He Hates Me In Real Life

My phone buzzed against the edge of my desk, cutting through the quiet of the apartment. I was halfway through a paragraph on campus housing scandals when Aiden’s name lit up the screen. Come over. Lunch. Now. I stared at the message for three full seconds before typing back with one hand, the other still holding my pen. Busy. Essay. Deadline tomorrow. Go away. The reply came instantly. You haven’t left your place in two days. Iris told me. Get up. My treat. I rolled my eyes. Of course Iris had snitched. I set the pen down and stretched my ink-stained fingers. I’m in the middle of something important. You’re always in the middle of something important. Ten minutes. I’m not asking. I could already hear his voice in my head—loud, bossy, impossible to ignore. I chewed the inside of my cheek and glanced at the half-written page. The cursor blinked like it was judging me. Why do you suddenly care about feeding me? Because you’re my sister and you look like you forgot food exists. Also Dorian’s coming. Don’t make it weird. Dorian. The name alone made me grimace. Aiden’s roommate. His academic rival. The guy my brother complained about at least three times a week—too smart, too quiet, too good at basketball, too everything. I had seen him around campus a handful of times. Tall. Cold. The kind of face that made people stare and then pretend they weren’t staring. I had never spoken to him. I didn’t plan to start today. Pass. Quinn. Aiden. I’m serious. Get dressed. I’m buying. You can even order the expensive pasta you like. I snorted. Bribery. Low. Is it working? No. Yes it is. Ten minutes or I’m coming to drag you out myself. We went back and forth like that for nearly ten minutes. Aiden refused to drop it. I kept throwing excuses. He kept batting them away. By the time I finally typed Fine. But if your roommate is rude I’m leaving and you’re paying for the Uber, my neck was stiff and my coffee was cold. I locked my phone and stood, stretching until my spine cracked. The oversized black sweater I had been living in all morning slipped off one shoulder. I pulled it off, tossed it on the bed, and opened my closet. I chose a soft cream sweater that actually fit, a dark plaid skirt that hit just above my knees, and my clean white sneakers. I ran a brush through my long dark hair, left it loose, and swiped on a little lip balm. Nothing fancy. Just enough so Aiden couldn’t accuse me of looking like a ghost. Iris was sprawled on the couch when I walked into the living room, scrolling on her phone with one socked foot dangling over the armrest. “Going out,” I said, grabbing my tote bag from the hook. Iris didn’t look up. “With who?” “Aiden. He’s forcing lunch on me.” “Cool. Bring me leftovers if it’s good.” She waved a lazy hand. “And text me if the roommate is as hot as everyone says. For science.” I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my mouth. “You’re the worst.” “Love you too.” Outside, the air was sharp enough to wake me up. I walked the few blocks to the café Aiden had picked, hands in my pockets, mind still half on my unfinished essay. I didn’t bother checking my reflection in the shop windows. Aiden had seen me looking worse. He was already waiting outside, one arm raised high like I might miss him. Tall, dark-haired, wearing a clean navy hoodie and dark jeans. Just Aiden, looking like he’d actually put effort into leaving the house. And beside him stood Dorian Blake. My steps slowed for half a second. I had seen him before—across the quad, in the library, once at a basketball game when Aiden dragged me along—but never this close. He was taller than I remembered. Broader through the shoulders. Dark blond hair falling over his forehead like he couldn’t be bothered to push it back. He wore a plain black button-down shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the fitted lines of his chest, and dark jeans. A thin gold chain rested at his collarbone. His expression was blank. Bored. Like standing on a sidewalk waiting for someone’s little sister was the last place he wanted to be. Aiden waved harder. “Finally. Thought you were going to flake.” “I almost did,” I said, stopping in front of them. I kept my eyes on my brother. “You said ten minutes. It turned into twenty.” “Close enough.” Aiden slung an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the door. “Dorian, this is Quinn. Quinn, Dorian. Be nice to each other or I’m making you both pay for your own food.” Dorian gave a short nod. His eyes flicked over me once—quick, uninterested—and then he looked away. No smile. No “nice to meet you.” Nothing. Charming. Inside, the café smelled like garlic and fresh bread. Aiden claimed a corner table and immediately started arguing with the menu like it had personally offended him. I slid into the seat beside him. Dorian took the chair across from me and pulled out his phone without a word. While Aiden flagged down a waiter, I unlocked my own phone under the table. My thumb hovered over the familiar chat. Blake. Two years. No face. No last name. Just a username and a voice that had become the best part of my nights. It had started on a quiet evening when I was bored and decided to argue with a stranger in a campus forum about ecosystems. We had gone back and forth for hours. Then the private messages started. Then the voice notes. Then the late-night calls where he just wanted to hear me laugh. He had become obsessed with me in the sweetest, clingiest way. He sent me blurry gym pics and shirtless post-game selfies with captions like for my girl’s eyes