Mr. Wrong Number(7)
I decided to let it go, though, because we were roommates for the next month. It would run a lot smoother if I played nice. And for me, nice meant avoidance. Steering clear of Colin was the only way to ensure a peaceful, rent-free month.
“Sure.” I got off the stool and pushed it in. “Thanks again for the beer. I’ve got a million things to do tomorrow, so I should probably start settling in, even though I’m totally wide-awake. It’s weird how when you decimate your life, you get wicked insomnia.”
He smirked and his eyes were actually smiling. “I bet.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll start sleeping like a baby soon, once the smell of soot finally leaves my body.”
He actually coughed out a little laugh. “One can only hope.”
I started to walk away when he said, “Hey, can I quickly use the printer before you go to bed? I just need to print a three-page doc—”
“No!” I turned around and cursed myself for sounding so panicked. “I mean, can you maybe just use it tomorrow? I’m really, really tired.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “You just said that you have insomnia.”
I bit my bottom lip and said, “I just have a lot of stuff in the office, all over the place, and I—”
“What happened?” He sounded like a detective who knew I was guilty as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
I reached up and pulled my ponytail tighter. “Nothing happened. Um, I just don’t want—”
“Spill it, Marshall.”
I sighed. “Fine. Your printer broke when I used it this morning. I didn’t do anything wrong, it just broke. I’m sure I can fix it.”
“Can I see?”
I so didn’t want him seeing the heaping mountain of old garbage clothes, but it was his apartment. “Sure.”
I followed him into the office, and as soon as we walked in, I saw him looking at the trash bag and massive clothing pile. It was embarrassing, but at least the mess was covering the stain on the rug. I said, “I know what you’re thinking.”
“You couldn’t possibly.”
“I went to my parents’ house, and my mom sent me home with a bag full of clothes. She didn’t have any luggage, so I had to put them in a Hefty bag.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Bullshit.”
He just winked, and my stomach dropped to my ankles.
He leaned down and looked inside the printer, where the cartridge door was ajar. “What the hell happened to it?”
“I had to pry off the door with a flathead screwdriver. Don’t worry, I googled it first.”
He squinted into the printer. “Oh, well, if you googled it.”
“I knew what I was doing.”
He looked over at me like I was insane, and pointed at the broken door. “Seriously with that?”
I just shrugged.
He started digging inside the machine, and he pulled out two crumpled-up pieces of paper. After a few minutes, he had the printer up and running and the machine back together. He straightened and said, “Boom.”
I rolled my eyes, which made him smile. Those wild eyes twinkled as his deep voice purred out, “Need anything else fixed, Liv?”
I knew he wasn’t flirting—I knew it beyond a reasonable doubt—but it still shook me. It made my voice sound kind of breathy when I said, “I think I’m good.”
His eyes stayed with mine for a split second, like we were both wordlessly acknowledging the spark of flirtation, before he said, “Well, good night.”
I swallowed and dropped down onto the air mattress. “Well, good night.”
3
Olivia
“Dude.” Jack was sitting on a stool, eating what looked to be a breakfast burrito and scrolling through his phone. He said, “Why are you awake?”
“I’m going for a run.” I put my foot up on the other stool and tied my shoe. His shock was no surprise; I was shocked, too. I usually slept until twenty minutes after my alarm went off, wherein I would scramble to get ready and ultimately end up putting on makeup while driving. This early-morning thing was brand new for me.
I cringed at the smell of the burrito. “God, that smells disgusting.”
“Since when do you run?” He looked at me like I’d just said I was going to run for president. “You used to have Mom call you out of gym every time they had the national physical fitness test.”
“I was eight at the time.” I finished tying and switched feet. “You used to have Mom tell Mr. Graham you had a skin condition so you could wear a T-shirt for swimming. I’m assuming you’ve grown out of that, just like I grew out of my unathleticism.”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
“I don’t think your face is a word.” One day of living with my brother, and I was reverting to childhood behavior. I straightened and put in my headphones, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. Unbeknownst to him, I was still irritated that he’d told Colin everything, so his Mr. Ha Ha I’m Always Funny face just kind of pissed me off.
But since he was giving me pretty choice accommodations, I had to gut my feelings.
He took a big gulp of orange juice and then said, “You sure you should be running at six thirty in the morning, when it’s still a little dark? That seems dangerous.”