Page 17 of Test Me

Josh turned around slowly, brows climbing his forehead.

“I just mean that… well, you said you missed fireplaces and there’s one that works at my place. It’s gas log,” I added, not sure if that was better or worse.

After a couple of seconds that lasted an eon, his expression shifted to one of consideration before he nodded. “All right.”

Relief flooded through me. I could light the fire in the living room. Then we could have a drink and figure out how to get back to status quo.

“Lead the way,” he said, as I fell in step beside him, and we started across the quad enveloped in the most painful silence I’d ever endured in my life. But at least he’d accepted my offer.

The second we stepped inside the house, it became apparent that whatever snow-globe-quaint scene I’d been envisioning forus involving lounging by the fireplace together and finding our way back to friendly banter wasn’t going to happen. I should’ve guessed. Four of my roommates were crowded around the TV above the fireplace, yelling at the game onscreen. Had to love football season.

We barely warranted a glance as we stepped inside, though I introduced Josh and we were offered space on the couch. Josh glanced at me, seemingly waiting for permission. I didn’t want to sit on the couch and watch a game, but I hedged before asking, “Want to hang in my room? We can grab a beer from the fridge. Warm up?”

Logan Jenkins, suave skills: 0

Josh did his brow arch thing again and shrugged. “Okay, sure.”

I grabbed us both a beer from the fridge and then led us up the stairs with absolutely zero fucking clue what to do next and an impending sense of panic over the hot lacrosse player trailing behind me that I had absolutely no business being in the company of after what I’d just done.

10

JOSH

My head was still spinning as Logan unlocked the door of his room and I followed him inside, stopping just over the threshold as my jaw dropped. “Wow, this is really fucking sweet.” I was pretty sure I’d said some variation of that ten other times since we’d walked into the large Victorian. “Beats the hell out of the athletic dorms, that’s for sure.” I wrinkled my nose, thinking of the tile in our communal shower darkened with mildew, the beige “carpet” that was more like slightly soft cement. I mean, it wasn’t that bad, and better than the regular dorms, but still nothing like this.

My gaze pinged around the room, singling out points of interest as I sipped the beer Logan had handed me. The high ceiling with a few cracks in the plaster, a vintage—or more likely, antique—light fixture in the center, the dark blue paint on the walls. A messy bed and a basic desk. But, also, a fireplace. “You have your own fireplace! Why didn’t you say so?”

“It’s gas, too, but the house manager said only the one downstairs works,” Logan said when I started toward it.

I studied the little Marvel character figurines on the mantel.

“Funko Pops,” he explained, and I glanced over my shoulder for the tinge of sheepishness in his voice. “Nerdy stuff.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what Funko Pops are, but they’re cute.”

“Cute?” He chuckled, and I glanced over my shoulder at him again.

“Yeah, cute. I didn’t know what else to say, but I don’t think they’re dorky or anything.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.” He sounded satisfied enough with my response.

I bent down, sweeping a finger over the marble above his fireplace. “Damn, it’s the real thing. You don’t pay more for this shit?”

“Nope, there’s a lottery. First for the house, then the rooms. Anyone can apply. The U technically owns them. They’re kind of like an upgraded dorm.”

“I’ll say.” I’d had no idea that was even an option, but then again, I’d been destined for the athletic dorms from the start. I dropped to a crouch and examined the fireplace. “You sure this doesn’t work?” I asked, eyeing the gas logs.

“I mean, I’ve never tried it, I was just told it didn’t work.”

“You got a lighter?”

“Ummmm, maybe?”

I ran my fingers along the piping and heard Logan rustling around behind me, then he dropped down beside me, offering out a blue BIC that he snatched back before I could take it.

“You sure you know what you’re doing? I really don’t want to be responsible for blowing up Gable House.”

“If that happens, we’ll both be dead and none the wiser,” I teased. His scowl lightened but the hesitation remained in his eyes. “My folks own a hardware store, remember? When I was a kid, my dad used to do handyman stuff. I’d go with him.” Ireached for the lighter. “I know what I’m doing, I promise. Trust me?”