Roomies

by Christina Lauren

Having not been on a date in what feels like a millennium, I also don’t know where a conversation should go after this,

The knowledge that he is Irish just about makes me feel crazy enough to go climb on his lap.

Ugh. Crushes are the worst,

I should stick to making up stories in my head and watching from a distance li...

And finally, there’s attraction… I still really, really want to make out with him.

A traffic jam of emotions always clogs up my throat when I see his expression,

Why on earth does it feel like I nearly want to leap without looking?

I conveniently leave out the part where I would get to look at Calvin daily—and that would not be a chore at all—hear him play, be near him.

I’ve always been obsessed with words—so why can’t I seem to write a single one?

“You must think I’m a maniac.” His grin charges something to life inside me. “Well, aren’t you?

“I like the way you sound, though.”

“I think I admire that she, more than anyone I know, tries to be circumspect about her successes and failures, and who she is. She tries to see herself clearly—both kindly and critically—and I think she’s generally pretty spot-on.”

but the way the stories unwind with tangents and jokes and side stories also makes me realize we truly are getting to know each other, in the intense way that happens when people are cooped up together, like at summer camp.

I catch a flash of bare ass and find religion.

Look at you. Just look at you here in my apartment, being.

“I’ve had friends like that,” he says, “the ones you outgrow but keep anyway.”

An ache spreads up my thighs, and settles heavily between my legs.

His breath is humid on my neck. “I think you might be the best girl there ever was.”

The heat of his bare chest against me sends a paradoxical shiver from...

He never rushes to speak, this one.

“We’re all good at different things,

You’ve got all these gifts you don’t even realize.”

And while I’m not completely unfortunate-looking, I know everyone is half wondering how I ended up with someone like him.

Will anything ever be permanent?

What the hell am I going to do with my life?

I mean, obviously I’ve wanted to have sex with him since the beginning of time,

Calvin leans against the doorway across from where I stand, and is entirely too naked to be this close.

he’ll touch me with the same fingers he uses to strum his guitar

I wonder how I lived such a solitary, mediocre life before him.

His eyes are bright with the mischievous joy I’ve grown addicted to.

“My desire for you as a lover is entirely separate from my desire for the job you helped me find.”

he watches me with something that looks a lot like love in his eyes.

“I’ve never done this before. I just know I’m falling for the girl I married.”

But this… writing about how it feels to listen to music, to have found him—it almost feels like I’m writing a description of how my organs work together, what keeps me breathing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this before.

Not to be melodramatic, but who needs love?

ME, I DO

But the worst feeling is the deep confusion inside me about why he would love me at all; I feel stale and tiresome.

I do give myself a few minutes every day to think about him;

It’s about the pride in having discovered someone and done something to make sure his talent didn’t stay hidden forever.

The sound of his voice on the phone sends static along my skin, a low-frequency hum of nostalgia and want.

He laughs, and the sound of it punches me right in the face.

My nerves are going to eat their way through my stomach and up my throat.

When I get angry, I cry.

Me too girl, meeee toooo

“Is it too late to turn around? I don’t want to do this.”

I’m hoping neither of us can walk straight tomorrow.

“You’re not sleeping,”