Page 4 of Love is an Open Book
“Hey, show some respect,” I tease. “That cute plant will grow to be over ten feet tall.” I stand up and dig my keys out of my pocket.
“Oh, tough guy, huh?” she asks the plant, then looks up at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your baby plant safe while you rescue my book.”
I flash her a smile, even though my guts are twisting at the thought of searching through my roommate’s stuff to find her book. “I trust you.”
Mia
As Ted’s roommate slips inside the apartment, I realize this is probably the reason he hasn’t wanted to hang out at his place this semester. No secret he’s got an inferiority complex, and his roommate, I just discovered, is a very attractive dude. A cute plant daddy, in joggers and a puffer jacket he stripped off to give me a comfy place to sit. The kind of wholesome guy my single friends would be falling over each other to talk to, but the idea of another relationship churns my stomach.
Ted was the sensible choice. Sure, there weren’t butterflies and our kisses left me lukewarm, but he’s been a good friend these past three years. We met in a freshman mixer and hit it off. I thought dating would be like our friendship, but better.
Turns out he’s been harboring feelings for my sister since they’d met while helping me move into my apartment last fall.
My legs are falling asleep, so I stretch them out in front of me, holding the potted plant on my lap. Frank, Ted’s roommate called it. I know the plant’s name but not his. I should probably fix that since he’s currently helping to preserve my dignity. It’s embarrassing to be at the mercy of a stranger, but not as embarrassing as slinking back to ask for the manuscript myself like I’d been considering doing before he showed up.
The door creaks open, and the stranger in question leans through the opening, tousled golden-brown hair highlighted against the white doorjamb. “No sign of it yet, but he’s asleep, so I’m going in.”
Startled, I ask, “Where?”
“His room.” He darts a glance over his shoulder, like he’s worried Ted will materialize behind him. Poor guy is clearly not used to sneaking around.
“You don’t have to. I’ll text him tomorrow and ask him to bring it to me.” Even if the thought sets my skin crawling.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it.” The door closes before I can protest again, and I’m left with the impression of his blue eyes sparking with determination.
What will happen if Ted wakes to find his roommate rifling through his stuff? Hopefully he won’t catch any heat for helping me out. Or what if he does find it, but instead of coming right back out, he flips through the pages, curious. The thought of a stranger reading my words is... Well, exhilarating, but also fills me with the urge to change my name and move to a remote Scottish island where I’ll make a new life with only seabirds for company.
I lean over and press my ear to the crack between the door and the frame, trying to hear what’s going on. The door opens, and I tumble sideways, but there’s a shuffle and my fall is stopped by something solid and warm. A low whisper comes from near my ear. “You really shouldn’t make a habit of listening at doors.”
I shift and see Ted’s roommate crouched behind me, grinning, with a sheaf of paper in his hand. “You got it!”
He presses a finger to his lips, but his eyes are gleaming. He stands up and tugs the door closed gently, then collapses against it, eyes closed, hand to his heart. “Not sure I’m cut out for espionage.”
“You didn’t see anything weird in there, did you?”
“Nothing worse than expected.” He passes me the papers. “A disturbing amount of protein bar wrappers and empty energy drinks. But this was on his desk.”
The pages are pristine. No coffee rings or curled edges. “He didn’t even look through it.” Even though I figured as much, my heart sinks.
He drops down next to me again, long legs stretched out next to mine. “I’m not a big reader, but if a friend of mine wrote a book, I’d read it in a heartbeat.” He rakes his fingersback through his hair, and I catch a crisp scent, bright and earthy, like spring. A contrast to the stuffy hallway. “Just saying.”
“Can you stick around? I like the way you think.” Not that I’m planning to show my writing to anyone else. Not for a while at least. Becoming an author feels like a vague dream, and I plan to earn a degree and secure a well-paying job with good benefits. Save for retirement.
“Are you just asking because you’ve got a friend vacancy?”
I grin at him. “You did violate your roommate agreement to steal back my book. That’s ride-or-die shit.”
“So, friends?” he confirms. “What’s the worst that can happen?” He must realize what he said, because he pulls a face. “Before you say it, I would never hit on your sister.”
I can hardly believe the turns this night has taken, and that I’m having this discussion right now. “You haven’t met her.” My sister isn’t to blame for this mess. She’s stunning, and lovely, and I’ve never been jealous of her and don’t plan to start now.
“Don’t need to,” he says, and this time, his expression is earnest. Something tells me it’s the truth. This is a man who doesn’t hide things.
“I don’t even know your name.” I’m stalling; he already feels like good friend material.
“Gavin.”
“Mia.” I hold out my hand, sleeve brushing the fronds of the plant, and he clasps it, palm warm against mine. His hands are clean, but there’s a smudge of dirt at his wrist. I get a flash of him kneeling in a garden, fingers buried in the soil, and for some reason, my cheeks heat. “Mia Brady.”
