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)
No doubt Alex would stay out of her yarn room.
Ha ha.
“Yeah, I’m sure I don’t want to bring my roommates home for dinner.” Not just yet. I want to get to know them a little bit first.
“Alright, if you’re sure.” I hear her thinking through the telephone line. “I can always make enough so there are leftovers you can take home—home.” She laughs. “I can’t even believe I’m saying that. You have a new home! It makes me want to cry. My little baby is growing up.”
Ignore the comment about me being her little baby.
“Leftovers would be nice—I have a feeling Jack would eat anything I put in the fridge. He is one of those guy’s guys. Totally looks like a garbage disposal.”
“Okay, that’s the plan then,” Mom says, clapping her hands the way she always does when she’s settled on an idea. “I’ll go grocery shopping—in the meantime, if you change your mind about inviting them, let me know.”
“I will.”
But I won’t change my mind, and I don’t change my mind because it just feels weird to invite two strangers to my house, two strangers I’m living with.
After I end the call with Mom, I finish taking everything out of the boxes and have almost everything put in place. The last thing I remove, I remove from my pocket—the friendship bracelet Lilly gave me those three years back when we were both freshmen. Clueless and a little bit scared.
I’ve held on to it, obviously, and stuck it in my pocket before leaving my mother and father’s house for this one.
It goes on the dresser beneath the window overlooking the backyard, probably never to be worn on my wrist again, at least not if Lilly is going to be hanging around this house.
What are the freaking odds that she would be my new roommate’s best friend and old roommate?
What.
Are.
The.
Odds.
I didn’t even know how to react when I walked into the kitchen and saw her sitting on the seat at the counter, nibbling on pizza and vegetables as if she belonged there. She definitely looked like she feels more comfortable here than I do, but I imagine that will change over time.
Since I can’t stay holed up in this bedroom forever, I tidy everything up one last time before making my way downstairs. I’m kind of hoping there is still food in the kitchen because I’m starving and didn’t actually eat before because Lilly was here and she makes me nervous as hell.
She made me nervous the night we met, and apparently not much has changed. I like to think I’m not the same bumbling, nervous idiot I was as a first-year college student, but I’m still the same bumbling, nervous idiot. I’m twenty-one years old, for goodness’ sake—you would think I would be able to talk to a girl without fumbling. Or dropping a box that wasn’t even heavy to begin with.
The only thing inside that box was my award, and it only weighs a few pounds. It was wrapped in bubble wrap, apparently not very well since it broke.
How embarrassing.
Lilly took the trophy with her, and I can’t imagine what she’s going to do with the damn thing, broken into a million pieces.
Guess time will tell.
I make my way downstairs, listening for the sound of my roommates, and hear the television on in the living room. It sounds like they’re watching an action film, and soon enough I discover that the fireplace is going and they moved some of the food into that room.
Awesome.
It’s freezing outside and the perfect night to veg.
“What are you guys watching?” I can’t quite figure out what movie or show this is.
“It’s called Bambulon—they just released the first two seasons yesterday,” Jack explains, patting the couch cushion. “Come sit down, mate, put your feet up.”
“Thanks.”
I walk over to the couch and flop down, relieved I can finally relax, and reach forward to snag a carrot from the vegetable tray. Actually, I take a handful of them and lean back to stuff them in my mouth one at a time, crunching and swallowing for the next few minutes.
No one talks.
I crunch.
And I don’t wanna be the asshole who makes noise while they’re trying to watch their show, so I stop eating the carrots, too.
Eliza eats a chip.
It’s loud and as crunchy as the carrots I just ate.
“Sorry.” She giggles.
“Do you like horror movies, Rome?” Jack asks. “Eliza and I find Marvel movies brilliant, but we love scary programs, too.”
“We started our Halloween marathon early,” she explains. “It’s my favorite holiday.”
Do I like horror movies? Not particularly, but I’m not about to sit up in my room alone while these two are down here being social. “Sure, I like them well enough. Mostly, um…” I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Should I tell them I like musicals and dramas?