Page 16 of Trust Me

“Five, only one above you.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. We can hang out and study together all the time.” I realize, feeling better about the move already.

“Exactly, and have girls’ nights too, with music, popcorn, and face masks,” she adds, smiling.

The elevator dings, and once we’ve pushed the cart into the hallway, I stop. “Camille, can I ask you a few things?” I want to know why I never knew that she lived here, how she can afford it, and where she’s really from and more.

She tilts her head in confusion. “What’s up, Jas?”

“I—” I start, but my voice is cut off by the door swinging open a few feet away from us.

Elio peeks his head out, jutting his chin. “Need help?” he asks.

I want to tell him no, that it’s literally only five boxes, but Camille beats me to it.

“We would love that, wouldn’t we, Jas?” she says, looking at me expectantly.

Except, I don’t go along with it. “No, I would love it if you went back inside and let us do it by ourselves, actually.”

Camille’s eyes widen a fraction, her gaze shifting from Elio to me. And then the little hell-raiser she is, smirks. “Actually, I’m not feeling too well, cramps and all that girl stuff. Text me later.” She starts walking back to the elevator, then hits the button for it to open.

“I hate you,” I mouth silently to her.

“I love you more,” she mouths back.

I internally groan the loudest fucking groan and then turn back toward Elio, who’s leaning against the door. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching me.

I square my shoulders and push the cart forward until I’m right in front of the door. I don’t say anything. I grab the top box that is full of my clothes and suppress a grunt. These boxes may be few, but they’re heavy.

I adjust my grip and then walk past him into the space when I realize I don’t even know where my room is.

Damn it.

My arms are burning from carrying what has to be a sixty-pound box at least. I don’t turn around to avoid taking more steps, and I shout over my shoulder. “Where’s my room?” My voice sounded more strained than I’d like it to.

There’s no response, but before I can wonder why, Elio’s strutting past me with two of my boxes stacked on top of one another.

“Follow me,” he orders and I do without arguing, only because my arms are about to give out. Thankfully, my room is the first one on the right.

I drop the box as soon as I enter the room, setting it on the white carpet. Standing, I glance around to see that the walls are gray, and there’s a four-poster bed in the middle with a black headboard and a pale blue comforter. There’s a matching black dresser on one wall, a bookshelf, and a mounted TV.

It doesn’t feel like home, but I plan on changing that. I’ll start by buying a brighter comforter, adding some plants, and filling up the space with my various knickknacks.

Once I’m done analyzing the room, I suddenly remember that Elio’s in here too.

“I said I didn’t need your help,” I mutter, spinning on my heel to head back to the hallway for the last two boxes.

He falls into step with me, his smooth voice running over my skin. “If you thought I was going to let you carry all of these boxes while I stood and watched, you are mistaken, dolcezza.”

I hate the way that nickname makes the hairs on my body stand, how the velvety smoothness of his voice delivers it so perfectly.

“I can do it myself,” I remind him as I swing the door open.

“I know you can, but you don’t have to,” he says, his tone unexpectedly soft.

I ignore the part of my brain that wants to overthink what he said and look toward the remaining two boxes—my school stuff box and my books/toys box that’s labeled “girl stuff.”

I quickly grab it, and in my rush to get it to my room, I run straight into Elio. The bottom of the box gives out from the impact, causing all of my spicy books and sex toys to fall to the ground.

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