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Now it’s my turn to appear concerned. A few locks of hair have fallen out of her bun, mimicking the appearance of an overworked, underappreciated housewife like you see depicted on TV. “What would be in said contract?”
She shrugs. “I would have to think on that.”
“Would I have the chance to add my own stipulations?”
Her gaze narrows even further. “Perhaps. A few.”
“A few, huh?” Oddly, I have to stop myself from grinning. I haven’t smiled in weeks, but this conversation is amusing.She’samusing.
She taps her chin. “It sounds like we’ve both had some terrible experiences.” She sympathizes for a brief moment, but then her gaze moves into distrusting territory again. “But how do I know you weren’t actually the problem? I need to gather mythoughts. Plus, Knightley Hall is a needle in a haystack situation. The holy grail.”
“Why do you think I’m here? I’ll get down on my hands and knees.”
Her eyes flash, and I suddenly regret those last words. She wouldn’t really make me…
“I’ll have a contract for you by email in two hours.”
“You—”Wait. I peer from her to my surroundings, then back to her. A contract in two hours. Okay. I was prepared to keep fighting.
“You’ll have thirty minutes to add any stipulations of your own. Send it back to me to agree. Once it’s signed, you can go to Housing.”
Man, she’s…something. Thorough might be one word. High-strung could be another, but I’ve been called that recently, so I’ll reserve judgment.
I stand. She doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated that I tower over her by at least a foot. I hold out my hand, and she shakes it, her grip firm.
By the time I’m walking down the carpeted hallway back to my shithole of an underclassmen dorm, I already know there isn’t a lot she could put into that contract that would prompt me to let this go.
I’ll stay out of her way, and Nor— Len is the type of roommate to stay out of mine.
Match made in heaven.
CHAPTER THREE
Len
No girly shitin communal spaces.
That’s what he wants to add? I put real issues into the contract and he wants to tack on that I can’t put anygirly shitin the communal spaces? I don’t even know what constitutes as girly shit, nor do I know if I own any.
I pull up the school app on my phone, my heart fluttering in my chest like a raging hummingbird. Is this a joke? He wrote down something just to be an ass, didn’t he? I search his name in the message directory, and when I click on it, I find an old message thread from back when he and Trish were together. From the sound of the thread, Trish had left her phone, and he’d messaged me to find out where we were.
I remember this night and I don’t want to.
This is all a terrible idea.
I hesitate, tapping my foot on the floor. Isaiah James and I should not be roommates. For one, he plays hockey. Dear God, why?
My only consolation is that the hockey team here is nothing. It’s not constantly thrown in my face like back home, butugh. I’ve already written in the contract that he can’t have his equipment all over the place. I wanted to put in a clause that he couldn’t talk about hockey either, but I can’t censor someone’s words. That would go against everything I believe in. If he talks about hockey, I’ll leave the room.
My thumbs hover over the on-screen keyboard, poised to ask for examples of girly shit, but will it change my mind? I’m not the girliest person ever, anyway. I can’t think of one thing I own that would be labeled girly shit, so there’s no chance of it being left in the communal space.
If he wants to add this in, he can sit with his own anti-feminist verbiage and be the quintessential jock he is.
Girly shit. Ugh.
I bite my lip. If this one statement has me annoyed, what will having a jock—full-time, in my space—be like? Horrifying. It’ll top the cannabis lover or the girl who spoke loudly on the phone at all hours of the night.
However, he’s doing this contract for my benefit, and we both know it. He has the points racked up to live in Knightley. That’s obvious. If the Housing lady called him, it’s him. I don’t have a say. He’s being nice by talking to me first.