SADIE
Why didn’t I think that a hundred dollars an hour sounded suspiciously generous?
Plus, getting hired within twenty minutes? Me? I should’ve known better. My luck never works that fast unless it’s setting me up for something.
Trey’s expression doesn’t change, no matter how long I wait for some sign that he’s joking.
I didn’t question how easily he let me into his apartment because, obviously, getting through the door was the whole point. Then he hired me before I’d even finished panicking about whether he would. And now he wants me to move in.
Things are moving a little too fast, aren’t they?
"You want me to move in with you?" I ask, not even attempting to hide how shocked I am.
"Yes."
My eyes drift around the apartment before landing on him again.
"I—" I stop and try again. "You’re serious?"
He gives me a look like I’ve asked something incredibly stupid. "My schedule’s packed, Quiz Bowl. Half the time, I don’t know when I’m free until I’m actually free."
"So I need to live here?"
"I’m not driving across campus every time I get an hour." He shrugs. "And I’m not wasting half of it waiting for you to show up. If you’re here, I’m free, we study. I’m busy, you do whatever you want. Besides, it’s two months and you get your own room obviously."
A blink is about all I manage while trying to make the whole thing sound less insane in my head, especially with how easily he’s saying it.
It’s not the living-with-a-guy part that bothers me. People do it all the time. Boreal has co-ed dorms, so sharing a building with some random guy isn’t exactly scandalous.
Except Trey and I aren’t dorm-assigned strangers.
I know of him, which feels like a pretty important difference when the conversation involves sleeping under the same roof.
I know he’s the star forward who helped take Boreal to an NCAA championship and the captain of the team. I know he’s almost impossible to approach on campus, the heir to Goldenmoon Pack, and has about a hundred other things attached to his name that people at Boreal never shut up about. The guy has enough brand deals that I can barely buy a water bottle around here without finding his face plastered somewhere nearby.
Okay, fine. Maybe that isn’t even the biggest problem here. Is he forgetting the giant, painfully obvious elephant sitting between us?
He’s Ezra’s brother.
I clear my throat. "I don’t think this is a good—"
My phone starts ringing, cutting me off. I pull it from my coat pocket to silence it and my eyes widen when Ezra’s name flashes across the screen.
And just like that, my chest hurts all over again.
It’s only been three days, which apparently isn’t long enough for seeing his name to stop hurting. If anything, it feels like poking at a fresh wound just to make sure it’s still there.
I decline the call, but almost immediately, my phone vibrates again with a message.
Ezra:What was the name of that jeweler you used for my watch? Send me his number. I want to pick up a bracelet for Paige before dinner tomorrow.
For a second, my thumb just hovers over the screen.
Then my chest caves in a little and it hurts so much I don’t know what to do with myself. There’s nowhere to hold down, not when it’s under my ribs, twisting through my stomach and making my head feel too full all at once. I bite down on my lip, wishing there was an actual wound somewhere I could press a hand over and stop the bleeding.
I want to pick up a bracelet for Paige before dinner tomorrow.
I read that part again even though once was already enough.
He’s planning dinner dates while I’m standing here trying not to turn rogue because of him.
My eyes start burning and I blink hard, but the words on the screen blur anyway.
What did I expect? That he’d be miserable too? That rejecting me would hurt him enough to at least need more than three days before playing perfect boyfriend with the girl he chose over me?
The worst part is that he came to me for the jeweler.
For three years, I was the person who remembered things for him. Where he got his watches fixed. Which dry cleaner could get wine out of expensive fabric. What restaurant needed reservations two weeks ahead.
Now he wants to use all those pieces of me to make things nicer for Paige.
His name sits at the top of the screen while I swallow once, then again, trying to get rid of the pressure gathering in my throat.
Hitting the block button is the next thing I do before shoving my phone into my pocket. Honestly, I should have done that earlier.
"You were saying?" Trey’s voice pulls me back.
I lift my gaze to find him looking a little irritated and scramble to remember what I was saying before I get myself kicked out.
Right, I was about to tell him moving in together was a bad idea. That I couldn’t do it. Mostly because I still had some pride left and moving in with my ex-mate’s brother three days after getting dumped felt like a great way to kill it.
Except Ezra’s text just did a pretty good job of that for me.
He’s moved on. Actually, he gets to move on. I’m the one left trying to keep myself from turning rogue while he shops for bracelets.
And Trey is offering me a job. A ridiculously well-paying one.
My gaze runs over him before returning to his face, and his brows pull together when he catches me doing it.
I shouldn’t be thinking about it but there’s a small part of me that’s in flames and wants to see Ezra and Paige burn too.
And Trey might be impossible for half the campus to get near, but he’s right here. In front of me. Asking me to move in.
Ezra has spent years acting weird whenever his brother’s name comes up. Trey wins something, Ezra gets moody. Someone compares them, Ezra gets moodier. Sometimes Trey doesn’t even have to be in the room to ruin his day. Maybe seeing me with the brother he can’t stand will remind him I have a life too.
I lick my lips, heat still prickling under my skin as the decision settles somewhere between anger and what is probably very bad judgment.
"I’ll do it."
His brow lifts.
"I’ll move in." I pause. "But not for two months. Let me stay until the end of the semester."
That gets his attention, and the way he studies me makes me wonder if I pushed too far. Then he gets up from the sofa.
I hold my ground until he starts walking toward me, forcing me to take a step back before he stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head slightly to keep looking at him.
"You wanna stay the whole semester?"
"Yes," I whisper.
His green eyes narrow. "Why?"
Good question. One I probably should’ve prepared an answer for before opening my mouth.
If only I could tell him I’m trying to convince my ex-mate I’ve moved on, ruin his mood every chance I get and, somewhere in between all that, avoid turning rogue. Then this would be a much easier conversation.
Before I can come up with something that makes me sound remotely sane, Trey steps back.
"If you wanna stay till the end of the semester, stay."
My shoulders sag with relief, but before I can finish the exhale, his finger hooks beneath my chin and brings my face back up to his.
"But if you’re staying, make it worth it." His voice drops, his breath warm against my face. "I need to win that Trial."
Something about how tense he suddenly sounds sends a spark of alarm through me, but I push past it and nod.
"I’ll get you ready," I say firmly. "You’ll win."
"You sure?"
"Yes." This time, I don’t hesitate. "I’ll do it."
He stares at me for another second, like he’s trying to decide whether he believes me, then drops his finger.
"Alright." He turns away. "Move in tomorrow."
I blink. "Tomorrow?"
"My time’s precious, Quiz Bowl."
I open my mouth, but he keeps going.
"Bring whatever you need. If you need help moving your stuff, tell me." He glances back at me. "And if you’ve got some boyfriend who’s gonna show up here starting shit because you live with me, lose him before you come."