The Dead Husbands Society (What Comes Next #2)

Prologue

“Seriously?”

I stare in disbelief at the ratty pink sock dangling from the doorknob.

Again? This is the third time this week.

My pillow sits slumped against the doorframe, purple butterfly pillowcase on display for the entire dorm hallway to admire in all its childish glory.

Technically, the sock means I’m supposed to disappear, but would it kill her to give me ten minutes' notice? Or at least use a clean sock that doesn’t look like it was dragged through a dryer fire?

Or better yet, to keep your “visitors” on a schedule and your laundry in a hamper?

I clutch my color-coded planner tighter. Breathe, Birdie. Breathe.

Would it be frowned upon to knock and ask for my toothbrush? I debate it for a second, running my tongue over my teeth. While I apparently don’t have the right to sleep in my own bed tonight, surely I deserve to brush my teeth like a civilized human being.

I lift my hand to knock, then freeze at the muffled noises from inside.

Nope.

Not worth it. I sigh, scoop up my pillow, and start the long trudge across campus.

I don’t even have to knock before his door swings open.

“Sexiled again?” He’s leaning against the doorframe like he’s been waiting for me.

“Yep.” I hug my pillow tighter.

“You can have the bed.”

“I can’t keep kicking you out of your bed just because I keep getting kicked out of mine,” I protest, but I’m already stepping inside.

His room is warm and the posters he has hanging on the wall feel more familiar to me than my own room at this point.

He’d even hung up a rendition of “Judith Slaying Holofernes” by Artemisia Gentileschi because he knows it’s one of my favorites.

“I don’t mind.” He flashes that grin, dimples and all, and my breath catches before I can stop it.

“This is going to pose a problem when your roommate finally shows up.” I try to sound casual as I drop my pillow on his bed, admiring the visceral, raw, and utterly unapologetic Gentileschi rendition hanging above me—Like vengeance in brushstrokes, like how I wish I had the courage to live.

He shrugs and flops into the desk chair. “I don’t know if he’s ever showing up at this point.”

“Mono, right?”

“Yeah. I’m just hoping they don’t send him back too soon.”

I laugh, and for a moment we’re both quiet, just looking at each other.

The air shifts, humming with the same what-if that’s been hovering for weeks now.

It would be so easy to cross the room and sit in his lap.

I wonder what his chest would feel like pressed against my cheek.

How his lips would taste… Nope, not going there.

He’s the perfect friend, and friends can think about other friend’s mouths without acting on it.

I shake the thoughts out of my head, kick off my shoes, and collapse backward onto his bed, arms flung wide, pillow tucked under my neck.

His pillow smells like him—soap and maybe that intoxicating body spray that reminds me of the ocean, cedar trees, rain.

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to regret always rescuing me.” I stare up at the ceiling.

“Doubt it.” He swivels lazily in his chair, biceps flexing as he pushes off the desk with his bare foot. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt that clings to his shoulders in a way I try not to think about too hard.

“I’m serious. Someday, you’re going to have an actual life, and I’ll barge in whining about my roommate and ruin everything.”

He snorts. “Pretty sure you whining about your roommate is my actual life, and I kind of like it when you show up in my room without notice.”

I lift my head to squint at him. “Well, I kind of like your bed.” I cringe, suddenly realizing the many ways that could be interpreted.

“Oh, do you? It’s the 200 thread count sheets. They seal the deal every time.” He stops spinning, leans forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes are warm and focused, like I’m the only person in the world worth watching.

“Don’t get cocky,” I mumble, rolling to my side to hide the flush creeping up my neck.

“Too late.” He pushes up from the chair and crosses the room in two easy strides, making his way to the bed, and my pulse jumps into my throat.

“You’re taking up the whole bed, you know.”

“I gave you first dibs,” I shoot back, but my voice goes soft because he’s close enough now that I can see the tiny scar near his jawline.

He leans down, bracing one hand beside my head. “Scoot over then.”

I shift left just as he moves in the same direction. It happens fast, a clumsy, off-beat choreography. Our faces turn the same way at the same time, and his mouth brushes mine. Not fully a kiss, but not not a kiss either. It’s warm, unexpected, soft in the way surprise can be soft.

We freeze.

I feel his slow exhale against my cheek. His face is still close, too close now to pretend it didn’t just happen.

“Um.” His voice is rougher than usual, the syllable pulled tight like a bowstring. “Sorry.”

Neither of us moves.

His eyes flick down to my lips, just for a second, and that second stretches. Something hot and unfamiliar pulses between us.

Outside, someone slams a door, and I flinch just enough to break the moment. He pulls back first, clearing his throat like he’s trying to swallow a thousand words.

“So…” My voice is too bright. “Scooting.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, shifting to the other end of the bed like it’s suddenly on fire.

I force a laugh that doesn’t sound right before burying my face in his pillow, desperate to erase any awkwardness over the fact that whatever just happened definitely wasn't in the friend-zone rulebook.

“Ugh. I left my toothbrush in my stupid room with my stupid horny roommate. My mouth feels like a swamp.”

When I peek up at him, he’s grinning again, like he’s been waiting for this exact complaint. He reaches over to his desk drawer, rummages for a second, and then holds something out.

A brand new toothbrush, still in the plastic.

“Here.” He stretches it out to me, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “I, uh… picked it up for you. Since this keeps happening.”

My heart trips over itself at his sweet gesture. It’s just a toothbrush, Birdie, I remind myself all while I feel a goofy grin stretching across my face. “You bought me a toothbrush?”

He shrugs, trying to look casual and failing miserably. “Figured I’d save us both the drama. Plus, you’re less grumpy with clean teeth.”

I snatch it from his hand, still trying to fight back that silly giddy smile. “You’re my hero, you know that?”

He rolls his eyes but can’t hide the pleased look that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Go brush your swamp mouth before I regret this entire arrangement.”

I sit up on my knees, still clutching the toothbrush, and lean in just close enough that, for one reckless second, I think about kissing him intentionally—friendship be damned.

But instead, I bump his shoulder with mine, grin, and hop off the bed.

“Don’t fall asleep without me,” I tease as I slip out the door toward the dorm bathrooms.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he calls after me, and when I glance back, he’s watching me like he’s memorizing all the parts I keep pretending he can’t see.