Chapter8
1080 Words
Chloe and I ate lunch together almost every day.
She had apparently decided friendship was not something requiring mutual consent.
On Monday, she saved me a seat. On Tuesday, she stole half my chips. On Wednesday, she added herself to my emergency contacts while I was distracted.
By Thursday, she knew my entire schedule.
By Friday, she had begun rearranging it.
“You work too much,” she announced.
We sat near the student union windows. I had soup and half a sandwich.
Chloe had fries, a cheeseburger, and a milkshake large enough to qualify as structural engineering.
“I work three shifts.”
“That’s three too many.”
“I enjoy eating.”
“Overrated.”
“So is starving.”
She stole one of the crackers beside my soup. “You could work less.”
“Scholarships don’t pay for everything.”
Her expression changed.
Not pity.
I would have hated pity.
Just understanding.
She broke the cracker in half. “Three days?”
“Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”
“That explains why you ignored me last Friday.”
“I didn’t ignore you.”
“You declined my invitation to the first party of the semester.”
“I had work.”
“You said you were studying.”
“I did that afterward.”
Chloe stared at me. “You worked until ten and then studied?”
“Yes.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Several things.”
“At least you’re self-aware.”
She dipped a fry into her milkshake.
I watched in horror. “That should be illegal.”
“You lack imagination.”
“I have standards.”
“You live with hockey players.”
“Those facts are unrelated.”
Chloe leaned forward. “So.”
I knew that tone. “No.”
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“You’re going to.”
“How’s the apartment?”
“Fine.”
“How are the roommates?”
“Fine.”
“That means one of them is annoying you.”
“Mason almost burned oatmeal.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “That tracks.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“I understand his spirit.”
I stirred my soup. “Oliver is quiet. He studies more than I do, which is alarming.”
“And the other one?”
I did not look at her. “What other one?”
“The tall one.”
“They’re all tall.”
“The broody one.”
“Mason can brood.”
“No, he can’t.”
“You still haven’t met him.”
“He has a cheerful name.”
“Mason?”
“Exactly. Mason sounds like someone who helps his grandmother plant tomatoes.”
I thought about his plan to acquire a golden retriever without permission. “That is surprisingly accurate.”
Chloe pointed a fry at me. “The other one.”
“Adrian.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Even his name is dramatic.”
“It’s a normal name.”
“Not on him.”
“You haven’t met him either.”
“I saw him outside the arena.”
I paused. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What were you doing near the arena?”
“Walking.”
“You’re in nursing.”
“Nurses can walk near sports facilities.”
I narrowed my eyes.
She smiled innocently.
“So,” she continued, “Adrian.”
“What about him?”
“He dresses like a Victorian funeral.”
I nearly inhaled my soup. “He wears black.”
“He owns only black.”
“That’s efficient.”
“He looks like he personally files taxes for Death.”
I laughed.
A few students at the next table turned toward us.
Chloe looked pleased with herself.
“He isn’t that bad,” I said.
Her smile sharpened. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“You’re defending him.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m being objective.”
“Mhm.”
“He keeps the apartment clean.”
“Mhm.”
“He reminds Mason to eat vegetables.”
“Mhm.”
“He showed me a shortcut when I was late for class.”
Chloe slowly lowered her fry. “Evie.”
“What?”
“I think your roommate might be a vampire.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“Think about it.”
“There is nothing to think about.”
“Pale.”
“A lot of people are pale.”
“Always wears black.”
“Personal preference.”
“Broods professionally.”
“He doesn’t brood.”
“He looks like he wandered out of a gothic cathedral.”
“That is not evidence.”
“Hockey captain.”
“How is that related?”
“Vampires would be excellent at hockey.”
I laughed again.
She leaned across the table. “Fast reflexes. Supernatural balance. Terrifying intimidation.”
“He is not a vampire.”
“Have you seen him eat garlic?”
“Yes.”
The lie came out before I could think about it.
Chloe narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
“He probably eats garlic.”
“Has he been in direct sunlight?”
“Yes.”
“Did he look happy about it?”
Adrian rarely looked happy about anything.
“That proves nothing.”
She counted on her fingers. “Pale. Broody. Gothic. Never smiles. Built like someone designed him during a thunderstorm.”
I pressed my lips together.
She was not entirely wrong.
Chloe pointed at me. “You see it.”
“I see that you need another hobby.”
“I have one.”
“What?”
“Being right.”
She stole another cracker.
“I’m telling you. You live with a hot hockey vampire.”
I stopped. “A what?”
“A hot hockey vampire.”
“That is not a phrase.”
“It is now.”
“He has a name.”
“So does Batman.”
I stared at her. “Do not call him that.”
“Hot Hockey Vampire?”
“Yes.”
“Too late.”
“Chloe.”
“It’s stuck.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She lifted her milkshake in a toast. “To the Hot Hockey Vampire.”
I refused to participate.
She tapped her cup against my water anyway.
- Writer
