Read Online Roommates (Soulmates #1) by Hazel Kelly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hazel Kelly
Ads: Link
woken so
many times in the night from nerves.
Of course, I must've slept deeply at some point because I kept
dreaming I was the girl in The Notebook kissing Ryan Gosling in the rain over
and over again.
Hopefully I wasn't making soft little groaning noises in my
sleep whenever he got home. That would be embarrassing.
Speaking of sleepy noises, I could tell by the sound coming from
under his door that he was still conked out.
Yesterday, I waited until he woke up naturally again and was
bursting for the toilet by the time he stumbled shirtless out of his room.
I was starting to think that was actually his preferred level of
dress and that he wasn’t actually doing it to torture me.
Though it still did.
Why did the hottest guy I knew have to be my stepbrother?
Had I been a murdering bandit in a past life? A Spaniard with a
blanket full of small pox? Judas himself?
I mean, I'd only kissed him once and already I knew I'd probably
compare every man I ever met going forward to him no matter how hard I tried
not to.
But it was more than that.
For instance, just watching him fold his laundry at the kitchen
table made me feel like I was going to break out in a heat rash. I don’t know
if it was my fascination with his military precision or the fact that he was
shirtless at the time, but being around him was overloading my senses.
I seriously needed a Xanax.
Not that I’d ever taken one, but isn’t that how a professional
actor would’ve coped with this situation?
Ugh.
Even the low laugh he let out when he was reluctant to find
something funny made my stomach feel hollow in a way that only his mischievous
smile could fill up.
It was fucked up.
And the kiss had only made it worse. Because for the first time
since I tried to catch his eye on the bus at age fourteen, I actually felt like
I had his full attention, and it was a high better than any drug.
Or so I imagined since my experience with drugs was very
limited.
Sure, I'd puffed a few joints in college, but that didn't really
count as drug use in my opinion.
And I did smoke cigs like a chimney sophomore year, but when I
realized that I was only doing it because everyone else was and that it can
make your boobs saggy, I packed it in after forty eight hours of extremely ticklish
coughing fits.
The point is, I still remember when he got on that bus.
He was older than me. I probably shouldn't even have attempted
to make eye contact with him, but I felt really great about myself that morning
because the front of my backpack was full of perfectly sharpened number two
pencils, brand new notebooks, and folders I really liked.
I hated when my mom left school shopping until the end of summer,
and I was forced to choose the half a dozen folders that I found the least
offensive.
But that summer- perhaps because she knew I was nervous about
going to high school in the first place- she took me in July so I got my pick
of the bunch.
I realize now that my level of excitement for pretty folders probably
only enhanced the toxic eau de geek I gave off back then, a scent Ethan and his
friends could probably pick up a mile away.
But I wasn't that unhappy when he didn't sit down next to me. I
had this weird calm in my chest, as if I knew I would have a chance to get to meet
him another time, as if I sensed that we were destined to know each other
sooner or later.
And I was right. It just didn't happen the way I would've liked.
I took a deep breath outside his door and cracked it open.
On account of my audition, I couldn't wait for him to wake up. I
needed to get in the bathroom to get ready.
He was sleeping face down, the top covers dangerously close to
his butt, his solid back looking good enough to eat off of.
I raised one hand beside my face like a blinder and tiptoed like
a cartoon cat towards the bathroom.
"Morning," he groaned.
"Morning," I whispered, hoping he would notice how
respectful I was trying to be of his space.
He rolled onto his side and propped his
many times in the night from nerves.
Of course, I must've slept deeply at some point because I kept
dreaming I was the girl in The Notebook kissing Ryan Gosling in the rain over
and over again.
Hopefully I wasn't making soft little groaning noises in my
sleep whenever he got home. That would be embarrassing.
Speaking of sleepy noises, I could tell by the sound coming from
under his door that he was still conked out.
Yesterday, I waited until he woke up naturally again and was
bursting for the toilet by the time he stumbled shirtless out of his room.
I was starting to think that was actually his preferred level of
dress and that he wasn’t actually doing it to torture me.
Though it still did.
Why did the hottest guy I knew have to be my stepbrother?
Had I been a murdering bandit in a past life? A Spaniard with a
blanket full of small pox? Judas himself?
I mean, I'd only kissed him once and already I knew I'd probably
compare every man I ever met going forward to him no matter how hard I tried
not to.
But it was more than that.
For instance, just watching him fold his laundry at the kitchen
table made me feel like I was going to break out in a heat rash. I don’t know
if it was my fascination with his military precision or the fact that he was
shirtless at the time, but being around him was overloading my senses.
I seriously needed a Xanax.
Not that I’d ever taken one, but isn’t that how a professional
actor would’ve coped with this situation?
Ugh.
Even the low laugh he let out when he was reluctant to find
something funny made my stomach feel hollow in a way that only his mischievous
smile could fill up.
It was fucked up.
And the kiss had only made it worse. Because for the first time
since I tried to catch his eye on the bus at age fourteen, I actually felt like
I had his full attention, and it was a high better than any drug.
Or so I imagined since my experience with drugs was very
limited.
Sure, I'd puffed a few joints in college, but that didn't really
count as drug use in my opinion.
And I did smoke cigs like a chimney sophomore year, but when I
realized that I was only doing it because everyone else was and that it can
make your boobs saggy, I packed it in after forty eight hours of extremely ticklish
coughing fits.
The point is, I still remember when he got on that bus.
He was older than me. I probably shouldn't even have attempted
to make eye contact with him, but I felt really great about myself that morning
because the front of my backpack was full of perfectly sharpened number two
pencils, brand new notebooks, and folders I really liked.
I hated when my mom left school shopping until the end of summer,
and I was forced to choose the half a dozen folders that I found the least
offensive.
But that summer- perhaps because she knew I was nervous about
going to high school in the first place- she took me in July so I got my pick
of the bunch.
I realize now that my level of excitement for pretty folders probably
only enhanced the toxic eau de geek I gave off back then, a scent Ethan and his
friends could probably pick up a mile away.
But I wasn't that unhappy when he didn't sit down next to me. I
had this weird calm in my chest, as if I knew I would have a chance to get to meet
him another time, as if I sensed that we were destined to know each other
sooner or later.
And I was right. It just didn't happen the way I would've liked.
I took a deep breath outside his door and cracked it open.
On account of my audition, I couldn't wait for him to wake up. I
needed to get in the bathroom to get ready.
He was sleeping face down, the top covers dangerously close to
his butt, his solid back looking good enough to eat off of.
I raised one hand beside my face like a blinder and tiptoed like
a cartoon cat towards the bathroom.
"Morning," he groaned.
"Morning," I whispered, hoping he would notice how
respectful I was trying to be of his space.
He rolled onto his side and propped his
Similar Books
