Chapter 11
11
HUNTER
I stand frozen in my room after Dylan leaves, my cheeks still burning with mortification. I double-check the door is closed, leaning against it as if a wooden barrier could block out the humiliation that just unfolded. But the image of Dylan bare-chested lying on the floor, tangled in my laundry, with my thong draped over his face, is burned behind my retinas.
I can’t believe that happened. I press the heels of my palms over my eyes, wishing for a time machine that’ll bring me back to earlier this morning when I picked an old shirt from the closet and thought, Hey, it’ll stretch, it’s what viscose does, right?
Wrong.
I tug at the blouse in question, which is still squeezing me worse than a boa constrictor, and head to the desk. Scissors in hand, I slice the fabric open from the navel up with immense satisfaction. I put on a different, size-appropriate shirt that hasn’t shrunk from too many dryer cycles, and fix my hair, looking in the dresser mirror over my desk. With three women who used to share a single bathroom, we all had stacked emergency beautification supplies in our bedrooms.
The person staring back at me is unhinged. My hair is a mess, skin botched with shame, and the eye circles worthy of a raccoon. I haven’t slept all weekend, plagued by nightmares of Dylan and Olivia together—knowing what she looks like, how they touch each other, and the sounds they make when they kiss magnified the weight crushing me and invited insomnia.
With a deep sigh, I spray perfume on my neck and try to shake off the exhaustion. But the dark circles under my eyes are stubborn. Not even a double layer of concealer can do much.
I scold myself for letting the Olivia situation get to me. But Dylan is my kryptonite, and living together has only added fuel to the fire. Unfortunately, I’m as equipped to handle the flames as a marshmallow at a bonfire.
Desperate to escape, I grab my bag and creak my bedroom door open, listening to trace Dylan’s whereabouts in the apartment. Mercifully, the shower is running, and I can avoid another mortifying interaction. I’m outta there faster than Neo dodging bullets in The Matrix .
As I speed-walk down the hall toward the elevator, I wonder what Dylan must be thinking. I’m glad I don’t have a visual of the situation he found me in, trapped in a shirt like a total moron. I groan, pressing the down button repeatedly as if that will make it come faster.
“Just forget it happened,” I mutter to myself as I step into the elevator. “It can’t get any worse.” But even as I say it, I know that’s tempting fate. With Dylan and me under the same roof, it’s only a matter of time before I find new and creative ways to humiliate myself.
A ding chimes overhead, and the doors slide open. I straighten my shoulders and step out, ready to face the day. Or at least, as ready as I can be with the memory of a half-naked Dylan tangled in my underwear replaying on a loop in my mind. I hope work will provide the distraction I desperately need to chase away all the Dylan angst. Getting lost in engineering schematics and project timelines sounds a lot better than dwelling on my disastrous personal life.
After a grueling subway ride, I push through the revolving doors of my office building, the cool blast of air conditioning a welcome respite from the heat outside and the simmering embarrassment still clinging to my skin.
An even greater sense of relief settles over me as I reach my office, which has become my only private, safe space. I drop my bag by my desk and slump into my chair, the supple leather cradling my tired body. As I log into my computer, the day’s schedule fills the screen, and I’m thrilled not to have a single free minute.
“I’d say good morning, but you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”
I startle at the voice and glance over the monitor to find Clara leaning against my office doorway. She’s part of the small group of women at the firm and one of the few colleagues I consider a friend—easy to talk to, always ready with a quip or a sympathetic ear, and never afraid to tell it like it is.
I force a smile. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much this weekend.”
Clara crosses her arms, studying me. “Is it because of North Shore? You’ve got some serious balls taking on such a huge project. Everyone in the office is talking about it.”
I shake my head, even if she’s given me an out. It’d be easy to blame my current state on work. What I’d give for my problems to be something a budget revision could fix. “No, it’s not the project. That’s… manageable. It’s more of a personal matter.”
Clara’s eyes light up with interest, and she steps into my office, perching on the edge of my desk. “Want to talk about it over lunch? Sometimes, it helps to unload, especially on someone who doesn’t know your entire life story.”
I hesitate, biting my lower lip. Part of me wants to keep everything bottled up, to push it down and pretend everything’s fine. But there’s another part—the part that’s tired of carrying this weight around, of feeling my lungs are deprived of air, constantly drowning—the me desperate to let go, who wants to lay it all bare instead of holding back.
And talking to a person outside my usual circle of friends who doesn’t know Dylan or is related to him could help me gain some perspective.
“Yeah, lunch sounds great.” I blink, a surprising calmness settling in as if my thoughts cleared of static at the prospect of unloading the emotional baggage.
Clara grins, hopping off my desk. “Cool. Meet you in the lobby at one?”
I nod, mustering a smile more genuine this time. “I’ll be there.”
As Clara walks out, throwing a wave over her shoulder, I turn back to my computer screen, adding the lunch to the schedule.
* * *
Clara and I snag a table at a cozy café with mismatched furniture and the best paninis in town. I order my usual—a turkey and avocado sandwich—but when it arrives, I barely have the appetite to take a bite, the restlessness of the weekend still tangling my stomach.
Clara jumps right in. “Alright, lay it on me. Why do you look like you’ve got a week’s worth of Monday blues crammed into a single day?”
I let out a humorless laugh, fiddling with a paper napkin. “Would you think me pathetic if I told you I’m actually relieved it’s Monday? That I’d rather be at work than dealing with what’s at home?”
Clara leans forward. “Ooh, color me intrigued. Tell me everything.”
I wonder where to even begin. “I live with this guy, Dylan.” Just his name sits heavy on my tongue. “We’ve known each other for years—he’s my best friend’s brother—but we’ve only been living together for a week. And, uh… it’s been complicated.”
