and living in someone else’s room because renting around here is a freaking nightmare, and campus housing was useless.
And the guy I’m living with? He’s like a househusband already.
Preps dinners and lunches, has a real job, labels his spices. ”
“Is he hot?” she asks.
I pause.
“He’s...” A weird bubble forms in my chest because I was about to downplay his hotness.
Jay Oliviera is insanely hot in that understated, slightly nerdy, definitely packing but hides it kind of way, but do I want to give that information to someone else?
Admitting that I want my roommate feels greedy; it feels like I’d be taking something that isn’t mine.
And I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again, but there’s something, a look maybe, that he gives me that feels like a secret I don’t know yet.
Melanie—or Marnie, I still haven’t figured it out—leans in conspiratorially. “So you think he’s hot, girl, you don’t have to say the words. What’s the catch?”
I shrug, swirling the mystery drink in my cup.
“There isn’t one. He’s decent and hot. Like.
.. the guy who asks how your day was and actually listens to the answer.
He cooks”—I moan at the memory of his food, it really is legendary—“makes space in the bathroom cabinet without being asked. Takes me for ice cream after crappy dates. And he didn’t even fight me on taking his room. ”
Her eyes widen. “Wait, you took his room?”
“Technically borrowed,” I say, holding up a finger. “It’s temporary. I’ll be moving out in January to the new campus housing. But yeah, he’s sleeping on the sofa bed and hasn’t complained, even though I can see it’s uncomfortable.”
“Girl…” she breathes, smiling slowly. “You’re in danger.”
I laugh, too loud and too quick. “No. No, no. This isn’t that. I’m not—I’m not doing that.”
She raises a perfectly shaped brow. “Doing what?”
I sigh. “Catching feelings for the most decent guy I’ve met in like five years… because we’re roommates and I don’t know him, not really.”
I say it like a joke. Like I’m rolling my eyes at myself.
But my throat tightens right after, and I have to look away.
Because I’m not catching feelings. I’m just…
grateful. For the space. For the fact that when I told my friends I needed somewhere safe, he didn’t ask questions.
He just handed me his bed. It’s not feelings. It’s basic human appreciation. Right?
Right.
“I just needed a reset,” I mumble. “A break from all the bullshit. That’s all this is. A pit stop. Not a—whatever.”
Marley nods, like she gets it, like she’s also done the whole burn-your-life-down-and-try-again thing. “Still. Sounds like he gives a shit.”
“Yeah,” I say, finishing my drink and hiccupping. “That’s kind of the problem, Maya.”
“My name is Katie.”
“Oh.”
Daphne bounds over to me with a big smile. “Hi, Katie. Liv, looks like you’re having a great time.”
“I am,” I shout. “I had lots of vodka gummy bears in my drink.”
Katie—formerly known as many other names—laughs politely and slips away, probably to find someone who won’t rename her mid-conversation.
Daphne raises a perfectly sculpted brow. “How many gummy bears are we talking?”
I hold up my cup. “Enough to make me feel some pesky feelings I don’t want to process.”
“Ah,” she says, linking her arm through mine. “So we’ve entered the emotional phase of the night.”
“No,” I whisper dramatically. “We passed that phase fifteen minutes ago. I’m in the radical honesty phase now.”
“Shit,” she mutters. “Okay. Bathroom, water, maybe a carb. Come on.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I follow her anyway as she steers me down the hallway lined with coats and people.
We end up in the kitchen, where someone’s made a sad attempt at a charcuterie board on a baking tray. I grab a piece of cheese and eat it whole while Daphne pours water into a cup, hands it to me, and waits until I drink all of it.
“You good?”
I nod. “I’m great. I just had a minor identity crisis on a floral beanbag while misnaming someone for half an hour. But it’s cool. I’m thriving.”
Daphne tilts her head, giving me that best friend face I hate. The one that sees way too much.
“Liv.”
I groan. “Don’t ‘Liv’ me.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m partying, there’s a difference.”
“Are you sure?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, wobbling slightly as I lean against the counter. “One involves sparkly eyeliner and the other involves accidentally crying in public. So far, I’m still glittery.”
She softens. “I get it. I do. But if you’re going to drink like a sailor, you need to eat.”
“There are sailors here?”
“Focus, Liv.”
“Right,” I say, bopping her nose. She has a cute little button nose.
She hands me a slice of bread that may or may not be someone’s sandwich base, and I take a bite because she’s right about something, most things, really… and also because I might be a little drunker than I thought.
Then I’m swaying to the music before I recognize the song playing through the speaker system, and it gut-punches me.
It’s not a special one in that it means anything to Rhys and me, it’s more a memory of me on the way to his beach house, thinking how good life was…
whilst I sang my heart out to this very song.
There’s this slow, unwelcome curl of emotion in my chest. That doesn’t belong in crowded rooms or kitchens filled with strangers.
That creeps in when I stop talking long enough to feel anything, suffocating in the air around me.
I don’t want it. Especially when it’s threatening the longevity of my glittery eyeliner.
“I think I’m gonna go outside for a minute,” I say to Daphne.
I push through the back door and into the cooler air, my skin prickling with relief. The noise dulls behind me, but everything inside me still buzzes like a live wire.
My throat closes. My stomach flips so fast I nearly gag.
I can’t do this, pretend that I don’t feel ashamed of myself in so many ways.
Pretend that I can be happy when I took that away from someone else.
Pulling out my phone, I stare at the message he last sent me until it blurs.
I don’t want anything of mine if I left it with him, it no longer belongs to me, anyway.
My throat burns. That hollow ache I thought I’d buried starts climbing back up. I delete his number because I need to.
I blink hard, but that doesn’t stop one tear from slipping down my cheek.
The porch door creaks behind me. Daphne’s voice is a whisper. “Hey.”
I swipe my face fast, but I already know she saw. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are. I’m here for me.” She pulls me into a side hug, and I let myself cling to her, my best friend who’s always been there to pick up my pieces.
She sat up all night with me whilst my dad and mom argued over her infidelity again.
And again, when he moved out. Then again, after all this shit with Rhys. My Daphne is one of a kind.
She squeezes my shoulder, then pulls back slightly and says, “Want a distraction?”
I nod.
She leans closer and drops her voice conspiratorially. “A girl inside just asked me if Hudson’s open to exploring a poly relationship.”
I blink. “What?”
Daphne covers a laugh. “Said, and I quote, ‘He’s got to want multiple girls at one time, right?’”
My jaw drops on a sniffle. “No.”
“Oh, yes.”
“That’s—wow.” I shake my head, the corners of my mouth already twitching. “What did you say?”
“I told her he’s already overwhelmed by one girl and a baby, and if she wants to pitch a schedule to his Google Calendar, good luck.”
I snort. “Did you also mention the part where he’s head over heels in love with you?”
She shrugs but smiles. “I don’t need to tell a stranger to know that.”
And just like that, the ache loosens a little and is dulled by the warmth of Daphne beside me and the sheer ridiculousness of the world continuing to spin, even when mine keeps stuttering.
Even when I’m not always sure of my place in it.
Man, it’s hard being a human, even harder being a woman, but that’s another existential crisis.
“How’s that eyeliner?”
I sniff a laugh. “Not so sparkly anymore, but that’s okay.”
“Come on, let’s go home.”
Home. The word holds weight that I’m not ready to process tonight, but when I think about going home to my roommate, maybe it doesn’t feel so bad.