Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
The neighbors in question?
Four hockey players on the university’s team, each and every one of them massive, rough-around-the-edges dudes.
I haven’t had much interaction with them. There has been no reason for me to go over there, and I don’t count the occasional head nod when one happens to be walking to his front porch at the same time, and we make accidental eye contact.
We were baking once, and I didn’t check for ingredients before starting. We needed one egg for brownies, and none of us had wanted to run to the grocery store or pay for delivery, so Bethany waltzed over and knocked on the door.
A life-size Elmo answered the door, or rather…it was a dude in an Elmo costume—we’re not sure if it was a kink thing or a costume party thing, but Bethany hadn’t known where to look or what to say and long story short: they didn’t have eggs either.
Yeah.
Bethany and Jill might know their names, but I do not.
Why would I?
Athletes intimidate me.
I see them headed in my direction, and I turn the other way. What would I do if I made purposeful eye contact with one, let alone had to talk to one? And these guys next door? They look like action heroes come to life. I’m positive they probably grunt instead of talk…
“Anyway…” Bethany is cramming clothes into an overnight bag, not bothering to neatly fold them. “There should be someone here tomorrow to handle it. Assuming the asshole does actually call pest control.”
“I’m still convinced you’re overreacting.”
My roommate rolls her eyes. “And I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before an animal attacks me in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping. I’d rather not take my chances.”
“What time do I have to be here to let the guy in?”
“No idea.” My roommate shrugs. “Asshole has a key, and asshole has to call the pest dude.” She leaves the room and bounds up the stairs, returning with an overnight kit. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. “My guess is he’ll text and only give us a ten-minute notice, so hopefully, we’re in class. I don’t want to have to talk to him. He can figure this out by himself. It’s like, a health hazard or something if he doesn’t.”
Is it, though?
Bethany takes one last glance at me before zipping her bag shut.
“Honestly, I think you’re using this as an excuse to go to your boyfriend’s house for a few days. There is no need to leave.”
It’s a rodent, not a bomb.
“I don’t need an excuse to stay with Jon for a few days.” She tilts her head. “Still not taking any chances.”
It’s moments like this that I’m reminded how high maintenance my roommates are compared to me, who is willing to stay in the house and gamble that a man-eating squirrel won’t come bursting through my bedroom wall.
I mean, what are the actual odds?
“Alright. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
Like I’m going to need anything?
Puh-lease.
“I think I’ll manage with you down the road, like, a whole block.” I’m exaggerating. He lives farther down than a block but it still wouldn’t take me that much time to scuttle myself to his house. “I’ll be fine.” In fact. “It’ll be nice having the house all to myself. Have I ever been here alone before?”
There are three of us.
Jill and Bethany share a room. I have the luxury of being in my own room thanks to the random drawing we had before moving in. That’s what decided for us who was in which room.
Once Bethany has left, I don’t know what to do first!
Jump on the couch?
Run from room to room naked?
Eat all the food labeled ‘JILL’?
Instead, I run the bath, pouring a healthy dose of oils into the water while watching the steam rise. It’s not often I’m able to hog the bathroom. Someone always “needs” it, wants to do their hair, needs to do their skin care routine, take a shower, brush their teeth, or use the toilet.
This is going to feel so good.
I find a romance novel in the living room that Bethany brought home recently, flipping it over so I can read the blurb.
A hockey romance?
I scoff.
Of course, she’d be reading a hockey romance when we have a house full of hockey players next door. Coincidence?
I think not.
I pluck it off the coffee table and take it to the bathroom along with my bathrobe, a fresh towel, and slippers. I test the water with the tip of my toe before stepping into it and push back the shower curtain so it’s not dragging in the water.
I lower myself down.
I sigh when I’m submerged up to my boobs, then dip in lower so it covers my shoulders, and close my eyes.
“Ahhh.”
This is the life.
No roommates, no exams to study for, and a fridge full of food that no one can yell at me for eating.