Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’m a grown-up; I can handle a salty roommate. Besides, it’s not as if Kaylee hasn’t been difficult before.
Dozens of times, actually.
“But do you want to be alone tonight?”
He knows I’ve had a rough go of it lately, and he’s being kind.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t technically be alone if I went home. My roommate is there. It’s just…she’s in a funk, which makes the mood at the house…” I search for the words. “Off.”
Off.
That’s putting it mildly. When Kaylee is in a funk or a snit, she tends to make everyone else miserable. I could tell earlier when she came into my room she was itching to start an argument—about what, I do not know.
“She makes the mood off? What does that mean?”
“It’s girl speak for ‘The whole house feels weird and I have to tiptoe around because any little thing can set her off.’” She’s probably getting her period, though I wouldn’t dare say that to her face.
She’d metaphorically scratch my eyes out.
“Why don’t you hang out here?”
“I can’t just hang out here.” Pause. “You don’t think that would be weird?”
Roman’s wide shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “I’m sure Eliza and Jack wouldn’t mind if you stayed here a while until you wanted to go home.”
No, Eliza wouldn’t mind—she’s as kind and giving as a person could be—but would it be weird if I just hung out with no one here?
The idea has merit: lie low until Kaylee’s mood swings back into a congenial direction. I have no studying to do—well, there is always studying to do, but I have nothing with me—and there is a new show streaming I wouldn’t mind bingeing.
Kaylee and I had to get rid of a few monthly subscriptions after she kicked Eliza out; we’re on a tighter budget until we can find a new roommate, so I haven’t caught up on my favorites on an actual television.
“Know what? I think I’ll take you up on that offer and stay.”
Roman locates a set of car keys on the counter near the side door. “This door has a keypad so it’ll lock automatically when you leave, if you leave while we’re gone. I…um…” He glances down at his feet. “I’ll be gone about two hours. I’m just doing dinner. Feel free to do whatever, and my room is upstairs if you’d rather watch the TV in there.”
“I won’t read your diary.” Ha! “I pinky promise.”
I hold out my hand so he can wrap his smallest finger around mine, but instead, he just stares down at my hand.
“Thanks a lot for doing this.” Roman puts his hand on the base of the award still sitting in the center of the counter, thumb now brushing against the smooth glass. A lot of it was salvageable except the top part, so it’s still distinguishingly an accolade…even though his name was part of the broken section.
“Gosh, I was so happy to. I feel terrible.”
His head gives a slow shake. “It wasn’t your fault I dropped the box.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel sorry for you. The award was a really big deal, and you should have something to show for it.”
Roman taps his head the same way he tapped it the day the box fell on the ground. “Still got those memories though.”
He’s brought that up twice, which means he’s a bit sentimental. I think that’s very sweet and cute.
I don’t mention to him that as a cheerleader and someone who has competed in pageants almost her entire life, physical trophies are more important than memories—at least in my mother’s opinion. She loved nothing more than to set another gold trophy on the shelf in my bedroom; it’s almost as if she were the one winning.
Roman fumbles with his keys. “I should get going so I can get back at a decent hour—I still have some reading to do.”
It doesn’t surprise me that he will come home and study tonight, most likely into the wee hours of the morning. Unlike myself. I, on the other hand, plan to sit my lazy ass on the couch and binge whatever shows I can find that I’ve been missing.
Eventually, he goes.
I watch out the window as Roman climbs into his burgundy Jeep, turns the headlights on, buckles himself into the driver seat, and slowly pulls away from the curb. I watch until he’s no longer in sight, his taillights glowing in the dark and the evening sky covering his departure.
Well. Now I’m definitely all alone, and somehow this alone feels even lonelier than it would if I were home. I’m not familiar with this house and I’m not familiar with two of the people who live here—the only person I know, obviously, is Eliza…and I’m not sure we’re good enough friends for me to be loitering alone in her personal space.