CHAPTER 16
Quinn
Oh God. What have I done? Moving in with a guy I barely know?
The old me would’ve laughed it off, let Sophie hype me up, and called it another one of our stupid adventures.
But this? This was me, choosing it. No Sophie to blame, no excuse to hide behind.
And that’s the part that makes my stomach twist—the fact that I actually wanted this, and now I have to own it.
I spent the morning scrubbing corners I haven’t touched in months, not because I suddenly cared about dust bunnies, but because I needed something to do with my hands.
Nerves had me polishing the toaster and reorganising the Tupperware drawer like it was life-or-death.
And the whole time, my brain kept circling the same questions: What if I hate this?
What if he’s messy? What if he never shuts up?
What if he takes up so much space I can’t breathe?
Honestly, I didn’t even expect him to say yes when I asked yesterday. I’d been joking, half testing him, maybe, ready for a laugh and a polite no. But he agreed without hesitation. And now here I am, standing in my house, bracing for the reality that he’s about to move in.
Rarely do the spicy forced-proximity rom-coms I’ve read ever mention the awkwardness of living with a near-stranger, especially one with pretty green eyes and a jawline that makes me forget how words work.
I mean, sure, true crime shows talk about living with strangers… but not in the way I need right now.
What if I have to give up watching Gilmore Girls on repeat? Josh used to roll his eyes at the theme song, calling it boring, even while he spent hours glued to his PlayStation, controller in hand, ignoring me.
Despite the unknowns, a tiny part of me is almost looking forward to seeing him every day. In the short time I’ve known him, he’s brought a surprising steadiness, a thread of comfort I hadn’t realised I’d been lacking, and maybe that’s why I asked him to stay in the first place.
But now I have to figure out how to navigate all of this, because he’s not just a regular roommate. He’s this gorgeous guy I got way too intimate with during that stupid game of truth or dare. Every time I look at him, I can’t help but remember his hands tracing circles on my thighs.
God. How am I supposed to keep this from getting weird?
This thought is what leaves me half stretched across the couch, one leg dangling off the side, head tilted back so far it’s practically hanging off the edge.
My fingers drum restlessly on my stomach, eyes fixed on the bookshelf next to the TV like it might hold the answers or at least a sign I haven’t completely lost my mind.
It’s far from the most comfortable surface to doomscroll on, but it’s the only semi-decent one I feel okay lying down on.
I’ve convinced myself it’s too narrow, too awkward, too lumpy for Josh to have been with Brittany on, so this is where I’ve been sleeping ever since I confirmed what had been going on between them.
Somehow, this ugly little hand-me-down couch feels safer than the entire fucking bedroom.
I sit up slowly, waiting for the blood to stop rushing in my ears. I tap the phone against my knee, brainstorming ideas on what to do about my new roommate.
I turn to the second-best thing: the internet. I unlock my phone and type What to say to a hot new roommate you’ve almost hooked up with but can’t again because you’re still traumatised from your ex?
A dozen Reddit threads and some depressingly relatable TikToks later, I’m on a deeper spiral. One girl started crying halfway through her own story and I nearly joined her. No one has a good answer. Obviously.
So I hit the emergency button: FaceTime Sophie. She pops up on the first ring, hair twisted into a bun, eyebrows arched like she already knows I’m about to unload something big.
“Hey, babe. What’s up?” she says, voice bouncing off the sleek surfaces of her kitchen. The camera jolts when she sets me on the counter, and I catch a glimpse of her smoothie supplies scattered across the bench.
“It’s about Cole. I don’t know what I’m doing, Soph.”
Her brows shoot up. “Oh my God. Did you two already hook up?”
“No!” I push a hand through my hair, pacing. “But I did ask him to move in yesterday. For the renovation. And he said yes. So, um, yeah. He’s moving in today.” The words tumble too fast, my breath hitching. “What the hell am I doing?”
She stills, lips parting, then sighs. “You’re spiralling again, Q. You… did what?”
I actively ignore the devious smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Please help me.”
“Hold up, smoothie first. I need to digest this new development.” She props the phone against a bag of oats, humming under her breath as strawberries hit the cutting board with soft thuds. “Deep breath. In through your nose, out slow. We’ll figure this out together.”
I follow the script like my therapist taught me, lungs filling, shoulders lifting, but it doesn’t touch the jitter in my chest.
“This is just a confidence thing. We can fix that,” she says more gently, pouring milk into the blender.
I groan and grab the pile of laundry I’d dumped on the couch, phone balanced in front of me. Might as well fold while I freak out. “We need to fix it. He’s gonna be here any minute. And this is all your fault.”
“Look, someone had to do something.”
I shake out an old band tee and fold it roughly. “How did you even get his number?”
