5. Hadley
Hadley
I awaken with a start, my heart, beating too fast. It’s still dark outside, not even five.
It’s been ten days since Nolan moved in, ten days that I’ve been using my cell phone alarm in place of my alarm clock, fearing another electrical incident that has me paranoid I’ll oversleep and be late for class.
Katie was right about us barely seeing Nolan. He’s gone before I wake up and home after I go to bed most nights.
His absence should make him the world’s easiest roommate, but instead, he’s become the world’s biggest distraction.
I’ve made five lasagnas in the past ten days in an attempt to keep myself from debating if Hannah likes Nolan or if he’s like the jocks portrayed in every movie: dense and shallow with a hint of misogyny thrown in to keep him predictable.
I’m still kind of hoping that’s exactly who he is though I refuse to consider why.
It’s early enough I could sleep for two more hours but I’m wide awake, my thoughts plaited with Nolan, school, and if Hannah has feelings for Nolan.
In the bathroom, I turn the shower to hot and strip out of my pajamas as my thoughts unravel at the realization that it’s Monday and I have to attend my public speaking class again.
I spent what was left of my weekend—that wasn’t devoted to lasagna making—reading the required chapters for the class that discussed the significance and history of public speaking.
It was surprisingly interesting, fascinating even, and for mere seconds I channeled the energy that had been transcribed across the pages and imagined myself delivering a speech that would inspire investors in a board meeting—but that idea died a quick death when I imagined wheeling office chairs, extension cords, and all the stats I’d likely forget.
I’m debating my future role with my family’s company as I step into the shower and silently scream as icy water sluices over my back and shoulders, touching every part of me all at once.
I scramble to the far end of the shower, splaying myself against the wall so the water can’t reach me as I check to ensure I turned the lever to hot.
Goose bumps prickle my skin as I reach forward, and push the lever as far left as it will go, but the water only turns tepid, not even warm.
Begrudgingly, I slink into the water, taking the world’s fastest shower.
Goose bumps still pebble my skin and I’m shivering so hard my teeth clang as I towel myself dry. Once dressed, I blow dry my hair to help warm up.
I still feel chilled and am wearing a chip on my shoulder big enough for our landlord to trip over as I head downstairs, prepared to beg, plead, or threaten someone to come out so I don’t have to endure another polar plunge when I run face first into a wall of thinly veiled muscle.
Someone grips my biceps to steady me as I gasp, fear replacing my anger as I wrestle myself free and jump back, calling on every fight-or-flight instinct I have.
“It’s just me.” Nolan’s voice takes an extra second to register, and still, I reach forward to flip on the light to ensure it's him.
“God. You just scared a year off of my life,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you turn on any lights? I thought you were an intruder. I almost hit you.”
He smirks, but his eyes are laughing outright. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
I shake my head and take another step back to gain space. Everything about Nolan feels like a dare wrapped in a warning. “Next time, just turn on the lights. You won’t wake anyone. Hannah sleeps like the dead and Katie practically lives at Carsen’s.”
He angles his head, the same note of humor flashing in his eyes. “What about you?”
“It won’t bother me.”
Nolan doesn’t reply, his smirk a permanent fixture.
He’s wearing a backward baseball hat this morning that hides his perfect hair.
The loss makes his eyes stand out even more.
They’re greener this morning due to the dark green tee he’s wearing.
His long lashes are the same dark blond shade as his hair, but it’s his jaw and flawless mouth that demand my full attention.
“You’re up early,” he says, and it takes me several seconds to hear the words because I’m too busy studying his mouth.
I clear my throat and blink several times before forcing myself to look away from him. “I was just coming downstairs to contact the rental company. Our water heater is broken.”
Nolan winces. “Actually, it’s not. Katie said you guys wouldn’t be awake until after six, so I took a long shower.”
“You used all the hot water?” I accuse. “How long were you in there?”
He smiles like the cat that caught the canary, making heat creep into my cheeks because with just a look he’s hinted at possibly defiling our shower and I have no idea how to respond or if I think this is gross.
He’s a stranger.
A stranger who might have gotten himself off in my shower.
It should be gross. It should be disgusting.
