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“Pack later. Right now, I want to spend time with my girlfriend,” he says, his lips brushing my ear.

“Aaron,” I warn, but he doesn’t let go.

He tugs me down into his lap as he sits on my bed. I roll my eyes but let it happen. “Seriously, I need to finish packing.”

“Or,” he says, nuzzling my neck, “you could take a break.”

I’m about to argue when I notice the way his hands tighten on my thighs. He shifts, and I can feel him hard against me. My breath catches, but I shake my head, trying to stay focused.

“Aaron, come on.”

“You’re always so busy,” he murmurs, pushing my sweater up, exposing skin. His lips graze my shoulder. “My little busy bee.”

I grab his hands, stopping him. “Aaron.”

He groans but lets me go. “I’ve been patient, Sienna.”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

“You don’t want me?” he asks in a sad tone.

“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “I’m just–”

He looks at me, his jaw tight. “Sienna, we’ve been together for almost six months.”

“Yeah, but–”

“I’m trying here,” he says. “And now you’re moving.” He exhales sharply, standing up and running a hand through his hair. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

I glare at him, not knowing what to say.

He grabs his bag, heading for the door. He looks like he might say something, but his disappointed eyes meet mine and then he shakes his head. The door shuts behind him, and I sink onto the bed, staring at all the things I still need to pack.

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of my phone screen. I’m curled up on my bed, earbuds in, watching a cooking show. It’s ridiculous how soothing it is to watch people make soufflés I’ll never attempt. I’ve got one leg tucked under me, the other dangling off the bed, touching the suitcase.

I’m just getting to the part where the host is pulling some perfect golden-brown pastry out of the oven when I hear a loud, sloppy knock at the door.

My stomach sinks.

There’s only one person it could be. And my roommate isn’t here to be my buffer.

Sliding off the bed, I pad across the room. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Aaron’s voice is muffled, and there’s an edge to it.

I crack the door open, enough to see him leaning against the frame. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair a mess. He reeks of booze.

“Aaron?”

“Can I come in?” he slurs, trying to push past me.

“No.” I block the door with my foot. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you,” he says, grinning like it’s some grand gesture. “I miss you.”

“It’s late,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “You need to go home.”

“Don’t be like that,” he says, shoving the door open further. I stumble back as he steps inside. “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.”