Chapter 8
The key turns in the lock with a sharp click, louder than it should be.
My jaw is already tight, my molars grinding together as if they’re the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
The bowling alley didn’t help. The overpriced chicken wings didn’t help.
They tasted horrible. Not even Keith’s terrible jokes helped.
And now I’m walking into the one place that’s supposed to be mine—quiet, clean, empty—and the first thing that hits me isn’t peace.
It’s her. My unofficial house mate and pain in the ass.
That faint, lingering sweetness in the air.
Vanilla? Something floral layered over it.
A woman’s scent, soft and light. It drifts through the hallway, seeps into my lungs before I can hold my breath.
My stomach knots. My temple throbs. This place was supposed to clear my head, not bury it under more noise.
I shove the door closed harder than I need to and scan the living room.
Laptop abandoned on the couch. My couch. Her hoodie—oversized, faded—slung carelessly across the armrest. A half-empty glass on the coffee table, water rings staining the wood I’ve taken care of for weeks. My chest tightens at the sight, and the heat crawling up my neck only feeds my anger.
Who hell uses mugs without coasters?
I rub a hand over my face. Christ. What the hell am I doing letting some stranger camp out here? Hasn’t she contacted the landlord and sorted this out yet?
The sound of something sizzling draws my attention.
“Hey roomie,” her voice carries, warm, casual.
I freeze. My blood spikes hot, then cold. It takes every ounce of control not to turn right back around and slam the door behind me. Instead, I force my legs forward. My fists curl at my sides as I step into the kitchen doorway.
She’s standing there barefoot, red shorts hugging her hips, spatula in hand. Like she belongs here. Like she hasn’t invaded the last square inch of sanity I had left.
“Never call me that. We’re not roommates.” I said with gritted teeth.
“Right, sorry. I think I should have called you housie.” She grins.
What the hell?
“What’s your name again?” My voice comes out annoyed, but I don’t regret it.
Her head snaps up. Eyes widen slightly, then narrow with something between amusement and disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“Your. Name,” I repeat, jaw tight. My gaze betrays me for a split second—slides down those bare legs before I drag it back up. Her expression tells me she noticed.
She tilts her head, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. “Wow. Can’t even remember a girls name that’s living in your house? You deserve an award.”
The mocking lilt in her tone makes my skin prickle.
“Answer the damn question,” I growl, heat spreading through my chest.
One perfectly arched brow rises. Her grip on the spatula doesn’t falter, not even a little. Utterly unbothered. “Fine. I guess I’ll tell you again. Brie Sparks.”
Her name drops between us, too soft, too simple, not sharp enough for the annoyance clawing through me. It rolls in my head like an echo I didn’t ask for.
She leans on the counter, her smirk deepening. “And you’re Cameron Gray.”
Something cold slices through me.
“I looked you up,” she adds, almost too cheerfully. “Broody hockey god, suspended for attempted homicide on his own teammate.”
The words land like stones in my gut. My teeth clamp so tight my jaw aches. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look sorry.
“Watch it,” I warn, voice low, simmering.
Her lips curve, not into kindness but into something that looks like she enjoys poking the bear. “Just saying. Now we’re not strangers anymore.”
My hands ache from how hard they’re clenched. The air in the kitchen feels heavy, suffocating. I need to get out before I do something reckless.
And I hate that it does.
She keeps looking at me like I’m supposed to say something else, like I owe her another line of conversation. I don’t. I’ve said enough already. But she leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes bright like she can see through me.
“So,” she says, drawing out the word, “is this your thing? Glare at people until they melt? Because if it is, I should warn you that I don’t melt. I’m more of an ice cream. I’ll just get messy.”
I blink at her. Who even talks like that?
“You talk too much,” I mutter.
“And you don’t talk enough.” She shrugs like it’s a fair trade. “Balance.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t like the way she says that. Like we’re equals. Like she knows me. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Yeah,” she says lightly, “well, you’re easier to read than you think.”
She grins at me before walking back to the living room.
There’s a flicker in my chest I ignore as I followed after her.
I shouldn’t even still be standing here.
I should’ve left the second I saw her. But my eyes keep drifting over her messy bun, oversized sweatshirt, that restless bounce of her foot like she’s never learned how to be still. She’s chaos wrapped in skin.
And for some reason, she’s aimed all of that chaos at me.
She props her chin on her hand, studying me like I’m a puzzle she wants to solve. “So, what do you do here?”
“Where?” I raise a brow, unable to even believe I was holding a conversation with this woman.
“In your club. You know hockey stuff. Are you… one of the players?”
I stiffen, and it must show, because her smile tilts, sharp with curiosity.
“Ohhh,” she teases softly. “Secret confirmed.”
My throat works. “It’s not a secret and why exactly would you even think that I’m hiding anything?”
“Well for one, you look like I just caught you sneaking out past curfew?”
You’ve got to be kidding me!
She sighs when I stay silent, but it’s not annoyed—more like she’s amused by her own game. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. You’ve got the build, the moodiness… definitely not a goalie. You look like you hate people too much to be one of those.”
