Imagine having an entire house.
And an actual kitchen where I could cook and buy healthy food and store it in an actual fridge.
This dorm fridge holds nothing. Nothing but water bottles and small, compact things, when what I really want to grocery shop for is celery and carrots and giant, crisp apples.
I sigh, rolling over on the mattress, staring into my closet—the one that’s only three feet away. Glaring at the pile of shoes, at the four feet of hanging space, at the bath towels folded on the top shelf.
It’s like living in a matchbox.
I’m not complaining, it’s just…I feel too old for this, having lived in the dorms when I was a freshman. I’m twenty-one; I’m not supposed to be going backward. I’m supposed to be moving forward.
But…
Moving in with a guy I hardly know is not the solution.
It would be impulsive and…
And.
And.
I rack my brain, building a case and an argument with myself.
Don’t be sexist, Georgia—just because he’s a guy doesn’t mean you can’t move in with him. Men and women can be platonic roommates. Millions of people do it every day.
Is that the only thing holding you back? His gender?
Fact: if Priya or Nalla needed a roommate, you would jump at the chance to move out of this place! Hell, your shit would be packed and you’d be out the door before they even got the invitation out.
So why are you hesitating?
Because deep down inside you’re a huge chickenshit.
I lie here a little longer, texting one of my teammates, Trichelle, who wasn’t there the night of the party when I met Ashley and needs to know what size t-shirt I want for an order she’s putting together with one of the managers.
I regret going out that night.
Things could have been different…if I hadn’t been hazed and they hadn’t treated me like a rookie. If they hadn’t been disrespectful and…honestly, vile—maybe I could have stuck out the year having a little bit of fun with a few of them.
Now I want nothing to do with them.
I go to practice, go to the meets, come home.
Train, compete, repeat.
I stopped socializing with them after that first Friday night. I have nothing to say to them, including the girls who just stood by idly watching. But the truth is, more than anything, I’m still angry with myself.
I should have walked away, but I didn’t.
Should have told them to piss off, but I didn’t.
Should never have gone into that house in the first place.
What kind of role model am I?
If I had a younger sibling, I would be ashamed if they knew how I behaved.
So ashamed.
I’m usually not so mopey.
This isn’t like me at all, and I wonder if I’m depressed about the decision to come here, to transfer—not that there’s anything to be done about it now.
My bed has been made, and I have to lie in it.
I lie here longer, restless, having a million things to get done but no motivation to do them now that it’s been decided I’ll be going to Ashley’s for this so-called tour.
Tour.
Ha!
He could have shown me around the other night, but he didn’t. Then again, he didn’t want me to live with him then, did he?
Must have been the magical way I threw together that macaroni and cheese.
Sexy, I know.
Changing out of the athletic clothes I had on earlier, I swap out my leggings for actual jeans and a hoodie (with a T-back tank top and sports bra underneath) for a somewhat more presentable sweatshirt.
Pink.
Not as loose as the one I had on, less baggy. Pink sneakers and who am I trying to impress wearing cute clothes, a date? Lord.
It’s nearly six o’clock and since I have to walk, I slide a messenger bag over my head, adjusting it across my chest, and pop my keycard and phone inside. Grab a white ball cap on my way out the door, pulling it down over my long, straight hair. I know I look cute, and I know guys like a girl in a baseball cap, but that’s not my motive, I swear.
Er.
Yeah.
It takes me a good ten minutes to shuffle my way to Ashley’s, trying to clear my mind along the way but finding it impossible.
When he pulls his front door open, I know the reason why.
Wow.
He is so cute.
Which…could be a problem. How am I supposed to live with a guy I’m secretly lusting after all of a sudden?
Shit.
“Hey.” I give him a feeble little wave, the end of my sleeve flopping.
Ashley pulls the door open wide so I can step inside. “Sorry the butler is not here to do a better job greeting you.”
“Very funny. You probably do have a butler where you come from.”
The silence is awkward, speaking for itself.
“Do not tell me you have a butler where you come from.”
He nods. “Okay, I won’t.”