wearing a shirt again, so every detail of his chiseled back is on display. Cooking half-nude. I guess he’s not particularly concerned about splatter burns. He probably doesn’t feel them. Like a superhero, impermeable to the injuries of mere mortals. He turns to face me with the spatula poised in the air, as if he’s waiting for something. Did I miss the question?
“Um, sorry, what did you say?”
“What made you decide to shack up with three men? I know it’s not because you found Chuck and BJ irresistibly charming.” He points at the fridge. “Cheese or no cheese in your omelet?”
“Cheese is good. I like cheese.”
He smiles and leans into the fridge to take out all the ingredients. Cheese is good. I like cheese. He must think I’m odd. I am odd. And how am I supposed to tell him that I didn’t actually decide to move in, I was just going to be a squatter for the night? He looks over at me again because, yeah that’s right, I haven’t answered the question yet. It’s so hot in here. I pull off my sweatshirt and say, “Cockroaches.”
His eyebrows angle together as he attempts to decipher my cryptic conversation skills.
“Cockroaches made my decision for me.”
He places a bowl on the counter and stares at me with his mouth slightly agape. All of me. Not my face. My body. What’s he looking at? Okay, I know I’m in my pajamas, and my hair’s a mess, and my breath probably smells horrid, but I don’t think it warrants actual shock on his part.
“What happened to your skin?”
I glance down at my arms. They’re completely covered in red marks, like spider bites but all over in tracks. And they run along my chest. And, oh my goodness, all down my legs. What is that? I’m scarlet. It’s a cockroach disease. That’s why I’m so itchy. Even itchier now that I’ve noticed. My scalp is itchy now. I stand and jig around because it feels like insects are crawling all over me. “What is it?”
“It looks like bed bugs got you.”
“Bed bugs? Are they still on me?”
He chuckles. “Probably not, but they might be on your luggage and in your clothes.”
Yuck. Disgusting. Thank goodness I left my stuff in the trunk of my car and didn’t track them in here. “Ugh. That motel was wretched. I probably have lice and tics and scabies, too. I should go.”
“You don’t have to go. Just have a shower. I’ll make a Mojave remedy for you. It will take away the itch. You can wear one of my T-shirts and we’ll put all your other clothes in the washing machine. The dryer should kill any that might have hitched a ride.”
He’s sweet. And calm. I feel better already. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t plan to rent to a dirty vagrant with communicable diseases.”
“Chuck has worse.”
My eyes widen and my expression makes Easton laugh.
“I’m kidding. I think.” He laughs even harder and starts cracking the eggs, completely unfazed by my grossness.
I slink out of the kitchen and run up to the bathroom in my room. Well, not my room. The room that’s for rent. The room that I’m currently contaminating, so probably obligated to rent even if I don’t live in it. Oh, my gosh. Maybe my dad was right. Coming to Stanford was a bad idea and this is the universe’s way of sending me the message. Hey, Della, go home. Who do you think you are? Quit.
Only, I don’t want to quit. It’s not that bad. Sure, it’s only been two days and everything has pretty much gone wrong. It could be worse, though. In the grand scheme of things people deal with much worse hardships than broken down cars and unsanitary living conditions. But what if this is only the beginning and it does get worse? I can always drop out and go home. Think positive, Della. It could also get better.
I undress and step into the shower. The water pressure is amazing. Perfect for rinsing conditioner out. The guys probably don’t fully appreciate this minor detail. Maybe Easton does. His hair is nicer than mine. I want to live here. And Easton is already making breakfast and a Mojave remedy. Plus, my clothes need washing. Hopefully dry-cleaning kills bed bugs too, otherwise I’m going to have to burn most of my wardrobe. Oh well, nobody dresses formally here anyways.
You know, come to think of it, my sister lived with Alex before they were married. My parents eventually got used to it—not until they actually got married. But still. Precedence has been set. Okay, I’m staying. Until things get worse.
Easton
Visiting my dad at the ranch was rough. Partly for the same reasons it has always been rough between us, and partly because it’s hard to see him struggling. When he was diagnosed with cancer I started going home more often to help out, and I thought maybe spending more time together would change some things between us, but it hasn’t.
I’m sitting in my truck in the driveway of the Palo Alto house, trying to adjust back into my life as a student. Della’s Volkswagen Bug is parked on the street, so she’s probably home. I was hoping the guys would already be back. For some reason I’m hesitant to be here alone with her. Not some reason. I know the reason. It’s because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I left yesterday morning. Her completely natural fresh-face, her klutziness, the innocent way her cheeks flush over everything, and the sexy way she looked wearing only my T-shirt while her clothes were in the wash. That damn near killed me.
Even my dad could tell there was something up with me. I denied it, but the fact that I kept talking about her probably didn’t help convince him. The attraction is not good for the roommate arrangement. Neither is being alone with her.
A hand slams against my driver’s side window followed by Chuck’s ugly mug. He laughs because he startled me. “What’s up, Havie?” Without waiting for a response, he carries on to the front door behind BJ. Glad to have them as a buffer, I get out of the truck and grab my bag from the back. I better figure out a way to keep my attraction to Della locked up, quick.
As I enter the kitchen Chuck breaks into a run and shouts, “Honey, we’re home.” He cannonballs past Della who is stretched out on a lawn chair in the backyard. BJ also jumps straight into the pool with his clothes on to cool off from their road trip. Della was reading a textbook but puts the book down and pulls on a long-sleeve beach cover-up over her head to hide her white bikini. She notices me over her shoulder and moves a towel self-consciously to hide her legs, which are still speckled from the bed bug bites.
“Hey,” I say and pull up a chair next to her, trying to play it cool. Unfortunately, being close to her has the reverse effect. I’ve definitely never felt this way before. I’m in so much trouble.
“Hi,” she says softly with a sideways glance and her trademark blush. “How’s your dad?”
I lean back and run my hands through my hair as I watch the guys horsing around in the pool. “He’s feeling better now. The chemotherapy takes a lot out of him, though, so I did some work around the ranch to let him rest until he got his strength back.”
“What type of cancer does he have?”
“Non-Hodgkin
