Let Love Heal (The Love Series) (7 page)

“They nice?” She chances an investigative question.

Suddenly, I’m anxious for them to come back to the suite. I didn’t realize until just now how much I’ve missed them. “They’re the best, actually. Really sweet and funny.” A slightly nervous chuckling escapes past my lips.

Unless you’re a bitch to them
.
You know, like you’re being to me right now.

“Cool. So I guess that means I’m rooming with you.” Again, her tone is cautious, on edge almost. “What happened to your old roommate? Did you bash her over the head or something? Scare her away?” She’s trying to be comical with her question, but she’s still guarded and on edge.

What the freak!? Doesn’t she realize I thought she was going to attack me?

Just as I’m about to lay into her, she breaks out laughing. Through her giggling, she says, “Oh my God! The look on your face. Please tell me that you know I’m kidding!”

I can’t hold it in any longer; laughter bubbles out of my mouth, and tears are streaming down both of our cheeks. In our fit of hysterics, I bump into her knee and she pulls back from me in pain.

“Oh no! I’m sorry.” I feel horrible. I really didn’t mean to hurt her.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m fine. Calm down.” Peyton squeezes my hand that I just placed on top of her bruised knee. “I’ll live, Melanie. We all make mistakes. We don’t usually bash our new roommates as a means of greeting them, but you know, it’s all good.” Her bright and cheery smile helps me feel a little better about my attack. The mood seems a little lighter and some of the guilt has lifted. I just don’t like the idea of inflicting pain on anyone – accidental or not.

Of course my mind drifts to Bryan and how much I know I’m going to hurt him. Peyton’s voice breaks through my mist of self-pity.

“So what really happened to your old roommate? Homesickness? Couldn’t take the cold?” Peyton shimmies back up against the couch and folds her arms across her chest as she awaits my response.

I don’t even know where to begin. It could take me two novels to explain Maddy’s story so I just opt for a simple version.

“Maddy is my best friend. She had to move home.” I shrug my shoulders as I add, “Health reasons.” I can see Peyton and I being friends, but I don’t feel right divulging Maddy’s past. It’s not mine to tell.

A genuine look of concerns flashes across Peyton’s very pretty face. “Oh no. I hope she’s going to be okay.” Her hand is clenched at her chest and I can tell that she means her words. There’s no false pretense in her tone.

“Yeah, she’s going to be just fine.” I know Maddy will be more than just fine, but I can’t help that I’m going to miss her terribly.

“So then it’s you and me, huh?” she repeats her earlier question regarding who she’ll be rooming with.

“It looks that way. Hey, listen. I’m really sorry about that.” I eye her knee and then the door indicating my earlier attack. “I wasn’t expecting you at all, so I thought someone was breaking in. I promise I’m not usually violent.” My lips curl at the corners and I hope that my self-deprecation will help keep the mood light.

It does, marginally at least. Peyton smirks back at me and lowers her now ice-cream-covered leg to the floor. I move immediately to take the container away and bring her a damp cloth to clean the mess.

“Thanks. I think I’ll survive.” Peyton wipes up the sticky mess and a bit more of the tension fades away. “Are those yours?” She points to the boxed set of the entire
Sex and the City
series that is strewn about the coffee table.

“Yes. I love them.” I can’t help but gush over my girls. I love them all, and while most women identify with Carrie – she is the main character, after all – I feel very connected to Charlotte and her quest for perfection. I never share that with anyone. They just think I love the show for all the hunky men. They’re not so bad either, but for me the real draw is Charlotte.

Peyton reaches out for the DVD case and reads the back of it. “Hmm, never seen it.”

“What? You’ve never seen this show?” I try my best not to sound like Gary Coleman, with the ‘whatchotalkinbout’ but I’m completely shocked that she has never seen
Sex and the City
.

