The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(41)

“Eli, nice to meet you. Clever shirt,” I say. He smiles and says thanks, even though I wasn’t really complimenting him. I glance at Houston, and he’s holding in a laugh. When our eyes meet, we both break a little and have to turn away. I need Eli to move a shitload of furniture, so I can’t go offending him right from the start.

“So what are we doing here, Paige?” Houston asks, leaning against one of the hallway walls. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that hugs his body more than most of the things I’ve seen him in, and when he crosses his arms, I notice that there’s a tattoo on his right arm. I don’t have to ask to know it’s for her.

“Follow me,” I say, walking down the hall toward my old room. The smell of paint is still strong, and when I open the door and see the horrible brown color that my sister’s boyfriend and his brother Nate have painted on the walls, I understand why my sister is doing this now. Rowe only sent pictures—and honestly, in the photos, it didn’t seem so bad. But seeing it live—in person? The brown paint looks more like a stain, a gigantic stain that drips all around the room. I have to give Ty credit—it’s pretty funny, and it’s far away from the pink we painted his room a few months ago.

“Dude, the paint stinks,” Eli says as he steps into the room and around me. Houston and Casey are still behind me, surveying the space.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. About three months ago, me, my sister, and our other roommate painted Ty and Nate’s room,” I start.

“Who are Ty and Nate?” Casey asks, now covering his own nose with his sleeve. Babies. The paint smell isn’t that bad.

“Keep up. Ty’s my sister’s boyfriend, and Nate’s his brother. He’s dating Rowe, my other old roommate. They have this stupid prank war. And now I have this to deal with,” I say, turning in a slow circle with my hand outstretched to take it all in. Their room honestly looks like one of those dens from the seventies. All it needs is orange shag carpet.

“So, we’re painting it back? That’s easy,” Eli says, rolling up his sleeves. Bless his little heart; he’s eager to get started.

“Not exactly. We’re moving their stuff down the hall, and putting the boys’ stuff…in here,” I say, stepping over to my sister’s bed. I start folding her blankets into my arms, and when I turn around, all three guys are staring at me, their mouths parted, their foreheads showing their confusion. “Just start grabbing crap and help me. We have two hours.”

Amazingly, they don’t protest, after an hour and a half of sweating and lifting more than I think I ever have, we have successfully relocated everyone’s belongings. I lock up both rooms, and direct the boys downstairs. We stop at the mailbox area, and I sweet-talk the very shy guy working the front desk into putting both sets of keys in Cass’s mailbox. By the time I turn around, Eli and Casey have left. It’s just Houston, me, and my giant suitcase and travel bag—and a landfill-sized feeling of awkward.

Houston pushes his hands in his pockets. His jeans are dark; they’re the kind I would think a guy would wear going out to a club, not when moving furniture around a chick’s dorm room. I kind of think he dressed up, a little, for me. He’s staring down at his feet, and I watch as his mouth opens and closes twice, each time with a breath, about to speak. Finally, he just settles on smiling and looking up at me.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” I say, looping my hand through the strap to pull my bag along behind me. My things are heavy, and going to the Delta House is really the last thing I want to do. But I’m not asking Houston for any more favors.

“Here, let me,” he says, reading my mind. He grabs the heaviest bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder. I take the opportunity to study his tattoo when he does—it’s a cross, with the letters M and B. I’m guessing the M is for his father’s name, because I’m sure I know who the B is.

“Thanks,” I say, pulling my roller bag behind us. We step through the main doors and out to the walkway. It’s a good ten-minute walk from here to the Delta House, so when Houston turns toward the parking lot, I sigh with relief. I’m glad he brought his car—no matter how shitty and old it is.

Houston puts my things in the trunk, then opens my door for me. I’m prepared for the seatbelt this time. What I’m not prepared for is the familiar smell of being in a small space that is permeated with Houston—his cologne—I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

I…like it.

Shit.

We drive the two blocks to the Delta House, the radio filling the awkward void for two minutes. Houston pulls up to the curb, and I sigh, relieved I don’t see anyone else’s car parked along the road. Chandra has a white Acura. Her license plate says W1N3R. She tells everyone it’s the only combination left she could get for winner. But I don’t know, it reads whiner in my head. I keep searching for the whiner car, not satisfied that I don’t see it. She could still be here.

“Hey, you wanna just stay tonight?” Houston’s question bursts through the silence, and it makes me start to sweat instantly. He’s leaning to the side in his seat, his head resting on the back, his hair a little disheveled from the move. He’s adorable. I can’t deny that. And yeah, I want to stay, because I don’t want to be here! But if I stay with you, it’s going to look like I want to stay with you, when in reality I just want to hide, and you’re giving me shelter.