Against my better judgment, the corner of my mouth twitches. Barely.
Her eyes catch it instantly, and she lights up like she just scored. “Was that… a smile? Did I just make the scary guy crack?”
I scowl to bury it, stepping back toward the door.
“You imagine things and I’m not going to stay here and listen to this.”
“Nope. Saw it. Witnessed it. I should get a medal.”
I pause with my hand on the doorframe. For one wild second, I want to say something to wipe that grin off her face. But words stick in my throat. It’s easier to retreat into silence.
“See you around, angry hockey guy,” she calls after me, sing-song, like she already knows she will.
I don’t answer. I just walk away, pulse hammering harder than it should, her voice trailing me down the hall.
So I turn on my heel and head for the stairs, her presence still clinging to me. Each step feels heavier than the last.
“Brie Sparks,” I mutter under my breath, the name dripping with disdain. It leaves a trace on my lips, lingering longer than it should, like the scent of her perfume in my lungs.
I slam the door shut behind me harder than necessary.
My room is dark, the faint orange of the streetlight bleeding through the blinds, but I don’t bother switching on the lamp.
My pulse is still high, my jaw tight. Brie freaking Sparks.
I’ve known her for all of two days, and somehow she already manages to crawl under my skin like no one else.
I cannot believe I actually stood there and had a conversation with her, granted she did most of the talking, but still…
That’s a huge mess up from me and it kills me to know I entertained her.
I drag a hand down my face, muttering a curse, and flop onto the edge of the bed. My phone is still in my pocket. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull it out and hit Keith’s name. He picks up after a couple of rings.
“Yo,” he says, voice lazy, probably sprawled out somewhere with his feet kicked up, “home already?”
“I swear, Keith, if I stay here for those six days, I’ll lose my mind.”
There’s a pause, then a chuckle. “Wow. Straight into the dramatics. What happened now?”
“Brie happened,” I snap.
“Who’s Brie?”
“Are you freaking kidding me? Brie’s the girl in my house.”
“Oh, so she has a name now? How’d that happen?”
I roll my eyes. “Do you really want to know how that happened or do you want to know what she did to me?”
Another pause. Then he laughs—loud, unrestrained laughter that only fuels my irritation. “Oh God, what did she do now? Did she breathe too loud in your direction?”
“Don’t start,” I warn, pacing across the room. “She’s—she’s infuriating. Always asking questions that isn’t any of her business. I just got home, and it was—God, it was endless. ‘Why don’t you talk more? Why do you frown so much? Do you ever smile?’ Like she’s––”
Keith is still laughing. “So let me get this straight. She’s… what? Talking to you? That’s the great crime?”
“It’s not just talking. It’s like she enjoys needling me. She sits there, with that ridiculous little smile, acting like she’s got me all figured out. Like she thinks she’s clever.”
“She probably just thinks you’re grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
Keith actually snorts. “Man, you are grumpy. You walk around like a raincloud that just got divorced. No wonder she pokes at you. She’s probably trying to see if you’ll crack a smile before the world ends.”
I stop pacing, glare at the wall even though Keith can’t see me. “You think this is funny?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, still laughing. “It’s hilarious. The almighty Cameron, brought to his knees by a sunshine girl with too many questions. I never thought I’d live to see it.”
“She’s not bringing me to my knees,” I bite out. “She’s… irritating. That’s it. I need her to get out like yesterday. Especially since she can’t seem to mind her business.”
There’s a rustle on the other end, then Keith sighs, his tone shifting. “Listen, man. You sound like you’re working yourself up over nothing. She’s probably just… being friendly.”
“She’s not friendly. She’s nosy.”
“Nosy, friendly—same thing when you don’t like people,” Keith teases. “Look, maybe she doesn’t mean anything by it. Maybe she’s just one of those people who can’t stand silence. You know—fillers. The opposite of you.”
I sink back onto the bed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Silence stretches between us.
“Cam,” Keith says, voice more serious now. “Maybe… she’s not the problem. Maybe you’re just so used to keeping everyone out that the second someone tries to get in, you act like they’ve committed treason.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t start psychoanalyzing me. One Brie is enough.”
“Fine, fine. But honestly? It looks like your focus has shifted off the bullshit with Jack, you know, and maybe her being there to distract you for a moment isn’t so bad.”
I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes. “You’re unbearable.”
“And you’re starting to obsess, man,” Keith shoots back, grinning in his voice. “I was just with you, and you called me just to rant about her. Don’t tell me that’s normal. Next thing I know, you’ll be memorizing every single word she says and reciting it back to me.”
I sit up abruptly, scowling. “Not happening.”
“Sure, sure, man. But hey, I don’t know what you believe in, but maybe this is happening for a reason.”
I sigh, tired of his woo-woo bullshit. “My landlord fucked up, that’s what happened.”
He changes the subject, and I’m relieved to get my mind off of what’s in my living room. I just want one moment for my life to feel fucking normal again, but that doesn’t seem possible.