Chapter 4
FOUR
It seems I may be fucked
SOPHIE
It’s just past five in the morning when I open my laptop. The apartment is still dim and quiet. I like early mornings. No noise from the street yet, no texts, no voices—just the soft clink of my spoon against the coffee mug and the clicking from my fingers on the keyboard.
There’s a reply to the roommate listing I posted on the housing board last week.
From: Poppy Reed
Subject: Roommate Inquiry
Hi! I saw your post about needing a roommate. I’m also a sophomore, and my sublease ends this month so the timing’s kind of perfect (hopefully?). I’m a bio major. I promise I’m quiet and clean. If the room’s still available, I’d love to meet and see if we vibe. Thanks so much! - Poppy
It’s sweet. Not overly bubbly, or stiff. I reread it once, then type out a reply with my number and a quick suggestion to meet up later this week.
Me: Hi! Yes, the room’s still open. Want to meet at the student center on Friday? Maybe around twelve? I’ll grab us a table. And we can go over to the apartment together if you want to take a look.
Poppy: Perfect. I’ll see you there, thanks again!
I sit back in my chair. There’s an extra bedroom in my apartment.
The landlord only agreed to let me cover half the rent until the end of this month—after that, it’s full price or I’m out.
So I need a roommate. I’ve been running numbers in the back of my head for days, trying to see if I could make it work solo, but the truth is, I can’t.
Not without dropping a class. Or another job.
I had to send a good chunk of the money I saved up to my mom last week.
For some reason, I can’t bring myself to block her number, though that’s exactly what she deserves.
I refresh my student portal, and a new notification flashes across the screen.
Assigned Match: Carter Delaney | Junior | Writing & Reading Support
A junior. Upperclassmen rarely request underclassmen as tutors, especially not in subjects like writing.
Maybe he failed a course last year. Or maybe he’s just desperate.
Either way, I get paid, so I don’t overthink it.
There’s no time for that. I close my laptop, tuck it into my bag with the charger, and pull on a hoodie before heading out.
It's another Westcliffe one, gray this time, snagged at an embarrassingly good discount from the campus bookstore because of a small hole in the stitching on one sleeve.
The air outside is crisp, my favorite early-morning kind of cold that doesn’t bite yet. The fall weather is finally here. The walk is perfect—perfect amount of breeze and perfect hoodie weather.
Once I reach campus, I take the longer path toward the library.
It’s almost always empty before eight, and if I get there early enough, I can grab one of the corner tables with the outlet and the sunlight.
I walk with my head down, hands stuffed in my sleeves, until something—or someone—catches my attention across the quad.
Micah is standing near one of the business buildings, talking to a guy.
The guy is tall—taller than Micah, and Micah’s already huge.
Six-two, maybe six-three. But this guy looks like he belongs on a billboard—so ridiculously good-looking that I almost feel starstruck.
His skin is smooth and golden-brown, hair curly and dark brown, jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes are unreal.
Bright hazel, almost golden in the morning light.
But regardless of how handsome this guy is, my eyes drift back to Micah. There’s something about him that feels familiar. Not like I know him, but like I could. My chest settles a little just looking at him—which only makes me more uneasy. It’s a kind of calm I don’t trust.
I blink and look away before either of them notices.
I don’t wave. Or say hi. He probably wouldn’t notice me anyway.
He was just doing a girl a favor. That’s all it was.
He seems like the type of person who’s just good.
And a guy like that? He’s probably surrounded by girls who are confident, gorgeous, and rich enough to meet him at his level.
I step into the library and quietly close the door behind me. I’m relieved to see that there are plenty of empty tables available.
My phone buzzes just as I’m opening my laptop.
I expect it to be from the student center or a shift reminder, but when I check the screen, it’s from a number already saved in my contacts.
Micah Vale. I immediately feel my cheeks heat.
I glance around the library as if someone might see the flush rising up my neck.
Why is he texting me? Our group exchanged numbers during our first project meeting, but I didn’t expect him to actually use it. Definitely not like this.
Micah
Didn’t want to come say hi?
After everything we’ve been through?
Ouch.
Me
Sorry, I was in a rush.
Lies. I saw you basically drooling over my friend.
Should I be jealous?
Sorry. Hi, Micah.
A voice comes from behind me. “Hi, Sophie.”
