Page 51 of Roommating

His eyes are up here.I raise my head. “What will you wear?” I practically pant.

He pulls the Henley back over his head. “He didn’t get this too bad and it’s dark enough that the stains won’t show. I can wear it for a couple of hours until I get home.”

“Thank you.” The guy literally gave me the shirt off his back. I reach for the bottom of my soiled sweater to pull it over my head when it hits me that I’m about to undress in front of Adam, which is not the same as him doing it in front of me. I turn so that my back’s to him and then realize he can still see me in the mirror. I should probably tell him to turn around. I watch as he comes to the same conclusion and does a double take.

He clears his throat. “I’ll give you some privacy and meet you back on the floor.”

I smile. “Thanks, Adam.”

When the door closes behind him, I breathe for what feels like the first time in ages. Then I whip off my soaked sweater. As I absently bring the T-shirt to my nose and inhale Adam’s signature scent, I stare at my own reflection in my pale-pink lace bra. My cheeks are only a shade lighter than the stains on my sweater and my nipples are hard as a rock. Who knew fruit punch could be so sexy?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ipull Adam’s shirt over my head and return to the circulation desk.

Gabe ends his call when he sees me. “I heard what happened. I’m so”—he presses a finger to his lips—“sorry.” His voice quakes and shoulders shake, belying his words.

I grunt. “You’re not sorry at all.”

He points at my T-shirt. “Where’d you pick that up? The big-and-tall shop?”

I knot Adam’s admittedly large shirt at the bottom so it rests, hopefully more attractively, at my waist. “It’s Adam’s.” I regret the admission immediately when Gabe’s mouth drops open.

“He gave you his shirt?” He asks the question slowly, drawing out each word as if he can’t believe what he’s saying.

I sink into my chair. “Yes. He didn’t want me to have to wear my dirty sweater all day. It’s not a big deal. He was wearing it under his Henley.” I pull up the hold list on the computer to avoid eye contact with Gabe, but I feel his stare on my cheek.

“You were in the bathroom together when all this lending of shirts went down?”

“Yes.”

“So he took off his shirt to give it to you?”

I swing my head to face him. “Yes! It’s not the first time I’ve seen him with his shirt off.” I wince. “I just mean because we live together and all. It’s bound to happen.”

“Something’sbound to happen, I’m sure.” He barks out another laugh, creating temporary wrinkles on his otherwise smooth brown skin.

I glare at him. Gabe doesn’t know about my moment with Adam on the couch because I only told Carley and Audrina. Healsodoesn’t know about our accidental trip to second base in the bathroom at home, and I’m definitely not telling him now. I ignore him and eventually he stops laughing.

The eventful morning morphs into a quiet afternoon, aside from a small group of tweens sitting at a table in the YA section. So far they’ve spent more time debating which K-pop star is the cutest and giggling than studying, but we’ve refrained from “shushing” them since the remaining tables in the area are uninhabited.

I smile tentatively at one of the kids, a white girl with freckles and mousy brown hair in waves who got up to use the bathroom, but instead of returning to her classmates has been pacing in front of the desk, alternating her gaze between me and her phone for the last few minutes. I asked if she needed anything and she said no, but she’s still standing a few feet away, looking lost.

The girl, who’s wearing a soft-pink top and flower-patterned wide-leg jeans, looks up from her phone again and wipes her dark eyes. They’re red and puffy, and although it could be seasonal allergies, based on her averted gaze I’m guessing she’s been crying. In a fit of protectiveness over this stranger, I tense up in fear the other girls are leaving her out or otherwise being mean. Girls that age can be cruel.

She tosses yet another pitiful glance my way.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask the question gently, hoping it’sclear I’m not accusing her of anything but simply offering help if she needs it.

She chews on an unpainted fingernail and gives a slight nod of her head.

Though I’m sure she’s lying, I nod and return my attention to next month’s programming schedule on the computer.

“Actually…” She approaches the desk and whispers, “I just… um…” She looks behind me in the direction of where her friends are sitting at a long table, then to Gabe, who’s tapping the keys of his computer pretending he’s not eavesdropping, and back to me.

My hands clench in apprehension over what she’ll say next.

She whispers, “I got my period for the first time, and I don’t know what to do.”

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