Peyton just shrugs her shoulders and places the box back on the coffee table. “No, sorry. Just not much of a television watcher, I guess. I’m kind of a book worm.” She adjusts her hot-pink glasses as she says the last part. “My nose has been in a book since I knew that letters made up words. And I’ve spent the better part of the last three years working my ass off for the Whitman grant for grad students.”

Huh? Did she just say grad school?

She registers the look of confusion on my face and my furrowed brow and continues her explanation. “I’m actually here starting grad school a semester early. I was awarded a huge grant and I wanted to start right away. They accepted me into the English Lit program and I got a job at the student tutoring center. I searched up and down for an apartment, but since it was mid-year, almost everything was taken or it involved moving into a filthy frat house.”

I wonder if she looked at Reid’s old room. Talk about coincidence.

“Luckily for me, this place opened up at the last minute,” she adds quickly and smiles over at me.

Yeah, lucky for you.

She realizes the impact of her last words and back tracks a little. “Not that it’s lucky for you, I mean. Crap, I’m sorry about your best friend. I was just trying to tell you a little about me.” A furrowed brow and soft words convey her apology.

With a deep cleansing breath, I decide to let the craziness that has been my morning - hell, that has been the last few weeks of my life, fade away.

It hasn’t been a perfect start with Peyton, but considering that we’ll be sharing a room for at least the next four months, I smile brightly at her and hold the DVD box up in between us. “Feel like telling me more about yourself while we watch this? I’ve seen them more than I care to admit, but I’ll start from the beginning if you want.”

An equally bright smile graces Peyton’s pretty face as she says, “Sure. That would be really nice.” She angles her head back to the door where her bags sit. “I can un-pack later.”

I bounce out of my seat and pop a disc into the DVD player. As the bubbly notes of the opening theme song play out, I offer to make us some breakfast. Of course, Mom made sure that the fridge was stocked before she left. God, I love that woman. If it wasn’t for her, Peyton and I would be eating melted ice cream and stale chips for breakfast.

As I hand her a plate of toast with jelly and some fresh fruit, Peyton says, “Thanks” and then her attention is immediately drawn to the sparkly pair of Manolo Blanik’s that grace Carrie’s feet. “Oh my goodness, those are the prettiest shoes I’ve ever seen.” And then when some shirtless piece of man-pie walks across the screen, Peyton nearly chokes on her orange juice. “Why on Earth have I never seen this show?”

We share a loud laugh and spend the rest of the morning getting to know each other, all the while getting lost in the wonder that is
Sex and the City
.

It’s good to focus my attention on something other than Bryan, but when Aiden confronts Carrie about going behind his back with Mr. Big, I’m thrown full force back into my own world of problems – texts of kisses and cheating girlfriends. Forcing my brain to think happier thoughts, I get lost in the memory of mine and Bryan’s first date.

I’ve been working at the computer lab for just about three weeks now, and so far everything seems to be going really well. I get to spend lots of time with Bryan, who oddly works just about every shift that I work – a part of his master plan to wear me down as he promised, I’m sure.

His plan has been somewhat effective. He buys me coffee every morning that we have class together and caffeine is most definitely a quick way to my heart. He also plays the dorky card every now and then too. Just last week when he was passing out papers during class, he put a sticky note on top of mine. On it, he wrote, “Go out with me” with two little squares. Next to one was the word “yes” and the other “no”. A bit adolescent? Sure, but sweet nonetheless.

The cornerstone of his plan is the one that’s having the greatest effect – proximity. When we work together, he’s always leaning over my shoulder, reaching in front of me to type something on my keyboard. The feel of his hard chest pressed up against my back makes me melt for him. He’s winning in his little plan, that’s for sure. I don’t dare tell him as much, but I think he can tell.

