Page 52 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

Lizzy

“We have what in our attic?”

“Squirrels.”

I stare blankly at one of my roommates. “So?”

“So,” Bethany deadpans. “I’m not staying here with squirrels running around the attic. What if one chews through the light fixture and falls into my room while I’m sleeping?” She shudders. “And what if it’s not squirrels. Do I want to be here to find out? No. It’s a no from me.”

There are squirrels all over campus. Obviously, they’re going to infiltrate the living quarters of those of us living in crappy, off-campus housing. Also, they’re cute. I don’t get weirded out by their presence like some of my girlfriends do—and I don’t agree they have beady little eyes.

My roommate swears they’re going to pounce or worse—attack—and won’t look in their direction. She says their little brown eyeballs bore into her soul when she sees one (or five or fifteen) when she’s walking to class.

“What’s your plan, then?” I stare at the small bookshelf in our living room, trying to decide on a book to read. It’s Friday night, but I have no desire to get cute and go out.

Plus, it’s cold.

“My plan?”

“Yeah. Your plan.”

“I’m going to stay with Jon until our freaking landlord gets pest control and removes them.

I swear there’s an entire family up there.

It’s probably raccoons.” She’s quiet for a few seconds while she worst-case scenarios all the horrible critters that could be living in our house. “Bats. Opossums. Rats.”

Another shudder.

“What’s Jill going to do?”

Bethany lets out a puff of air, moving to the kitchen.

“She’s going to her parents. Their lake house is like, forty minutes from campus and she doesn’t want her face eaten off, either. Her mom said they carry diseases, and Jill doesn’t want animal pox.”

I have no idea what that even is.

Does she mean rabies?

Ew.

“You’re being so dramatic about this.” Like so dramatic.

“You’re not being dramatic enough !” she announces theatrically. “You’re not staying in this house when there are rodents ready to revolt. You can’t.”

“I haven’t heard a single sound.” I shrug. “No animals.”

“That’s because you snore. If you were in my room, you’d hear it. The door for the crawl space is literally in my closet.”

That’s probably true that I snore, but I’m still not overly concerned.

“So what I hear you saying is that I’m going to be home alone for the next few days?” I hate being alone, which is the reason I have roommates. That and splitting the rent. “Why do I have to be here by myself?”

What if something is actually going to maim me?

“Go stay with Keesha or Marie. I told them we have an infestation and they offered to let me stay on their couch.”

We do not have an infestation. Is that what she’s telling her friends?

“I like them both but I’m not staying with your sorority sisters.”

It would be weird being there without Bethany, wouldn’t it?

“What about Danika and Michelle’s place?”

“Are you kidding me? They had a friggin bat in their living room last month, and Paul had to catch it with a lacrosse stick.” The words fly out of my mouth, and I immediately regret them, clamping my mouth shut to prevent more verbal diarrhea.

Maybe I shouldn’t be reminding her when the subject of pests in our own attic is so sensitive.

“Then go next door.” Bethany is clearly frustrated with my rebuttal to all her suggestions—and rightly so.

“The guys already offered to come over and handle it, but when I told the landlord, he said if anyone came over and went into the attic, it had to be a professional because if there was any damage, we’d have to pay for it. ”

Of course he did.

“That guy is such an asshole,” I groan because our landlord is such an asshole.

We’re not sure what his deal is, but it takes him forever to respond to our messages.

God forbid there’s an emergency, like a pipe bursting and water leaking through the ceilings around the lights.

Once, the light fixture in our living room was crackling and buzzing, and we were afraid it would start an electrical fire.

You’d think he would want to buzz right over and assess the situation? Protect his investment?

Did the man bother to call us back after we’d frantically left voicemail after voicemail?

Negative, ghost rider.

It took him days.

Why? Because!

He.

Is.

A.

Dick .

So. I’m not sure why he’d give a shit about the alleged critter in our attic, but if he’s going to handle it when he gets around to it and not a moment sooner.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

My bedroom is on the first floor, which could be a reason I haven’t so much as heard a peep from any unwanted houseguests—but that’s just a guess.

“Come on, Lizzy, let’s be honest,” Bethany laments. “Those morons next door would probably actually cause damage if they came here to fight squirrels, let alone more bats.”

The neighbors in question?

