Ronnie: I know, I know, but…

Me: I swear to God Veronica.

Ronnie: RELAX, bro—relax.

Ronnie: Hairy godmother—what the hell even is that?

Me: I told her I’d teach her to be more assertive. She’s way too nice.

Ronnie: Omg. Do you LIKE HER?

Me: Yeah, she’s nice.

Ronnie: “Nice.” No. I mean—do you LIKE her, like her?

Me: No. She’s just a friend.

Ronnie: Kip, do you know how many great love stories start that way? “She’s just a friend.”

Ronnie: Yeah—a friend you want to bang.

Me: Don’t start with me. I do not want to bang her.

Ronnie: Yet.

Me: She’s just a friend. Barely even a friend.

Ronnie: Mark my words, Kipling: this isn’t going to have the ending you think it will…

***

TEDDY

I can’t sleep—no surprise—for several reasons:

It’s a strange house I’ve never been in, full of noises I don’t normally have to listen to while I’m trying to fall asleep.

It’s massive and I’m slightly intimidated.

There’s a huge dude down the hallway.

There’s a lock on my door, but he and I are alone, so this was probably one of the worst decisions I’ve made this semester besides living with Mariah.

Mariah.

What am I going to do about her? Do I have to do anything? I know she loves me—and the way she behaves? I’ve said it a hundred times (because lately, I’m always defending her) that’s just how she is, how she has always been, really. Since we were young, she’s always been hypercompetitive, and not just with me—with everyone.

I’ve learned that I just…have to stay out of her way. Stand back, let her do her thing, whatever that “thing” happens to be at the time.

Sports. Extracurriculars.

Boys.

Deep down, Mariah is sweet and giving and kind. Not everyone knows her the way I do, especially guys, because she never acts like herself when she’s around them.

No. When she’s around guys, she tends to laugh too loud, talk too loud, wear too much makeup, and dumb herself down. I don’t know why—I’ve never asked—but I’ve learned to accept it. If that’s how she wants to behave, who am I to tell her what to say and how loud?

Not that it would matter since she hardly listens to me anyway.

I roll toward the window in the dark guest bedroom then when the street light hits my eyes in the wrong spot, roll away, toward the door.

Stare at it.

I locked it, right?

I’m tempted to throw back the covers, hop out, and double-check, but I know I’m just being paranoid.

Besides, Kip? Grouchy, rude, crass Kip? Oddly, I feel like I can trust him.

Stupid, I know, but there you have it.

He brought me home because he was worried, not so he could assault me.

And, even with the beard and the hair and the huge body, I can tell it would still be easy for him to pick up women. Even with the beard and the hair and the huge body, he’s still easy on the eyes.

My eyes, anyway.

I roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the guy a few doors down the hall.

What is he doing in a house like this? Who owns it? Why are all the rooms professionally decorated? Did his parents die and leave him tons of money? Is he spending it wisely or blowing it all on stupid crap—like that expensive SUV of his?

I wonder how they died. Was it in a fiery crash or something worse, like an illness or disease?

That has to be the explanation—his parents died. Nothing else makes sense.

God, that poor thing!

Alone in the world and alone in this big house! No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about his parents; their loss must have been tragic.

You know what else I wonder? If he’s lying in his giant bed, thinking about me too. I know it’s a giant bed because I snuck a peek of his bedroom when I was walking to mine, the large four-poster placed strategically between two large windows in the center of the room.

No.

He’s not thinking about me—no doubt he’s already passed out.

A guy like that wouldn’t give me a second thought.

A guy like that would have his pick of girls on campus, long hair and unruly beard or not—that shit is so trendy right now. As I flop to my side, I wonder if he realizes that. He seems to think it’s incredibly off-putting, when in reality…

It’s growing on me.

FIRST SATURDAY

“Since when was Hairy AF such a bad thing?”

Teddy

“I lay awake all night agonizing over something, and I feel terrible about being so insensitive.”

Kip’s brows go up as he pours himself a cup of coffee and leans his back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles.

His hair is a mess, worse than mine—sweaty and sticking to his forehead, piled in a man bun, he’s added a sweat band for his early morning run.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about your parents.”

“Uh…why?” His voice cracks as it warms up, not having been used yet.

“I’m really sorry about what happened to them, Kip.”

“What happened to them?”

“You know,” I hedge, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

Instead, his body leans forward, head tipping at an angle as he waits for me to finish my sentence.

“You know…” I try again. “How they…”

His head cocks. Brows go up as he sips from the white, porcelain coffee cup.

Slurps.

I try again. “It must not be easy living alone. Lonely, even.”

Kip shrugs his massive shoulders. “Beats living with roommates—or with my family.”

“Kip!” I gasp in horror. “You can’t say things like that!” I’m one step from making the sign of the cross.

“It’s the truth.”

“That is so wrong on so many levels!” My voice is an outraged gasp.

“Why are you acting so strange?”

“You’re the one being impervious!”

He presses two fingers to his temple. “First of all, don’t use such big words so early in the morning. Second of all—what the fuck is going on right now?”

“It must have been hard on you when they passed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your parents…passing.”

“Wait—you think my parents are dead?”

“I mean, why else would you live in this house all by yourself?”

“Because they bought it?”

“Who did?”

“My parents?” He’s staring at me like I’ve officially lost my mind.

“Wait, so—they’re not dead? They haven’t passed?”

“Stop saying passed—you sound deranged.” He laughs. “No, they’re not dead. The only thing my parents pass these days is the salt at the dinner table. Jesus Christ, Teddy, relax.”

His voice cracks as he lets out a loud bark, bending at the waist, really milking this for all it’s worth. I feel like such an asshole.

My eyes narrow into slits. “I hate you right now.”

“What the hell did I do!” Kip can barely catch his breath. “I never said my freaking parents weren’t alive, you just assumed they were. Oh my god, this is too good. It’s too good.”

“But…”

None of this makes any sense.

“Wow. You just made my day, I swear—goddamn you’re cute.”

“But…why would they buy you such a nice house? Why not a dump closer to campus? Who does that?”

When Kip presents me with his back, his shoulders give one last shake, hands busying themselves on the countertop by ripping open a packet of sugar and ignoring my question. “Let’s not get into it.”

Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Fine.

“Someday, though? If we’re gonna be friends, Kip, we should be able to talk.”

“Jesus,” he mutters with a snort. “This is why I play rugby and stay away from girls.”

“Why? Because you don’t like having friends?”