Page 3 of Fall From Grace
She chuckles at that. “It’s just me and Elias—my boyfriend. Nobody else. It’s a decent-sized house though, so I’m sure he won’t mind.”
I’d be moving in with this girl and her boyfriend. Two strangers. Am I ready for something like that? Can I handle it? Honestly, no matter what happens, it has to be better than living with that traitorous Meghan for another year.
“Your boyfriend won’t mind?” I ask, not wanting to step on her toes. Since infidelity is on my brain thanks to two jerks who I don’t want to think about anymore, the last thing I want to do is be where I don’t belong.
“He’s fine with whatever I want. I wouldn’t say he’s the nicest guy around, but I can keep him in line around you.” The smile she gives me makes me wonder just what she means by all that. “He’ll be on his best behavior around you, I promise.”
It’s not optimal, but… at this point, what other options do I have?
“What’s the rent?” If I have to get a job on campus, I’ll try. I’ll have my car this year, too—didn’t have it last year since freshmen aren’t allowed to bring their cars unless they’re commuting. All that to say: if I have to drive a little for a job, I totally can.
The laugh that flows from her is unlike any laugh I’ve ever heard. “There is no rent.”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m not renting the house. I bought it.” When I only stare at her, slack-jawed, she goes on, “You did look me up before you came, didn’t you? No? Wow. Well, you shared your baggage with me, so let me share mine with you: it’s all in the last name. Karnagy. My dad raped my mom and killed her friends when she was only sixteen. Mommy dearest went into a psych ward while my grandparents raised me—unfortunately, they’re both dead now, and I have the Karnagy fortune all to myself.”
I think I hold my breath that entire time. The way she says it, so matter-of-factly, shocks me this way and that. I didn’t even think to search her. I did a quick glance at her profile and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
Again, she chuckles, like her story is the most amusing thing. “Cat got your tongue? Is my story a little too intense for you?”
“No,” I lie, but I’m not comfortable with lying, so I quickly say, “yeah, a little. If you’re so rich then why take on a roomie?”
She shrugs. “I could practically feel the desperation in your post, so I wanted to try something different—to be nice.” Sloane lowers her voice for dramatic effect, as if she’s about to tell me the world’s biggest secret, “I’m usually not the nicest person around.”
Uh, that’s not a good thing to hear.
She must sense my thoughts, because she says, “Look, if you’re worried about me kicking you out in the middle of the semester, don’t. We can have a contract drawn up.” Her thin shoulders rise and fall once. “I’ve never had a girl roomie before. I’m curious.”
There are a million and a half reasons why I should get up and walk away from this girl. Okay, maybe notthatmany, but there are quite a few. Still, I don’t get up and tell her no. The only thing I say is, “Okay.”
“Okay,” she repeats. “Then let’s do this.” She stands. “If you’ve got time, I can show you the house now.”
I stand with her and, against my better judgment, say, “Sure.”
At this point, maybe I need to start making stupid decisions. Being smart about things got me where I am today. Trying to earn everybody’s approval led me to this. It’s a lot of work, even though you pretend it’s not, trying to be the best and impress everyone you meet.
Your parents. Your classmates. Even strangers.
Sloane and I walk out of the student union, across campus. Campus is surrounded by a busy four-lane street, so we have to wait until we’re given the light at the crosswalk before we continue. As we walk there, Sloane remarks, “Why do I have the feeling this is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
Do I radiate innocence and naivete? Ugh.
“It kind of is,” I say.
“Don’t worry. If you want help getting out of your shell, you’ve come to the right girl.” She sends a wicked grin my way, and I can’t help but wonder what exactly she means.
“You said there’s no rent, but… you do want some kind of monthly payment, don’t you? You have a mortgage or whatever—”
“You seriously should’ve looked me up. Being a Karnagy means I shit out money. So, no, I don’t have anything as pedestrian as a mortgage.” She chuckles. “Tell you what—as long as you agree to go out with me once a month, you don’t have to pay me a dime.”
We walk along a row of houses facing campus, all nicely-updated. “You’re kidding, right?”
Sloane shakes her head. “Nope. I don’t need your money. Keep it for…” She glances at me, at my baggy shirt. “New clothes or something.” She abruptly turns down a driveway, while I pause and glance down at my shirt.
It’s not that bad, is it? It’s just a t-shirt.
I hurry to catch up to her, and she pulls out a key, having unlocked the door by the time I reach her. We step inside the house, and I’m greeted by a fresh, clean scent. It’s like one of those recently-remodeled houses you see on those TV shows on HGTV. Clean, white trim. Light-colored walls with a splash of color here and there in the form of hanging canvases. A wide-open kitchen.