Four hockey players on the university’s team, each and every one of them massive, rough-around-the-edges dudes.

I haven’t had much interaction with them. There has been no reason for me to go over there, and I don’t count the occasional head nod when one happens to be walking to his front porch at the same time, and we make accidental eye contact.

We were baking once, and I didn’t check for ingredients before starting. We needed one egg for brownies, and none of us had wanted to run to the grocery store or pay for delivery, so Bethany waltzed over and knocked on the door.

A life-size Elmo answered the door, or rather…it was a dude in an Elmo costume—we’re not sure if it was a kink thing or a costume party thing, but Bethany hadn’t known where to look or what to say and long story short: they didn’t have eggs either.

Yeah .

Bethany and Jill might know their names, but I do not.

Why would I?

Athletes intimidate me.

I see them headed in my direction, and I turn the other way. What would I do if I made purposeful eye contact with one, let alone had to talk to one? And these guys next door? They look like action heroes come to life. I’m positive they probably grunt instead of talk…

“Anyway…” Bethany is cramming clothes into an overnight bag, not bothering to neatly fold them. “There should be someone here tomorrow to handle it. Assuming the asshole does actually call pest control.”

“I’m still convinced you’re overreacting.”

My roommate rolls her eyes. “And I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before an animal attacks me in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping. I’d rather not take my chances.”

“What time do I have to be here to let the guy in?”

“No idea.” My roommate shrugs. “Asshole has a key, and asshole has to call the pest dude.” She leaves the room and bounds up the stairs, returning with an overnight kit.

Toothbrush. Toothpaste. “My guess is he’ll text and only give us a ten-minute notice, so hopefully, we’re in class.

I don’t want to have to talk to him. He can figure this out by himself.

It’s like, a health hazard or something if he doesn’t. ”

Is it, though?

Bethany takes one last glance at me before zipping her bag shut.

“Honestly, I think you’re using this as an excuse to go to your boyfriend’s house for a few days. There is no need to leave.”

It’s a rodent, not a bomb.

“I don’t need an excuse to stay with Jon for a few days.” She tilts her head. “Still not taking any chances.”

It’s moments like this that I’m reminded how high maintenance my roommates are compared to me, who is willing to stay in the house and gamble that a man-eating squirrel won’t come bursting through my bedroom wall.

I mean, what are the actual odds?

“Alright. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Like I’m going to need anything?

Puh-lease.

“I think I’ll manage with you down the road, like, a whole block.

” I’m exaggerating. He lives farther down than a block but it still wouldn’t take me that much time to scuttle myself to his house.

“I’ll be fine.” In fact. “It’ll be nice having the house all to myself. Have I ever been here alone before?”

There are three of us.

Jill and Bethany share a room. I have the luxury of being in my own room thanks to the random drawing we had before moving in. That’s what decided for us who was in which room.

Once Bethany has left, I don’t know what to do first!

Jump on the couch?

Run from room to room naked?

Eat all the food labeled ‘JILL’?

Instead, I run the bath, pouring a healthy dose of oils into the water while watching the steam rise. It’s not often I’m able to hog the bathroom. Someone always “needs” it, wants to do their hair, needs to do their skin care routine, take a shower, brush their teeth, or use the toilet.

This is going to feel so good.

I find a romance novel in the living room that Bethany brought home recently, flipping it over so I can read the blurb.

A hockey romance?

I scoff.

Of course, she’d be reading a hockey romance when we have a house full of hockey players next door. Coincidence?

I think not.

I pluck it off the coffee table and take it to the bathroom along with my bathrobe, a fresh towel, and slippers. I test the water with the tip of my toe before stepping into it and push back the shower curtain so it’s not dragging in the water.

I lower myself down.

I sigh when I’m submerged up to my boobs, then dip in lower so it covers my shoulders, and close my eyes.

“Ahhh.”

This is the life.

No roommates, no exams to study for, and a fridge full of food that no one can yell at me for eating.

I’m winning.

Idly, I lie here a few minutes, enjoying the silence before removing my hands from the suds, drying them off with the terry cloth towel I placed next to the tub, and pick up the paperback that’s been chilling on the toilet seat cover.

What the hell was that?

I pause with the remote control pointed at the TV.

Scratch, scratch.

I listen.

Tilt my head to hear better, hitting MUTE on the remote.

Thump .