Bryan’s not working with me tonight, though. It’s just me and Professor O’Neil right now. I really like Professor O’Neil and I can definitely tell why Bryan has enjoyed working for him these past three years. He’s well into his sixties and he’s the quintessential absent-minded professor. He’s bald on top, but what hair he does have left is an unkempt mass of salt-and-pepper curls. I think my favorite thing about him, aside from his sweet personality, is that his tweed jacket – you know, the kind with the leather patches on the elbows – is always smattered with chalk dust across his back.

Since it’s a Friday night, it’s very quiet in the lab. No one really wants to do homework when there are parties to attend and drinks to consume. I get out of here at eight, so I could still go out, but I’m not much of a partier.

Professor O’Neil has been here for most of my shift, but by the looks of it, he’s not making it until eight. He actually looks like he’s going to fall asleep at his desk.

When I gently tap on his door, I startle him out of his light sleep. “Oh, hi, Melanie. Is something wrong out there? Do you need help?” he asks as he wipes the exhaustion from his eyes.

I step toward his desk and pick a few stray papers up from the floor. They must have fallen there when he passed out on top of the rather large stack that’s still sitting on his desk. Shaking my head, I say, “No, everything’s fine, Professor O’Neil. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got this covered.” I angle my head out to the main room, which is completely empty. “There’s no one here, so why don’t you go home and I’ll lock up.”

Looking down at his watch, he smiles. “You know what? That sounds perfect. I can get home just in time to watch
Jeopardy
with my wife.” He starts packing up his briefcase with random papers and books. It surprises me that the man is even capable of remembering how to get home or around campus. He’s such a scatterbrain.

As he walks past me, he claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve done a really great job here these past few weeks. It’s nice having you on board.” He drops the keys in my hand and walks out into the main hallway. I smile with pride and escort him out. Walking left first, he then turns around sharply when he realizes that he needs to go to the right instead. I have to chuckle at him; he’s just so likeable and so dorky that it’s impossible not to laugh.

Okay, even I can admit that I have a huge soft spot for the dorky type.

Laughing softly at Professor O’Neil’s lack of direction, I check my watch as I saunter back toward my desk. I only have about an hour left of my shift. It’s boring as hell, but at least I’ll get my studying done. As I pull my biology textbook out of my bag, not surprisingly, I smack my head on the underside of the desk. Laughing at myself, I have to admit that I’m the clumsiest person ever, well after Professor O’Neil of course.

“What’s so funny?” Bryan’s warm and familiar voice filters in to my ears. He must have walked in while I was getting my books out.

Rubbing over the small bump that’s already started to swell on my head, I smile at him. “I was just thinking that I’m the most accident-prone person ever, but now that you’re here, I’m starting to think you might have something to do with it.”

Bryan chuckles, deep and throaty, while smirking at me playfully. “And please tell me what role I play in your clumsiness?” He rubs his stubbled chin as he waits for me to speak up. But somehow, all I can manage to do is watch his fingers touch his face. I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through that stubble, to trace my tongue along it, to feel it scratch my face, and some other places as well.

“Well …” His softly spoken word disrupts my silent, but delicious thoughts. Quickly recovering my flirty wit, which always seems to be in place when Bryan is around, I let my lips curl up at the corners. “Well, it just seems that I get banged up pretty good when you’re around.”

The sound of his loud, almost uncontrollable laughter takes me by surprise. I cross my arms over my ample chest, and narrowing my eyes I at him, I snare, “What the hell’s so funny?” I feel slightly put-off by him laughing at me.

After his laughter subsides, he places his palms on the desk and leans into me. He’s so close that I can smell the cinnamon on his breath; I can feel the heat emanating from his muscled body. “Believe me, Melanie, if it was up to me, you would be
banged
very well whenever I’m around. I thought I told you that already.”

Oh dear lord!

His eyes narrow in on mine and I know there’s no way for me to conceal the shock that washes over my face. He sees it and laughs softly at me again. “Now, don’t be so surprised. I told you that I like you, repeatedly in fact. It’s not my fault that you don’t believe me.” He pauses a beat before adding, “Yet.”