Page 90 of My Roommate from Hell
I laugh. See, this is exactly why I called her. Now, instead of feeling like there’s something obviously bad about me, I’m picturing her taking them all on single-handedly. Knowing her, she’d win.
“But O, you know you are good enough, right? You’re good enough for anyone. He’s just a jealous asshole. I thought people stopped doing petty shit like that at college.”
“I don’t think people ever age out of that.”
“That’s a depressing thought. What happened after that?”
“I excused myself, and crashed into a guy and he spilled his drink on me, then I called you.”
“Breathe, okay? Just because one guy was an asshole doesn’t mean everyone is. Plus, they’ve done the hard work for you. Do you want to be friends with him?”
“God, no.”
“There you go. You’re an amazing person. You’re smart and funny and I love you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“You really don’t,” calls Jackson, his voice coming in through the other end of the phone. I hadn’t realized he was there. I should’veassumed he would be, they spend pretty much all their time together. “There’s no one better. We love you.”
His voice hits me like a bolt of electricity. I’ve always thought Jackson Jones has the nicest voice I’ve ever heard. It’s usually fairly deep, but when he’s excited about something the pitch goes up. I know it’s just a lingering aftershock of my crush, but still.
“Love you, too,” I say. “Okay, so what should I do?”
“Get back out there!” says Ashley. “Ignore that jerk and try to find someone else to talk to.”
A knock sounds on the door.
“Owen, you in there?”
“Sorry, I have to go,” I say.
“You’ve got this!” calls Jackson.
I hang up. They’re right. There are bad people everywhere. The good thing is that there are good people everywhere as well. I open the door and find Zarmenus outside. His gaze flickers over my face, searching, cautious, like he’s worried saying the wrong thing will break me. I force a smile, but he just steps closer, like he sees right through it.
“I heard about what happened,” he says, his voice gravelly. “Can I help?”
“Help how?”
He slips into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. Then he moves closer, right into my personal space, and lifts his hand. For a split second, I think that he’s going to kiss me. What’s more alarming is that I want that almost desperately. It has to be the heightened emotions, but a part of me is wishing I didn’t have to think so much and could just act, to hell with the consequences.
“Take your shirt off,” he says.
I blink, not believing what I just heard.
“I can help,” he says. “But I don’t want to burn you, so you better take it off.”
“I’m still not following.”
“I’m a demon, remember,” he says. He raises a hand, and orangeflames appear around his palm. I jump backward, banging into the wall. But then Zarmenus waves his hand and the flames disappear.
My heart is currently going so fast it would give a startled hare a run for its money. I suck in some air, and my thoughts settle. I don’t want to go out there with my shirt wet.
I start unbuttoning my shirt. I take it off and hand it to him.
“I didn’t know you worked out,” he says.
“I don’t, really.”
“Well, you look good, roomie. Really good.”
