"You’re the new roommate?" I shout and then clamp my hands over my lips. I've said enough to him tonight—too much. In fact, all of that information is crashing back down around me.
Ollie is my new roommate.
Ollie knows I'm a virgin.
Ollie knows I'm a sex columnist.
And right now, Ollie is looking at me like he can read every panicked thought racing through my mind, like he's thinking about the same thing I'm thinking about—the night that we are to never ever speak of. The reason I've been avoiding him. The thing I never want to even think about again.
He reaches out his hand, fingers an inch from mine, but I step back, crossing my arms and cocking my hip, pretending to be cool, to be unfazed. I've gotten really great at pretending not to care about him.
"Awesome," I murmur, trying to smother the crack in my voice.
Where is Bridget? Because I am going to kill her.
Ollie opens his mouth, looking at me with distinctly downcast eyes, and I know what’s coming next. The apology—the one I don’t want to hear. The one he never said then, and the one I won’t let him say now.
But I'm saved by the sound of jingling keys right outside our door.
Bridget's home.
I glance back at Ollie, but his eyes aren't on me anymore. They've retreated.
"Skye, are you okay? The doorman was worried, he said—Ollie!" Bridget cries. All I see is the bright red blur of her hair as she rushes past me and flings herself into his open arms. "You're here! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?"
Ollie wraps his arms around her waist, picking his little sister up in a bear hug. "I wanted to surprise you."
He holds her for a second longer, but Bridget squirms to get out of his arms and turns to me, eyes wide, mouth open in horror. "I forgot to tell you Ollie was moving in. Shit. I'm so sorry, Skye. But it's perfect, right? Just like old times, the three amigos together again."
Before you ask, no, Bridget has no idea what happened with Ollie. And yes, I'm the worst friend ever. But she can never—and I mean never—find out. So I force a smile and lighten my tone, panic attack completely forgotten. "Just like old times."
Bridget looks at me, then looks at Ollie, and back to me—grin growing wider with each glance. Her excitement is palpable, and the last thing I want to do is ruin it. "This is going to be perfect," she finally says and leans against the counter.
"Perfect." Ollie grins.
"Perfect." I grimace.
"Good, we all agree. Now I can get out of these shoes," Bridget says, reaching down to rip off her high heels, and I can't help but smile. My best friend, the one I saw only in paint-stain-covered outfits for the majority of my life, has become posh. Black heels. Stockings. Tight-fitting dress. A blazer. Her hair is even pulled back in a not-at-all messy bun. Well, at least it was until she just started ripping out the bobby pins, letting her curls fly free.
"We just got a new artist at the gallery," Bridget continues, still removing pins from her hair, "and you would love her, Skye. The opening is next week, and I want both of you to come."
"Okay." I shrug, trying to ignore the fact that Ollie is looking at me. Staring at me. A flush warms my cheeks and suddenly I'm hot. Like, burning hot. Sweating. Pull it together, Skye. I squirm. It's not like he has freaking laser beams in his eyes! But he might as well…
My eyes start to shift closer and closer to meeting his gaze. But at the exact moment I almost break and sneak a peek, his eyes shift and I can breathe again.
"Sorry, sis, I'm guessing the opening will be during prime dinner hours. But I can meet you out after for celebratory drinks?"
"Okay." Bridge sighs and opens the fridge, grabbing a bag of carrots to munch on.
"So, Skye had something she wanted to tell you before," Ollie drawls.
This time I can't help it, my eyes immediately find his, narrowing in the best angry look I can muster. All it does is deepen the humor in his expression. And in that moment, I know he knows—knows that I've completely lost my nerve. Now that I made the confession once—you know, the virgin sex columnist thing—I'm not sure I can do it again. Especially with Bridget so happy, and so excited. I really don't think I can handle her being mad at me, not now, not while I'm emotionally traumatized by Ollie's surprise return to my life. Now more than ever, I need my best friend.
Alarm bells go off in my head.
Retreat!
Retreat!
I step back, swallowing. "No, it's nothing we can't talk about later. I'll, um, just let you guys catch up. I'm wiped anyway."
Ollie won’t release me so easily though—of that I'm sure. Ever since we were kids, he's never let me get away with anything. Ever. One time I stole three of Bridget's peanut butter cups on Halloween night—I mean, they’re the best candy, let's be real here—but anyway, he saw me take them. And the whole night, he kept thinking of ways to bring peanut butter into the conversation, grinning at my every flinch, laughing at how much it ate me up inside. Until finally, I confessed, practically shrieking and crying to Bridget. Her response? She gave me three more. But still, Ollie's always loved to push my buttons.
But not this time, buddy.
Not this time.
So I'm not at all surprised when he casually says, "Not so fast, Skye."
"Yeah, come on. Hang out," Bridget joins in, pouting.
"No really, I—"
"Come on, Skye, weren't you just saying that you needed to tell Bridget something?"
I stare at him pointedly. "No."
"Oh, wait," Bridget says, turning to me with a curious gaze. "Yeah, the doorman was worried about you, he said you looked really panicked when you came home. I totally forgot about it when I saw Ollie here."
My avenue of escape is getting narrower by the second. In fact, I think the doorway behind me is literally shrinking. Does the room feel more cramped to anyone else? I swallow, heart pounding again. I'm too young to experience so much anxiety in one night.
Bridge sees the impending panic, but all it does is make her narrow her gaze, zeroing in on me. I need new friends—these people know me too well.
"I just had a bad day at work," I mumble and then look at the floor.
But crap, no! Why did I look at the floor? That's like the most obvious clue that someone is lying ever. Stupid, stupid mistake. Quickly I fix my gaze, throwing my head back up, but it's too late.
They saw.
"Well, it's really great actually," I say, mouth dry, pitch way too squeaky. "I got offered a full-time position working for the newspaper. They even want to give me my own little weekly column, nothing huge, but still, it’s pretty exciting."
Before I even get the words out, Bridget is squealing and running to throw her arms around me. "I'm so happy for you, Skye! What are you writing about?"
"Um, nothing really, just same old, same old," I murmur into her hair, hoping Ollie won't hear. But over Bridget's shoulder, I meet his stare.
Big mistake.
He's a balloon about to pop, his cheeks are so full with held in laughter.
I shake my head, motioning no.
He crosses his arms, shrugging just slightly.
I widen my gaze, pleading.
And then I wait.
And wait.
And—
"She's the new sex columnist," he says.
Jerk.
"What!" Bridget pulls back, blocking my view of her brother as shock fills the space between us. "I thought you were working in the arts and literature section, for the book review editors?"