Clara nods, sipping her water. “Complicated how? Roommates stuff, or something more?”
My throat seizes up as if refusing to release the confession I’ve never voiced to anyone. But it’s time. I can’t go on like this. “I have feelings for him… serious feelings. But he’s seeing someone else. He started dating a new woman, Olivia, a short time before moving in. And she’s… perfect: beautiful, sweet, polite, a superb cook. Blonde .”
“Gah, very Ally McBeal. She’s your Georgia.”
“Except Dylan and I never dated.” I force myself to take a bite and swallow. “Anyway, Saturday night, she surprised him at the apartment, and I was trapped into having dinner with them. I’ve been losing sleep over it.”
Clara exhales, leaning back in her chair. “That’s rough.”
“Tell me about it.” My eye twitches simply discussing it. “I didn’t sleep this weekend because I kept imagining them together. And this morning, I got stuck in a stupid, old shirt, and he had to help me. Then he tripped over my laundry basket, and…” I trail off. “It was so embarrassing.” Clara’s eyes widen. I wave my hand, brushing it off. “One of my thongs was on his face… It was a disaster.”
Clara snorts, trying not to laugh but clearly amused. “Okay, wow. We have a lot to unpack. Is your problem that he has a girlfriend, or that she’s coming over to your place? You don’t want to live with him anymore? What is it?”
“That’s the issue.” Frustration seeps into my voice. “I don’t know. I can’t sit around and watch them together, but I also can’t tell him how I feel now that he is with someone else.”
Clara stabs a tomato from her salad and leans in. “You need to get out of the house more. Give yourself a break from all that tension. Get your mind off him. Have you thought about dating someone else?”
I blink at her, caught off guard. “Like who? If I had someone to date, I wouldn’t be obsessing over my roommate.”
“Yes, but are you actively looking for a date or just hoping Prince Charming falls in your lap?”
More waiting for Prince Charming to dump Cinderella and decide he prefers Esmeralda.
“Please don’t tell me there’s plenty of fish in the sea.”
“In the sea, maybe not.” Clara grins. “But dating apps are filled with eligible bachelors. Download one on your phone and explore the options. Even if you’re not looking for anything serious, it could be a good distraction. And who knows? You might meet someone cool.”
I frown, not sold on the idea. The thought of swiping through profiles, making awkward small talk with strangers… it’s daunting. Especially when my heart is still clinging to the hope that Dylan might wake up one day and realize he loves me back.
But as I nibble at my barely touched sandwich, I can’t dismiss the truth in Clara’s words. Sitting around the apartment, watching Dylan and Olivia play house, will chip away at my sanity. I need a diversion, something to yank me out of the endless pining and self-pity. But online dating?
I’m about to say no when Clara cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
“Come on, Hunter. You said it yourself, you need a distraction. Meeting new people could help you move on. You don’t want to keep torturing yourself over Dylan.”
The idea of dating seems… premature. The only serious boyfriends I’ve had since I met Dylan fell in my lap like Clara said. I didn’t seek the connections. There was Bret, the guy who literally swept me off my feet at a wedding when my heel broke on the dance floor. He offered his shoulder as I hobbled around for the rest of the night, using him as my personal crutch. And Troy, the Samaritan who returned my wallet after I’d left it at a laundromat. He’d tucked a note inside that read, You owe me a coffee for the return , with his number scribbled underneath. But with both, even at the start, when things were going well in the relationships, I couldn’t help measuring them up to Dylan—and they always lost. How could a random dude I meet on the internet compete?
But I can’t deny the logic in Clara’s suggestion. I need something—anything—to keep me from spiraling further into the Dylan-and-Olivia vortex.
“Alright,” I concede. “I’ll think about it.”
Clara grins, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Good. Try it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Those could be the famed last words. But for the first time since Dylan moved in, my stomach flips at the promise of something new, exciting, and freeing. Nothing left to lose.
I wipe my mouth on a napkin, leaving the second half of my sandwich untouched. “I’m stuffed.”
Clara nods. “Love woes always make me lose weight if nothing else.” She leans forward. “Have I convinced you to give online dating a shot?”
I sigh dramatically. “Okay, okay, you win. I’ll create a profile.”
Clara claps her hands together. “Yes. How about we grab drinks after work and set you up?”
The idea of putting myself out there twists my stomach with a blend of excitement, nerves, and a tiny flicker of hope that I’ll get away from under Dylan’s spell. I open my mouth to confirm the evening plans when my phone buzzes with an incoming text.
It’s from Rowena in our group chat.
Rowena
Hey, can you gals meet me after work today? I need to talk to you both
At once, my mind flies to worst-case scenarios. Did something happen in the Hamptons? Is she having second thoughts about moving in with a stranger? Is Adrian mistreating her in any way? I type back a response.
Hunter
If you’ve changed your mind, we can kick Dylan out of the third bedroom, he hasn’t set up the office yet
Her reply comes in a minute later.
Rowena
No, nothing like that. I just need to talk
I frown at the cryptic message but send back a thumbs-up emoji. Drinks with Clara will have to wait. I glance up at her apologetically. “Rain check on tonight? A friend needs me, some kind of crisis.”
Clara waves a hand. “No worries. You show up for your girls. We can have lunch again tomorrow and kick off Operation Online Dating.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and I can’t help but laugh.
“Deal.”
We settle the bill and walk back to the office, my mind still wondering what Rowena could need advice on.
The rest of the work day flies by, my new project keeping me busy. But when my phone pings with an alarm reminding me of the meet-up with Rowena, I’m out the door without hesitations.