Page 68 of The Wild Card
Molly
I startlewhen there’s a knock at the bedroom door fifteen minutes later. Mostly because I’m leaning against it, my forehead is pressed up against the smooth wood. My suitcase is still fully packed. My backpack is sitting on the bed, still zipped. And my nervous system is trying to reboot after a shutdown due to complete overwhelm.
It shouldn’t be such a big deal—this living space mix-up. I’ve stayed here once with Collin, and it’s fine.
So fine, in fact, that I’ve been standing here for several minutes, trying to work up the courage to go out and face Collin. My fake boyfriend.
And my very real new roommate.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything isfine.
Somehow, though, it doesn’tfeelfine. (I also need to expand my vocabulary beyond the use of the wordfine.)
After Pat made his great pronouncement and then grand exit, Collin and I simply stared at each other, wearing the same stunned expression.
Because …EXCUSE ME?
Then, Collin bolted out the door after his brother, leaving me alone with so many questions. I closed myself in the bedroom I slept in the other night, stunned and processing. I heard Collin come back, rummaging around the loft, but I’ve been too cowardly to face him.
“Molly?” Collin’s voice is hesitant on the other side of the door. “Do you want to come out and talk?”
No. Yes.
I sigh and open the door. Collin stands on the other side, his hands in his pockets. I notice for the first time what I somehow missed earlier.
“You shaved?”
The short beard I touched just last night is gone, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of our conversation. Back when they were first talking and Harper talked to Chase about her sensory issues, my brother shaved for her. It was one of those hugetinyromantic gestures—the kind I’ve always longed for.
Is this a huge tiny romantic gesture forme?
“I did. Hope that’s okay?”
He looks younger. If possible, hotter. The angles of that sharp jawline are now fully on display. His blue eyes seem to burn brighter.
I try not to stare, but it’s hard. His jawline is sonnet-worthy. Not that I could write one. But someone should.
“It’s your choice, not mine,” I say finally, instead of saying what I really think, which is,You look hot and if you didn’t have the beard the other day, I absolutely would have recognized you.
I wonder suddenly what would have happened if Ihadrecognized Collin that day. Would I still have asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend? Would we still be in this current situation?
Probably not.
I realize only when Collin’s jaw tightens how dismissive my words were. Without giving myself time to second guess, I reach out and take his hand.
“I only meant that I don’t think my title as fake girlfriend means I get to tell you what to do with your facial hair. But,” I add, my throat suddenly feeling tight with nerves, “I do like it.”
He offers me a lopsided smile as he squeezes my hand. “Good. If you like it, then the beard is history. It was itchy anyway. And for the record, as I told you last night, I welcome your opinions.”
“Noted.” We stand there, smiling at each other for a few long seconds until I realize I’m still holding his hand while standing in the doorway of my—his?—bedroom. I let go.
“I’m sorry about the apartment confusion,” I say. “Tank told me?—”
“Please don’t apologize. This was on me. I didn’t talk with my dad beforehand and just assumed his place would be open. I guess I figured you’d be staying in the loft where you were with Harper and Chase.”
“It’s being rented out right now,” I explain. “Every other place he has is. Which is why I’m here.”
“Clearly, I should have checked with my dad first instead of assuming. Want to come sit?”