I jump so hard I nearly knock my coffee over. I turn around to see him—Micah—and his unfairly attractive friend from earlier, standing right there.
“Hey, sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. I flinch again, and he immediately pulls back, both hands up like I’m a startled animal. “Whoa. Sorry. Are you okay?”
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I’m just not fully awake yet.”
He studies me for a second like he doesn’t totally buy it, but thankfully doesn’t push. “What are you doing here so early?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation far, far away from whatever just happened.
He shrugs, his expression softening. “Meeting with a professor. I figured I’d get here early and do some work before.”
He gestures to his friend. “This is Wyatt, by the way.”
Wyatt gives me a smooth, easy smile. “Hey, Sophie.”
I know I’m blushing.
Micah adds, “He’s also on the law school track. If you ever need help with anything, he’s the guy to ask. Smartest guy I know.”
I glance at Wyatt again. Those hazel eyes are just as bright up close—borderline glowing. Close up, he’s even more intimidatingly attractive.
Before I can say anything, Micah grins. “Sorry, Soph. He’s got a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure she’s the jealous type, too.”
My eyes snap back to him. “Oh my god—no—I wasn’t—I’m not—”
He laughs under his breath. “I’m kidding.”
Wyatt just raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word.
Micah points to the empty chairs at my table. “Mind if we sit?”
“Oh—no. Of course.”
As they settle in, I glance between them—two tall, ridiculously attractive guys who look like they were pulled straight from a magazine ad.
Wyatt pulls out a thick book and his laptop, already diving in, saying nothing more.
Micah doesn’t open anything at first. He just leans back in the chair right across from me, relaxed.
He watches me for a few seconds. I pretend I don’t notice, praying my face isn’t even redder. Then he takes out a book.
Wyatt’s phone buzzes. He checks it and freezes immediately. “Oh shit.”
Micah looks up. “What?”
Wyatt glances around the library like he’s looking for someone. “Kate knows I’m with a girl. One of her friends must have seen us.”
My stomach drops. “Oh—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
He’s already standing. “No, no, don’t take it personally,” he says quickly, grabbing his books and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“She can just be a bit sensitive about this kind of stuff. She’s waiting for me at the student center.
” He gives me an apologetic look. “It was really nice meeting you, Sophie. I’ll see you around. ”
And then he’s gone.
I stare after him for a second before turning back to Micah. “I hope they’re okay. I really didn’t mean to cause any problems.”
Micah scoffs softly. “Trust me, you didn’t. Wyatt could be sitting next to a man with long hair and Kate would still get jealous.” He glances at me. “Seriously. Don’t even worry about it.”
I let out a breath. “Well I hope she didn’t catch my face.”
“I did warn you his girlfriend’s the jealous type,” Micah says lightly. “You were probably staring at him too much.”
I crumple a Post-it note and throw it at him, but miss miserably. “Hey. I did not.”
A grin tugs at his mouth. “If you say so. But just so you know, I’m the jealous type, too.”
He then checks his watch. “I have to meet with my professor real quick.” Then, more casually, “If you’re staying, I can come back and we’ll walk to class together?”
I hesitate for half a second. “Sure. I’ll be here.”
“Good.” He stands, then pauses, tipping his chin toward the bag on his chair. “Can you watch that for me?”
I glance at it, then back at him. “What if I take it and run?”
His mouth curves as he takes a step backward. “Then I’ll know I made a terrible mistake trusting you.” Another step, grin widening. “But I’m feeling reckless today.”
“Hm. I’ll think about my next move.”
He just smiles and walks toward the exit.
I can't remember the last time I interacted with someone without it being about class or work.
The last time I joked around like this. Or the last time I let my guard down enough to just feel comfortable.
I don't let myself dwell on it too long though.
I have a bookstore shift right after class, so I need to get as much studying in as I can before then.
“Hey, I’m back,” Micah says twenty minutes later, his voice close behind me. “Miss me?”
I jump, and hope he didn’t notice. “Back already? I was incredibly productive with no distractions.” I say, not looking up.
He laughs. “Incredibly productive. Sure.” He drops into the seat across from me anyway, like he wasn't just gone for twenty minutes. “What'd you get done?”
“More than I would have if you'd stayed.” I glance up with a small smile I don't totally bother hiding.
“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest. “I'm wounded.”