“Didn’t. Found him on Insta. Slid into his DMs like a divorced, middle-aged dad. Told him you had ‘something that needs fixing.’”
“Sophie!”
“No sleazy emojis, promise.” She dips a spoon into the blender, tastes, then grins. “I just said you needed a builder and asked if he knew anyone.”
“And?”
“He said he’d love to help. That he’d be over ASAP.”
The T-shirt slips through my fingers and lands in a crumpled heap at my feet. My hands hang uselessly in the air for a second before I bend and pick it back up. “So he could’ve sent someone else?”
“Yep. But he didn’t. He wanted to be the one to help you.”
Heat creeps up my neck, my chest giving a stupid little squeeze as I press the cotton flat against my knee. “Guess that’s… sweet.”
“Sweet? Q, please. That man basically jumped at the chance.” Sophie leans closer to the camera, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
I roll my eyes. “You’re dramatic.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” She grabs a glass from her cabinet overhead. “The guy had a dozen outs, and he picked the option where he gets to see you every day.”
My throat works around a lump. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” She points at me. “You’re the one who’s been panicking since you asked. He said yes without blinking. That’s not nothing.”
I groan. “Stop psychoanalysing me.”
“Never. That’s my job as your best friend.”
I abandon the laundry, scoop up my phone, and head into the spare room. Cole’s room now. The sheets are stiff when I peel them back, stale air puffing into my face as I proceed to strip the bed.
“Do you think they… you know, in there?” Sophie asks.
“Knowing Josh? No room was sacred.” Dust claws at the back of my throat as I snap the sheet hard, and a scrap of black lace tumbles free, hitting the stained carpet.
For fuck’s sake.
“Scratch that. They definitely did.”
My stomach caves. I angle the camera down, pulse banging against my ribs. The thong lies there in a pathetic heap, flimsy and intimate, humiliatingly final. Physical proof I never wanted but had to see.
Her expression hardens. “Little bastard.”
My eyes sting, but I straighten my shoulders. No time for a breakdown. I mentally circle Thursday.
For now, I drag in a shaky breath and force myself to keep moving, stripping Cole’s bed and tugging the stiff sheets free with jerky, uneven pulls.
“But seriously, Soph. What do I do? How do I act?” My voice cracks and I swallow a few times. I yank at the sheet, the corner snapping free and whipping against my wrist.
“Okay, hear me out.”
I narrow my eyes at the screen. “Oh God.”
“Listen, babe, you haven’t even been on a date in six years,” she says, arching a brow. “So maybe try one before you fall straight into bed with Cole.”
I huff out a laugh. “Terrible idea.” The sheet slips from my hands and bunches at my feet.
“Cole’s into you. But while you figure it out, go on a date or two. Build your confidence. Maybe make him a little jealous. Win-win.” She sips her smoothie, pink froth dotting her upper lip before she licks it away.
“Jealousy? You remember Josh, right?” My jaw clenches, fingers worrying the skin around my thumbnail.
“Cole is not Josh. Don’t let him sabotage this.” She tips her glass toward the camera, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Otherwise what was the point of leaving?”
She’s right. What was the point of leaving if I’m just going to let him ruin every scrap of progress I’ve clawed back for myself?
My voice slips quieter. “Sophie, we’ve known each other for a combined, like, twelve hours.”
“Still counts. And if you at least try to go on one date with someone else, it’ll prove you’re serious about staying friends.” She shrugs, but her eyes don’t leave the screen.
I snort. “This logic is insane.”
“I know. But it’ll work. I’ve been on enough bad dates to help you pick a decent one.” She leans back, smug, like she’s already swiping for me.
“Fine. One date. If it sucks, I’m done.”
“Yesss,” she squeals, grabbing her phone off the oats and winking into the camera. “And in the meantime?”
“And in the meantime…?” I echo, one eyebrow raised, though my pulse still won’t settle.
“Talk to Cole like he’s me. Just promise me one thing.”
I roll my eyes, tossing the fresh white sheets onto the mattress and propping a fist on my hip. “What.”
“Don’t fall for the first guy with a fitted sheet.”
A laugh slips out, rough but real. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
We hang up and I finish making the bed, happy to lean on the distraction.
I throw a rug over the wine stain in Cole’s new room, fluff the plain white pillows, then shove the cleaning bucket into the closet.
Stepping back, I take in my half-hearted attempt at erasing Josh from the space.
The rug still smells faintly of red wine, the pillows sit lopsided, and dust clings to the baseboards, but it’s the best I’ve got.
My teeth catch on my bottom lip as I open the blinds to let some light in, hoping it’s enough.
Enough to distract Cole from the mess I haven’t figured out how to clean up yet.