Nolan
Hadley remains in her car for a moment, attention turned to her lap.
I glance at my phone, unable to stop my smirk as I read Katie’s texts.
Katie: Don’t flirt with Hadley.
I roll my neck, feeling the tension and muscles still sore from yesterday’s full-contact practice.
Me: What if she flirts with me?
Katie: I’m serious, Nolan. She’s not a cleat chaser.
Me: You think only cleat chasers want me?
Katie: I swear. If you cross this line, you’re moving back into your dorm.
Me: I won’t cross any lines she doesn’t want me to.
Katie: I swear, Nolan, don’t even think about it.
This morning, Hadley didn’t give off any vibes that alluded to being interested in me. Instead, she was distracted and hurried, focused on getting to class and little more.
She gets out of her car and walks around the back of my truck, her dark hair catching in the sun. My grandmother would call her classically beautiful, and others would refer to her as the girl next door with wide eyes, a narrow nose, and full lips. Everything about her is subtle and demure that likely has people overlooking her because she doesn’t dress or smile or wear makeup to draw attention to any part of her—everything that is, but her eyes which are an electric shade of blue, impossible to ignore.
Hadley stops at the base of the stairs, keys and phone tucked into her fist as she looks from me and then the door.
I’m still unsure which roommate is the computer nerd, the band geek, or the bookworm, but as I meet Hadley’s inquiring gaze, the one thing I am sure of is she has no interest in a chase. Unlike Katie, who has mastered the look of superiority and rage, Hadley looks indifferent, guarded, and uncomfortable by being here. Maybe Katie sent her a matching warning.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, climbing to my feet.
She gives a tight-lipped smile, one out of obligation rather than intrigue. “It worked out. I need to grab a textbook, anyway.” She climbs the stairs, hugging the rail opposite of me, and doesn’t look back before she unlocks the door.
The air conditioner hums as we step inside, followed by a fly that Hadley bats away, before following it with her eyes as it flies farther into the house.
The silence is uncomfortable, a stale and foreign feeling I haven’t experienced in so long I can’t recall the last time.
Hadley turns her gaze to me, a matching level of discomfort reflecting in her gaze.
I recall my intention to stay here and how that relies entirely on Katie and her roommate’s approval as I search for something to say that might win Hadley’s consent. We don’t need to be friends or even play at being friends, just her approval. I barely have time for my teammates, much less a stranger.
I clear my throat. “I hear you’re into computers.”
She furrows her brow, drawing my attention to her eyebrows which aren’t thick or thin, neat but not a trend or beauty statement—another subtle note about her. “Into computers?”
“Programming?” It’s a question as I race to recall the details Katie had shared about them last year when our parents visited for parent weekend, and we spent an entire dinner with Katie assuring and reassuring them her roommates weren’t serial killers.
“That’s Hannah,” she says.
“Band?” I ask.
Hadley’s expression sours, but it’s so slight the details quickly morph into an unassuming and bland smile. “No. I’m the crazy one with ten cats and a knife collection.” She doesn’t even blink.
“Ten’s a good number, more than that and you risk drawing attention to yourself.”
The corners of her lips slowly rise, as though she’s fighting a smile.
“Exactly. Eleven straddles the line between appearing desperate and wanting people to ask about them.”