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He hangs his keys on the small rack by the front door like the organized monster he is before quickly taking off to his bedroom without giving me a second glance.
This third impression is going to shit just like the last two.
“I was thinking maybe we could have breakfast tomorrow,” I quickly interject before he hides himself in his room for the night.
He doesn’t spare me a look as he reaches his door. “No.”
“It’d be nice to get to know each other, you know, since we’re living together now.”
“No.”
“Okay, no breakfast. You’re a busy man. Maybe lunch? Or maybe you don’t eat. Robots don’t eat.”
“What?”
That finally earns his attention as his head snaps in my direction, his aggressively ocean eyes locked on mine.
I swallow. “Kidding. It was a joke.” Another awkward laugh. “Coffee? It’d be nice to get to know the person I’m living with. Who knows, maybe we’ll even be friends?”
His eyes narrow.
“Okay, no friends.” I hold my hands out in defense. “No friends. No food. No fun. Got it.”
A soft chuckle vibrates in his chest and at first, I enjoy the sound, thinking he might find me funny, but then I realize the laugh is condescending.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t want you here. I didn’t ask for you to move in, and the only reason you’re here is because you’re my sister’s friend and I’m the reason she doesn’t have very many. I like my space, and if it were my choice, I’d be living alone. So, no, Indiana, we’re not going to be friends. We’re going to coexist in the same apartment until you can find yourself a different situation while I fulfill my brotherly duty.”
He closes the door behind him a little harder than necessary.
Fucking ouch.
The third impression was worse than the first two.
3
RYAN
Fuck.
Sinking my forehead to the back of my door, I close my eyes with regret.
That was mean and I didn’t intend to be. In fact, the entire walk up here I kept reminding myself to be nice, trying to come up with some stupid greeting to say to her for the first time.
Welcome home. No, that makes it sound like our home.
Happy you’re here. That’s a lie. I’m not.
Anything you need, let me know. Don’t let me know. Get it yourself.
Every phrase I rehearsed sounded exactly like that…rehearsed.
The plan I came up with was a simple, “I’ll get a spare key made for you,” before walking to my room where I could have a moment alone.
But then I saw her standing there barefoot in the middle of my living room, wearing a sweatshirt so oversized I’m still not convinced she’s got anything on underneath. Her blonde hair was in a braid flowing over her shoulder, but most of the pieces were pulled out in a frazzled mess. Her brown eyes were softer than I remember and that just pissed me off.
All night long, my teammates gave me shit about her moving in. They’ve met her once, about five months ago and I thought the lasting impression she left on them was because she threw up all over my shoes that night. But unfortunately, the only memory they have of her is that she was an absolute smoke show.
I knew she was pretty. I’m not blind, but there’s no way she was as beautiful as they recalled. I was certain they played it up in their minds.
