Chapter 12
Camila
The weekends are the worst part of this living arrangement. I can only stay in my room so much. Eventually, I need to eat. There are just some situations when you have to face your roommate. This evening is one of those times.
The game plays faintly on the television in the other room, grounding the moment in something ordinary. We don’t talk much, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s easy—easier than I imagined it would be after only two weeks living together.
I swing open the fridge and stare into the empty shelves. “I thought you said you went grocery shopping. It was your turn.”
“I did.” Hess sits at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal.
“Why is there no food, then?”
“What are you talking about? There’s a ton of food.”
I grab the first thing I see, a giant tub of rice pudding. “This is not food.”
“Sure it is.” His spoon suspends in the air, finishing his thought before he takes his next bite. “It’s creamy, cozy, and nostalgic.”
“And this?” I pull out a jar of pickles. “Am I supposed to eat these for dinner?”
“Pickles are a solid side dish.”
“To what?”
“Hamburgers.”
I reach deeper into the fridge and yank out a bottle of hot sauce, then a jar of salsa, and balsamic vinegar. “None of these works unless you have food to put them on.”
“There’s a ton of food. Open up the freezer.”
“Frozen TV dinners are not food.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “You asked me to get groceries. I got groceries.”
“Groceries are eggs. Bread. Fruit. Vegetables. Salad.”
“I’m not having any problems finding something to eat.”
“That’s because you think healthy food comes in powdered form.” I slam the fridge shut and turn to the pantry, which is just as bad—supplements and a tub of protein powder the size of a giant popcorn bowl. “Why do you need six different kinds of workout enhancers?”
“They all do different things. One’s for recovery, one’s for energy, one’s—”
“Let me stop you right there.” I hold up my hand. “They’re all just chalk dust with marketing labels.”
His mouth quirks, like he’s enjoying this way too much. “You sound jealous.”
“Of what? Your ability to survive on pickles and powder? Some of us enjoy chewing our food.”
He smirks, just enough to be irritating. “I am chewing my food.”
“Cinnamon Toast Crunch doesn’t count as food.”
His eyes don’t leave mine as he picks up his bowl, brings it to his lips, and slurps the milk from the side. A small drop of liquid rolls down his chin, but he only smiles as he wipes it off with his forearm.
What used to be an ick for me has become the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I head to the pantry, spotting a jar of uncooked rice on the top shelf. It’s annoyingly high, but I climb the stepstool anyway, stretching my arm as far as I can. My fingers brush the glass but don’t quite grip it. Just a little farther…
The stool wobbles beneath me, and my breath catches. My stomach dips as the wood tilts to the side, my balance slipping.
And then Hess is there.
I don’t even know where he came from.
Strong hands close around my waist, steadying me before I can fall. The stool stops rocking, but he doesn’t let go. His palms are firm against my skin, and a spark shoots through me when I realize my shirt has shifted, allowing his warm touch.
I turn my head and meet his eyes. They’re closer than I expected, and for a second, I forget why I was in the pantry in the first place. The air between us feels tight, ignited, my chest rising and falling too fast.
I should step down. I should move. But I don’t. Not right away.
“You good?” His voice is rough, lower than usual, and it makes something flutter deep inside me.
I nod, but I can’t move. Then his thumb shifts against my hip, the tiniest brush, but enough to send my pulse racing. My throat thickens, and I have to look away to ease the tension.
He releases me slowly, his hands dropping from my sides. I clutch the jar to my chest, trying to steady myself. When our eyes meet again, just for a second, I know he felt the spark of attraction too, in the most ordinary moment possible.
It’s then and there I decide that hiding away in my room might just be my only option.