Page 46 of Dear Roomie
“Because I don’t know it, and I feel like I should. Friends know each other’s favorite colors.”
“Is that what we are, James? Friends?” The words come out sharper than I intend them to, honed by the bitter bite of resentment, and my tone catches me off guard. She makes me feel a lot of things, and resentment isn’t one of them, but coupled with the wordfriend, it rips its way to the surface. It’s not because I want to be more than friends—or, more accurately, I am not resentful of only being her friend despite my feelings—the resentment stems from the fact that, until now, friendship hasn’t been on the table.
James turns to face me, her eyes narrowed and simmering with heat. The look causes unease to churn in my gut, and my back stiffens as I brace for the impending verbal lashing. She moves closer, invading my space. The nearness forces her to tilt her head back to look at me, but she leaves enough of a gap between us that our bodies don’t touch. Her hardened expression softens, but the heat in her gaze only grows. My heart rate climbs, the thrumming so intense I wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear it. I’m enthralled by her presence; any rational thought I could have is eclipsed byher.
She places her hand on my bicep, and my skin lights up with pinprick tingles at her touch.
“I’d like to be,” she says, squeezing my arm with a soft smile.
She’d like to be what?
It takes another second for my brain to break through whatever spell she cast. We were talking about being friends, and sharks, and colors.
“Purple,” I blurt out, “but not royal purple. The softer type, like a lilac-y purple.”
Her bottom lip catches between her teeth in an attempt to hold back a grin. She resists for a moment before she laughs, and a radiant smile lights up her face.
“What’s so funny?” I try to keep my face serious, but her smile is contagious.
“Lilac-y purple isn’t a color. It’s just called lilac. Saying lilac-y purple is like saying maroon-y red or aqua-y blue.” She lets out another peal of laughter.
“Fine, Miss Color Expert, what’s your favorite color, then?”
She slams her mouth shut, locking her lips in a tight line, and stares up at me with mirth.
“Come on, now, it’s only fair,” I prod.
She doubles down on her refusal, shaking her head back and forth in defiance. Then she takes a step back, drops her hand, and takes off running down the beach. I run after her, closing the distance in a few long strides, and catch her waist in an iron grip, pulling her flush against my chest. Unbridled laughter rings out as she kicks her legs in the air, squealing as I spin us around in a circle. The fabric of her dress flares with the momentum, painting a white swath against the blue horizon.
I place her feet back on the sand and pull away. Her breaths match mine, coming fast and heavy. She turns to face me, her whole face radiating joy, and I’m once again struck by her beauty.
“Do I get my answer now? I caught you fair and square.”
“Do you promise not to laugh?” she asks, her forehead creasing in consideration.
“Why would I laugh?”
“I don’t know. I laughed at yours, so it would only be fair.”
“James, I promise—no,pinkypromise—that I won’t laugh at your favorite color.” I keep my tone as serious as I can and hold my pinky out to her. She bursts into another fit of laughter but links hers with mine.
“My favorite color is a very specific shade of terracotta,” she says. Her attention drifts back toward the horizon, seeming a million miles away. “It’s a color that only lives on the horizon for a few minutes while the last rays of sunlight fade away. It’s kind of a sad color, the color of a dying day, but I can’t help but look on at it in awe when I am lucky enough to catch a fleeting glimpse.”
Her shoulders stiffen, and she grimaces in anticipation.
“That is a beautiful color,” I tell her and place a hand on her shoulder. She sighs and leans into my touch.
“We should head back to the others,” she says with resignation. Her tone mirrors my feelings. I have to fight to hold back the instinctual “no.” Everything in me wants to keep her here, with me, for a little while longer.
Instead, I give her shoulder a final squeeze and start to move toward the other students, while she walks beside me in tranquil silence
At the edge of the crowd, she freezes in her tracks. I turn to check on her and find her face pale and mouth agape. I track her wide-eyed gaze back into the horde, and lead forms in my stomach. Tanner is watching us with fury burning in his glare. I don’t trust the look on his face, and I certainly don’t want her to deal with his ire, especially now that she is feeling like herself again. He doesn’t get to stand her up and then treat her like the bad guy for having fun without him.
“I’ll go calm him down. Wait here for a second.” I start to step toward him, but her arm whips out, stopping me.
“No, I-I’ll deal with this.” Her voice quakes as she speaks. “Go back to Nathan and the others. I’m sure we will catch up with y’all later.”
“James, I—”
