My Summer Roommate (11 page)

“I want some company and I’m sure you’d like some ice cream.”

Isabelle told me about Chloe’s soft spot for ice cream. It’s sneaky of me to use insider knowledge like that, but I really do want some company.

She waits in the car while I deliver the box of muffins and doughnuts. Afterwards, the fun part of the outing starts.

She’s in a good mood. I’m feeling pretty great, too. The next few weeks will be good. Maybe I’ll make some progress with her. Maybe I’ll even get to introduce her to my folks that are flying in two days before I leave for Atlanta. I think she’d get along great with Mom.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask as I start the car.

“Whatever we do, there needs to be ice cream involved,” she says. “You promised.”

“How about we go down to the river? We can grab a Ben & Jerry’s tub on the way.”

Her eyes sparkle and I take that as a yes.

But I change plans on the way, and decide we’ll go canoeing first, and get the ice cream afterwards.

She glances at me a few times once she notices we’re getting close to the river but we still don’t have any ice cream. When I park, she half frowns, half smiles at me.

“What are you up to?”

“We’ll go canoeing,” I say as I lead the way to the pier.

“We’ll do what?” She sounds incredulous. “I’ve never been in a canoe before.”

It takes me a while to hire a canoe and all the equipment, but then we’re by the water. Chloe looks anxious.

“It’s okay. I know how to do this
.” I try to comfort her. “It’ll be fun.”

“So you say.”

“Don’t you trust me?” I ask when I get her to climb into the canoe.

“Of course,” she says, unconvinced.

I climb in too and then the owner of the shop gives us a push and we’re in the river. Chloe goes green when the canoe rocks on the water.

“Relax and enjoy.” I start paddling, slowly at first. I don’t want to scare her. “Breathe.” I chuckle. It’s nice to have the upper hand with her for once.

When I glance over my shoulder, she’s still clutching her paddle in her hands, which is good, because if we paddle out of sync we might well capsize.

“Listen to my sign
al and start paddling with me,” I tell her gently. The satisfaction of feeling superior to her is over in two seconds. Now, I just want her to enjoy this trip with me. I want her to remember it. I want her to just
be
there with me.

She does a great job of following my moves, and we’re sliding smoothly across the surface in no time.

Suddenly, I hear a laugh behind me. I glance over my shoulder and I see her happy face. I wish we were on solid ground so I could kiss the hell out of her. But that probably wouldn’t go over very well.

“This is really great,” she says, and her voice sounds it.

I’m beginning to think I should’ve hired the canoe for more than half an hour. Once we’re in the middle of the stream, we just float on the surface for a little while, enjoying the heavy sun sliding off the sky towards the horizon.

“I’ve never even been on a boat before,” Chloe says.

“I’ll take you to New Orleans one day. There’ll be plenty of boats to choose from.” The promise feels too big and I begin to worry it might scare her off. But it’s too late, and she seems okay with it.

“You’ve been to a lot of places,” she says.

“Mostly because of my dad’s work. Some also for snowboarding.”

“Must be fun. Travelling, I mean.” She sounds lazy, lulled by the river sounds and the warm sun.

“It’s pretty cool.”

“Isabelle’s been to Paris. Harper’s been all over the place, too. I just pretend to be worldly. Atlanta is the farthest I’ve been.” She laughs, but there’s a tone of bitterness in her voice.

“It’s not too late.”

“Ah. The Great Gatsby, promising to show me the world.”

I laugh. “Well, why not?”

She’s silent, but I know she wants to say
, ‘because we don’t stand a chance’. I can feel it.

We turn back towards the bank. We’re almost half an hour late, and tired. When we stop by the pier, I rock the canoe on purpose. Chloe shrieks.

“Hey, you!”

Her panicked expression makes me laugh. The amusement seeping through her fright and annoyance gives me hope.

“Well, that was fun,” I say as we walk to my car. When she makes a face, I chuckle, because it’s cute how hard she’s trying to make it look like she didn’t enjoy herself. I decide to tease her some more, so I add, “For a spur-of-the-moment date.”

Her attempt at a death glare is funny
, and I laugh harder when she protests.

“This was not a date. I came along as you made your delivery. Not a date at all.”

“Does it matter what we call it? We had fun together.”

“
You
had fun threatening to capsize us. I spent an hour on the water terrified for my life.”

“Sure you did.”

Then she cracks a wide grin. “It was super fun. I can’t believe I’ve lived here all my life but never thought of going canoeing. But it was not a date,” she adds after a short pause.

I got what I wanted
—her admitting she had had fun—so I leave it at that.

Chapter Thirteen

CHLOE

When I come home
in the evening from shopping for college stuff on Tuesday, Chris has made a mess of the kitchen. He jumps when he hears me enter.

“What happened?” I ask when I see the thin layer of flour on the floor and all over the counter. There are egg shells in the sink, and some sort of batter in a bowl with a whisk covered in it up to the handle.

“I’m making pancakes,” Chris says. Then he looks sheepishly at the destruction behind him. “Or trying to.” He’s wearing an apron and it looks funnily cute on him. Like he’s not used to wearing it, but he wants to make a good impression.

I put the bag on the table. I’m not Harper when it comes to cooking, but
I’ve always cooked for Mom and me. I can get by with my skills. But pancakes are not my specialty.

“Can I help?”

“That’d be nice,” he says gratefully.

I get a skillet out of the cupboard, but then I stop because I’m not sure whether to add any oil or not.

