Page 5 of Seeds of Friendship
“Functioning adult,” Alfie corrects, disappearing back upstairs.
Troy rides shotgun in my car, which feels sorta intimate after knowing him less than a day.
He drums his fingers on the door, glances at me, then blurts, “So what’s your deal? Why’d you really forget to apply for housing?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “Honestly? Just spaced it. Had a weird summer, lots going on.”
He studies me like he can see more under the surface. Probably can—Troy strikes me as the type who collects secrets whether you want him to or not.
“What about you?” I shoot back. “The roommate thing. How bad was it really?”
He laughs, sharp and bitter. “Connor Matthews. Heard about me hooking up with his ex. Key word—ex. Ok? I don’t mess with girls in relationships, not my style. She’d dumped him two weeks earlier, but he didn’t wanna hear it. Dude’s a cannon. One night, she called me crying—said he was outside her place, shouting about how he couldn’t wait to beat my ass. I went over, made sure she was okay. He’d left and once she was safe, I figured it wasn’t my problem anymore. I was heading to college anyway… until I saw we were assigned as roommates. A year stuck with a guy who thinks I stole his girl? No thanks.”
I wince. “Brutal.”
“Yeah. Easier to just bail and find new housing. I can’t be dealing with that kind of drama.”
Silence stretches, comfortable enough. Troy’s the kind of good-looking that sneaks up on you—messy charm, easy grin. The kind of guy who probably hooks up often, but never sticks around after. Trouble.
He breaks the quiet with, “You got siblings?”
“One sister. You?”
“Same. She’s off to college next year.” His jaw ticks like the thought stresses him out.
Protective older brother vibes, noted.
Troy directsus through Target like he's done this before, grabbing things I wouldn't have thought of—a shower caddy, extra towels, a basic tool kit.
“Ok. You’ve either lived alone or had roommates before,” I observe.
“Nope. But I basically raised—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “I just like being prepared.”
We're in the coffee aisle when Troy nudges me. “Don't look now, but that girl's been staring at you for five minutes.”
I glance over. There's a girl by the tea section—long dark hair, oversized sweater despite the warm weather, clutching a basket like it's armor. She quickly looks away when our eyes meet, color flooding her cheeks.
“Go talk to her,” Troy suggests.
“Pass.”
“Dude, she's cute. Got that whole shy bookish thing going on.”
She is cute. Big eyes behind wire-rim glasses.
“Exactly why I'm not going over there,” I say, turning back to the coffee selection.
“What?”
“Look at her, man. She's not a hook-up girl. She's a girlfriend girl. The type who wants to hold hands and meet your family and text good morning every day.” I grab Alfie's fancy coffee. “I don't do girlfriends.”
Troy stares at me. “You’ve picked up on all of that from one look?”
“It's survival.” We head toward checkout, but I can feel him waiting for more. “Look, relationships are quicksand. First, it's just hanging out, then suddenly she needs you to be there for her bad days, pick her up when her car breaks down, remember her sister's birthday. She starts depending on you for shit—emotional support, stability, all of it.”
“And that's... bad?”
“When you've already got people depending on you? Yeah.” I grab some cereal, not meeting his eyes. “My family needs—they have enough going on. I can't be someone's boyfriend on top of all that. You start caring about one person that much, everything else becomes secondary. Your family, your goals, your friends—all of it takes a backseat to keeping her happy. I don’t wanna do that.”
