I like you. I don’t wanna like you. But I do.

I smirk and step out from my room, dropping my bag at the edge of the steps. Standing outside the bathroom door, I let my head fall forward onto it, and I listen to the water; I hear the shower curtain slide and listen for the change in the pattern of the spray when I know it’s hitting her body.

I like you. I don’t wanna like you. But I do.

I have been repeating her words in my own head since I heard them. I’ve been saying them like a mantra because of that part of me that doesn’t want her to like me either. Because if she likes me, then maybe how I feel is okay too, and maybe acting on it is okay, and then shit gets real. What does that even mean? Shit gets real? Shit gets hard—that’s what it means. Real hard. I have to make time for someone else; I have to have conversations with Leah; I have to take a leap of faith and risk that my world will fall apart again. That’s what that means.

“I like you too, Paige,” I whisper. “And fuck if I don’t want to. But I do.”

I take a few seconds to jog in place, stretching my neck from side to side like I’m about to step into a fight. Maybe I am. But fuck it, shit got real a long time ago. What do I have to lose now?

“I’m not looking, I swear,” I say, keeping my eyes at the floor as I barge into the bathroom. I cannot believe I’m doing this.

“Out!” she yells from behind the shower curtain. “Not even funny. Not even clever. Out, you fuck stick, out!”

Her anger makes me laugh, and fuck stick? Really?

“I have to brush my teeth. We’re pushing it close on time. I’ll be fast, and I’ll keep my face forward. I swear,” I say.

I’ve already brushed my teeth, but she doesn’t know that. I turn on the water and load up my brush. I hear the curtain slide behind me, and I know she’s looking at me. I don’t have to turn around or look into the reflection to know what her face looks like—her brow is furrowed and her lips are tight, and she’s making sure I’m keeping my promise. Don’t worry Paige; I won’t look. But I know you want me to.

I’m spitting into the sink and reaching for the towel by feeling, careful not to glance up, when I hear the water switch off and the curtain slide open. There’s no towel near her or the tub; I know it because I see them hanging on the rack several steps away. She’s cheating.

I notice her shape move into my periphery to my right, and I glance briefly to catch her hand reach for the towel. When I see her back is to me, I go ahead and look long enough to take a mental picture. Her hair is soaking wet and dripping a line down her perfectly sun-kissed skin, a trail of water I let my eyes follow down her shoulder blades, to the small of her back, to an ass that is so perfect I wish I were the kind of asshole who would reach out and smack it at a time like this. I just hold my breath and memorize it instead. I turn back to the sink, lay my towel down, and move to leave.

“You looked,” she says, and I pause with my hand on the doorknob, the curves of her body now ingrained in my memory. I smile.

“Yeah, I did,” I say, before stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind me.

* * *

Paige is true to her word, and she’s dressed and ready to leave within five minutes, her wet hair twisted and tucked into a McConnell hat. She meets me at the bottom of the stairs, and I expect her to be blushing. The fact that she isn’t is somehow sexier. I’m playing with fire, but I think I’ll be okay getting a little burned.

“Hey, so…I have to confess something,” I say as we step through the door. I pull out my keys to lock up, and when I turn, she’s already marched to the car, not waiting for me, or caring what I have to confess it seems. I can’t help but laugh quietly.

I open the back door to drop my bag in the back seat, but before shutting it, I unzip the laptop pouch and slide her computer out, bringing it into the front seat with me.

“I borrowed your laptop last night,” I say, holding it out for her to take. She stares at it, her face questioning why I have it in the first place. It’s heavy, so after a few seconds I rest it on her lap, my fingers grazing the tops of her thighs as I pull my hand away. She looks at me fast, almost offended, but I avert my eyes. “Relax, it’s just a laptop.”

I stare forward long enough to feel her scowl at me from the side; I turn to face out my window, not wanting her to see my smirk.

We drive in silence for a block or two, and she finally slides her laptop into her own bag, slowly pulling the zipper. Letting myself glance in her direction, I see the worry lines on her forehead as she keeps her gaze on her bag, which she’s now hugging in her lap. She knows I took it to watch the video.