only. He called every night just to hear my voice and told me I was the only good thing in his day. He wore the delicate gold necklace I had sent him—my name in tiny letters—and never took it off. Last night he had whispered things that still made my knees feel weak. My face burned just remembering it. I typed quickly. Hey. What are you up to? The reply came almost immediately. Lunch break with my annoying roommate and his little sister. Wish I was home so I could talk to you properly. My lips curved. I glanced up. Aiden was still talking to the waiter. Dorian was staring at his phone, thumb moving. I typed again. Sounds fun. It’s not. I’d rather be with you. My chest felt warm. I was about to reply when something made me look across the table properly for the first time. The chain at Dorian’s collarbone shifted as he leaned back. A thin gold nameplate caught the light. Q U I N N. The letters were small. Delicate. Exactly like the one I had carefully chosen and mailed two months ago after he begged for something of mine to wear. My breath stopped. My fingers went numb around the phone. It couldn’t be. I stared at the nameplate. At the sharp line of his jaw. At the way his hair fell over his forehead the same way it did in the blurry gym selfies he sent me. The same shoulders. The same hands. Blake. Dorian Blake. My online boyfriend—the soft, obsessed boy who called me at 1 a.m. and told me I was the only good thing in his day—was sitting three feet away looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I almost pressed a hand to my chest. Excitement flooded me first. Pure, dizzying joy. He was real. He was here. And he was so much more handsome than I had ever let myself imagine. I couldn’t stop staring at him. I texted him again, fingers slightly shaky. Did you really go to lunch with your roommate and his little sister? A second later Dorian’s screen lit up. My heart was hammering like a caged bird. How could this be? My boyfriend was sweet and cheerful. The version I was currently seeing was a moody twenty-three-year-old man with severe brooding issues. I watched him type back. Don’t worry babe there aren’t any good here. You know I don’t go to parties or clubs. I only want you. Are you missing me baby? I was still staring at him, trying to understand what was going on. Aiden caught me staring bewildered knives into Dorian and leaned toward me. “Don’t let the pretty features fool you,” he muttered. “This one’s got a nutcase. His online girlfriend cheated on him and now he sends her spicy photos to win her back.” I almost choked on my drink, coughing out loud. Aiden patted my back softly. “Jesus, Quinn, you’re twenty-one years old. Don’t you know how to drink a simple beverage?” I looked up and found Dorian looking at me with confusion. Then he turned away to his phone again. I stared at Aiden. “What… what cheating?” Aiden sighed. “His online girlfriend told him that her peach garden had been infested by bugs and that she needed help on how to restore it.” I froze. I remembered that day. The exact day he began sending me pictures. His reply had been: Baby don’t go to anyone else. If you need anything I’m here. He had completely misunderstood the situation and thought I was cheating. As far as I knew my brother only had one roommate—Dorian Blake. The same Dorian Blake who my brother had always been neck and neck with for the top spot in their faculty. The same Dorian who had the attention of half the female population. Rumor had it that he didn’t so much as glance at another woman, but he had an online girlfriend whom he worshipped like a religion. Turned out I was the religion. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had never shown me his face and I thought maybe he was insecure about his looks. But looking at his face—carved from marble, a jawline that could cut glass, and lips that looked entirely too soft—my brain short-circuited. He was wearing a button-down shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the fitted lines of his chest. I had seen them in photos, sure, but having the flesh-and-blood version right in front of me was an entirely different experience. I swallowed hard. My fingers twitched. I wanted to touch him. Then I typed: Daddy I want to touch you. Across the table I watched Dorian’s face turn a violent shade of red. He gulped down the water in front of him, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. It was a distracting sight. But when he looked up, his face was a mask of total indifference. My phone buzzed. Babe behave. I’m out in public. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to hide a smile. But I want to see your abs daddy. He stared at his phone for a long time. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted. Then finally he sent: Tonight. I promise. No. I want to see them now. Dorian pushed his chair back and excused himself, the fraying of his composure barely concealed. “I need to use the restroom,” he said. Two minutes later my phone buzzed. It was a photo. In the dim light of the restroom he had the hem of his shirt caught between his teeth, his belt unbuckled, the leather loose, revealing the downward view of his abs disappearing into the waistline of his trousers. Veins thick against the pale skin of his lower stomach. I actually gulped. Babe is this okay? I’m afraid if I hold back much longer I might actually cry. All the blood in my body rushed to my face. I was on fire. Aiden frowned. “What is wrong with you? Why is your face the color of a stop sign?” I turned away and fanned myself with a napkin.