“Oh jeez, you have fifteen pieces of bacon. You won’t die if I eat one,” she says, a little giggle making her chest shake. Not that I notice.
“What happened to Chase?” I ask to get my mind off her chest.
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” she says, raising and lowering her shoulders with a little sigh. “But he was really hot. That one hurt.”
“What do you mean, he wouldn’t take no for an answer? Did he do something to you?” I scowl across the table as I envision a big guy taking advantage of the petite girl in front of me. Not girl. No, she’s all woman.
“Calm down there,” she says, resting one hand on my arm that’s knotted up with tension as I clench my fork. “No, he didn’t force himself on me. I just didn’t want to give it up at that point, and he wanted something more than reaching second base in his pickup truck, so we had to part ways. I wonder what he’s doing these days.” She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips.
God, those lips. What are they doing to me?
“Uh, well, good,” I say, clearing my throat and shoveling another bite in my mouth before I say anything else stupid.
“That’s sweet of you to worry about me.” She gives me a smile and stands, putting both arms above her head in a stretch that I pay not one bit of attention to. Not one.
“I’m not worried about you,” I say without looking up, and then I mentally berate myself for being an idiot. When she doesn’t say anything back, I glance at her and see the small frown on her face.
“Okay,” she says quietly, and I realize what I said to her.
“No, I mean … I didn’t mean it like that—” I start to backtrack.
She cuts me off, “It’s fine. Really, Ben. You don’t know me.” She lets out a tiny laugh that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
No, but I’d like to. Say it, dumbass. Say it.
“Well, I’m going to grab the bathroom for a shower if you won’t be needing it?” She cocks an eyebrow and waits for my answer, her arms crossed over her chest as if she’s holding her feelings inside her body.
“No, all yours,” I tell her and watch as she leaves the room, wishing I could take back the last minute of our conversation.
6 Pepper
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” flashes through my mind for the thousandth time since he said it.
It was said in such a serious manner, and now, I can’t decide what he really meant.
I can’t quite figure him out, and it’s odd to be living with someone I know nothing about. But I made my bed, and now, I have to lie in it. Surely, Mason would have warned me if he didn’t trust the guy.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
A shudder rolls through my body, causing me to suddenly remember that I should be taking a shower and not sitting here, making doe eyes in the mirror, thinking about my roommate.
“Say it, Pepper,” I mutter to myself as I grab a pair of panties and a large T-shirt from my drawer. “Roommate, roommate, roommate.”
I jump when there’s a knock on the door.
“Yes?” I ask the closed door, feeling a blush creeping up my neck. I’m not sure why since he can’t see me.
“Everything okay? I heard you talking to yourself.” Ben’s low voice vibrates through the door.
I shut my eyes.
Roommate.
“Everything is peachy. Thanks for checking.”
Peachy?
“Okay,” he says.
I wait a minute, hearing his breath on the other side of the door before listening to his feet pad across the hall. I don’t move until I hear the sound of his door shutting. I almost get the sense that he wanted to say more, and now, I’m insanely curious as to what it was.
I make it to the bathroom without seeing him and breathe a sigh of relief. I shower and then quickly don my long T-shirt and panties. I wrap my hair up in a towel, and once I check the hallway for Ben, I make my way back to my room.
I sink onto my comforter, open my laptop, and then stare at the screen. I hover my fingers over the keyboard.
Do I want to do this? Do I want to send myself down this road?
I lower my finger and hit the first key. Before I can stop myself, I type in Nashville School of Culinary Arts and hit Enter. The front page of the website instantly pops up in all its glory, the vibrant colors and delicious pictures of food projecting from the screen into my eyes. I maneuver my arrow up to the top-right corner, log in to my account, and hit Accept. I’m going to culinary school. A wide smile stretches across my face, and I bounce a little where I’m sitting on my bed. After pumping my fist in the air, I glance around for my phone.
Who should I call? The thought sends a pang of sadness through me.
This is my best-kept secret to date. I haven’t told anyone, except my best friend, that culinary school, not graduate school, is my dream. She laughed and told me I would change my mind. I didn’t. Once I got my acceptance email to the Nashville culinary school I’d applied to in secret, as a cover-up, I agreed to go to graduate school at Vanderbilt, and now, here I am, living a complete lie that no one knows about, except me.
How did I ever think I could pull this off?
I look back at the computer screen and let loose a little screech.
Oh well. I can be excited for myself.
I dart into the hallway and decide I’m going to celebrate with the ice cream I bought on impulse yesterday. I wrench open the freezer door and immediately find the