“This is a non-stick pan, right? So I don’t have to add oil.”

Chris shrugs. He holds the bowl with the batter while I scoop out about half a cup into the skillet. I put it onto the cooker.

“This is it?” Chris asks.

Now
it is my turn to shrug.

“Have you ever made pancakes before?”

“No. I saw Harper make them a few times.”

“So our chances of success are about … zero.”

I grin. “Why did you start making them, anyway?”

Instead of answering, he says, “Shouldn’t we turn it?”

I grab a flour-covered paddle from the counter and try turning the pancake. It’s stuck to the pan and I tear it in the process.

“
Maybe the skillet wasn’t hot enough,” Chris says. “Next one will be better.”

I push my hair off my forehead. It’s hot next to the cooker.

Sure it’s just the cooker?

Chris chuckles.

“What?”

He points to my forehead. I realize I must’ve smeared flour on my face with my hands. I want to wipe it off, but Chris dabs my forehead with a moist paper towel before I can react.

“There.”

“Thanks,” I say, and my voice sounds somehow hollow.

By the time we stop gazing at each other, the pancake is thoroughly burned. I throw it in the trash and proceed to sample number two. This one actually ends up being edible, mostly because I’m trying not to look at Chris, so I’m focusing on the pancake instead. Once I use all the batter, we get six golden pancakes. They don’t seem too bad.

I tip
two onto a plate and offer it to Chris.

“Do we have any maple syrup?”

“Nope, but we have strawberry jam.”

He takes
the plate from my hand, but instead of eating it, he places it on the counter.

“Mmm, I love strawberry jam.” I sigh a little, imagining how good it will taste with the pancakes.

I think I must’ve closed my eyes because suddenly I feel Chris kissing
me. My body reacts as if electric current runs through me. I shiver and go tense, until I finally grasp what’s happening.

His body is so captivatingly beautiful it’s like a magnet that draws me in.
I don’t remember leaning in to him, but I’m there, pressed against his chest, my hands around his neck and in his hair. The warmth our bodies create is like a soft, tempting pillow. This feels so good and so right, and that makes it all the more wrong.

I hesitate slightly, but he senses it, and pulls away. I feel robbed when his lips stop kissing me. I feel cold. But it is the right thing to do, and I make half a step back, avoiding his eyes.

He clears his throat, and I can see his uncertainty. But then he grins, in a sad sort of way, and jokes, “Even this didn’t convince you, huh?”

I can tell he’s put a lot of effort into sounding cheerful. I feel such a bitch and I wonder yet again why I find it so hard to give in to this … thing that’s happening between us. Then I realize that’s not the part that I find hard. Giving in would be oh so easy. Finishing off this hot summer with a hot little tryst with this gorgeous boy would be perfect. But Chris is too good to use him and then discard him like he doesn’t matter. And I know that I’m not ready to give him any more than that. Nothing at all is therefore the better option.

The right one.

Strawberry jam tastes bland after that. I eat the pancakes at the table, while Chris is balancing his plate and laptop on his knees on the couch. I try not to look at him too often, but it’s hard. He hasn’t looked at me once since the kiss. I wonder if he’s hurt or if it’s just his pride that’s chipped. Should I apologize? And say what? ‘I’m crazy about you
, but I can’t let you kiss me again?’ Yeah, like that ever stopped a man.

I shiver, but I’m not sure it’s just because of the frigid water
I’m swallowing in large gulps. My nerves are so tense, my teeth are nearly chattering. One thing I’m sure about—I won’t be able to suffer this pressure for another month.

Chapter Fourteen

CHRIS

So, a guy goes to all the trouble of making pancakes for a girl. He kisses her like his life
depends on it … and she still says no. Are the girls getting more and more demanding or am I slipping? I’ve never before had trouble getting a girl. I get asked for my number like … every frigging day. What is it with Chloe, then?

Because I
know
she likes me. I can see it in her eyes every time I catch her staring at me. I felt it in how she reacted to me kissing her. She kissed me back with her entire body, for god’s sake. Why pull back afterwards? Why say no over and over again, when I can tell she’s this close to saying yes?

It makes absolutely no sense. It’s pissing me off that I do
n’t know where I stand with her, and I don’t want to be pissed at her.

When I return home
after work the day after the kiss, I find her under a blanket on the couch. That wouldn’t be strange at all if the temperature outside weren’t in the nineties. The apartment is only a few degrees cooler, and she is trembling.

“What’s wrong?”

She pokes her nose from underneath the blanket and mumbles something.

“What?”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she whispers, and makes a painful face. “My throat is killing me.”

“You’re serious? It’s summer.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

I can hear it in her voice, her throat
sounds raw and she looks terrible. Well, she’s still cute, but I feel sorry for her.

“What can I do?” I make some space on the couch next to her. She moves a little.
Her state makes the situation after last night less awkward.

I touch my palm to her forehead and she’s burning. “You need a doctor.”

She nods, but it’s barely perceptible with her entire body shaking. She looks small and miserable.

She says she’ll get to the car on her own, but after she slips twice on the steps, I practically carry her most of the way. She’s shivering so hard, I’m afraid she’ll slip out of my hands.

There’s a line at the doctor’s. Chloe sits on the only available chair. She seems out of it. Her head keeps leaning onto my side as I stand next to her. But every time, she jerks away and tries to sit up.

“Relax,” I say quietly and pat her head awkwardly when she leans onto me again. There’s really no point in feeling awkward when she’s only half alive. She seems to get the message and stays put.