“What’s that look?” he asks one side of his mouth curling with a smile.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
His gaze is intense and purposeful as he grins. I’m confident he knows exactly what I suspect. “If you tell me your schedule, I’ll be sure to leave hot water, next time.”
I shake my head. “I’m not usually up this early.” And I won’t ever be using the downstairs shower again. The silent thought propagates more, and suddenly I’m imagining Nolan naked in the shower, stroking himself, that flawless mouth eased open from pleasure.
“Are you studying to be a chef?” Nolan asks, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts.
“Sorry?”
“Food something?”
I furrow my brow with confusion.
“The lasagnas,” he says, pointing toward the kitchen.
“Oh. No.” I shake my head. “That’s just…” My stress release and how I avoid my thoughts and feelings when I don’t want to address them. “A hobby.”
“Your hobby’s making enough lasagna to feed all of Oleander Springs?”
I press my lips together, realizing five lasagnas might have been overdoing it. “I couldn’t get the sauce right. It was too sweet, and then too bitter.”
“So that’s why they’re numbered.”
I nod.
“Did you figure it out?”
“Not yet. The acidity is still off.”
He takes a step back, widening the gap between us that has me regretting the briefness of our visit before the reminder of relief tries to slink into my thoughts.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, taking that same step he just lost, gaining a couple of inches. “Your sister mentioned you pulled a prank… That gift you sent…”
“Oh, yeah.” I’m amazed that’s what he remembers from that conversation, considering the only detail I recall is Lanie comparing Nolan to Chris Hemsworth. “My brother-in-law and I have kind of been in a prank war for the past five-ish years.”
Nolan’s eyes round and grow bright as his lips tip upward, causing the slight lines around his mouth to become more prominent.
God, his jaw and mouth should be criminal.
“A prank war?” he asks, taking another step. “What kind of pranks?” Intrigue flashes in his eyes, and I hate how predictably I respond. My heart races and my smile immediately works to match his.
“Nothing too crazy. Mentos in a soda lid, caramel onions … that kind of thing.”
“What did you send him?”
“Just a joke.”
“About?”
I shake my head, unable to answer this question without potentially sounding creepy or weird.
He motions between us with his finger, and once again I’m admiring another part of him that I rarely consider in another person. He has great hands. Long, wide, tanned fingers, thick knuckles, and prominent veins. “We could make this interesting.”
My thoughts are going in every direction except for the one he’s trekking down. I’m sure of it. “Sorry?”
“Just for fun. Something to break up the monotony of this place.”
I think I draw back. Maybe I flinch. His words have me thinking about stereotyped jocks again, about him assuming we’re dull because we work hard in school and don’t party every night, as he likely does. “I’m sorry we bore you.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a dig. It’s not personal, I just mean, this . School. Practice. School. Practice. School. Practice. It could be fun to add a little diversity. A challenge.”
“By pranking each other?”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you just stepped in a pile of dog shit infested with larvae and are trying to describe it.”
I cringe. I’m pretty sure my cringe cringes. “Oh, that’s graphic.”
“Come on. I’m not coming on to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I just … Hudson’s the captain of our team this year, and he gets a little bent out of shape when we pull pranks on the freshmen, and this would be tame. Mild. No injuries, no stolen cars.”
“Stolen cars? You heard me say caramel onions, right?”
“Come on, don’t you ever just need a release? An escape from doing the same damn thing day in and day out.”
It terrifies me how much I understand what he’s describing. Still, semantics play through my thoughts like a memorized line that ends with Hannah. “We don’t know each other. This could be misconstrued.”
“Do we need to know each other? I’m not asking you to hang out. It would just be for fun.”
He doesn’t even try to sugarcoat the lack of personalization he’s seeking. “What if someone offends the other person?”
“Are you easily offended?”
“I don’t know, are you planning to steal my car?”
His smile turns charming and charismatic—the same one I saw in the internet searches when I’d looked him up that first day. “That really hung you up, didn’t it?”
That itch for impulsivity thrums in my veins, stealing logic as I shake my head. “Should there be rules? Parameters?”
He lowers his chin, his gaze growing serious, while his smile lies to me. “I fucking hate parameters.”
“I’m kind of a fan.”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s an I’m not sure.”