JAYA

Ignoring the cramp in my lower belly, I hold the paper close to me, daydreaming about the opportunities and notoriety winning Emphasized would bring my way.

Beginning next week, the contest that spans weeks will commence at an undisclosed location for those accepted to participate.

Everything is being kept hush for now as we fill out applications and await acceptance or denial, but all we know is that each year fifteen percent of those who apply are accepted.

Those odds make me nervous but the prospect of making art that can be viewed and experienced by many hardens my resolve.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Hannah asks while standing in the middle of our room, fabrics stacked in her arms.

Blinking away the daydream, I nod slowly. "Yup, I'm good. The first day is just the worst one. I'll be good tomorrow."

Stuffing the fabrics on her bed, she huffs. "Periods fucking suck, bruh."

"Agreed."

"I can legitimately feel mine coming and I'm dreading it so bad. I'm getting everything done right now because once it hits, I'm reduced to the bed."

Smiling weakly, I turn on my bed so I can curl up in a ball. "That's a good strategy. We really need to get meds for the dorm, though. I had a headache last week and you had a stomach ache just yesterday."

"Thanks for reminding me, I'll get some today."

Watching her piling more fabric inside various bags is weirdly comforting, and I realize just how comfortable being roommates with Hannah feels.

Now that we've moved in and discussed our various non-negotiables and our cleaning procedures, the whole roommate thing has been pretty awesome.

After watching countless YouTube videos of people recounting their terrible roommate experiences, I'm so glad I've lucked out. Even Hannah's penchant for listening to music loudly in the morning doesn't disturb me all that much.

Looking down at the paper in my hands, I read the Emphasized logo over and over again, brainstorming ideas even though we're still not sure what the task will be.

All I know is I need that studio space and the opportunity to sell my work. I might have received a large scholarship to Muller, but other personal expenses still need to be covered and I don't love relying on my parents.

A knock halts Hannah's arranging and she gets off the messy side of her floor to open the door, not caring that her humongous tie-dye bonnet will be greeting whoever's on the other side.

"Is she in there?" A deep, rich voice asks and I grip the flyer tighter in my hands.

Hannah stalls for a bit, probably unsure whether I'm in the mood for a visit from Finley at this moment. Surprisingly, his showing up at my door causes my stomach to drop in a foreign emotion.

We're not friends, remember, stomach? He pushed you out of his apartment, don't be stupid.

Is it all my fault, though? When it's him that refuses to leave me alone?

"Jaya."

I gulp and look up at the figure that stands in the middle of the room. He's not wearing the same thing he was earlier today in class, instead, he's donning soft sweatpants and a simple T-shirt.

Oh, and his glasses are on.

Ugh, my hormones are too weak right now for this shit. How in the hell does he manage to make a simple outfit feel so sophisticated?

Glasses that should look nerdy on him just seem to add to his mystery and brooding nature, and with narrowed eyes, I wonder if I have a four-eyes kink or something.

With slightly widened eyes at both my thoughts and his presence, I sit up on my bed and just stare at him.

Walking until he's standing by my bed with a face devoid of any emotion except for that something in his eyes, his hand cups my cheek. "You're cramping, sweetheart?"

Though this is a topic I wouldn't necessarily like talking to Finley about, I can't help but nod. I have no idea where I stand with him half the time, yet my skin still warms at his touch.

Something is wrong with me. Seriously, seriously wrong with me because when his thumb strokes my cheek, I shiver and inch closer to him. Am I pathetic for wanting his touch after the way he's treated me? Hell yes.

He's playing games with me, I know that. Maybe he's not at Muller for nefarious reasons, but the truth is, I get the sense that he's here entirely for me.

Knowing all these things doesn't seem to make my body any less open to his touch. Quite the opposite, I probably want him even more now than I did a year ago.

Because now I know how well we fit. I know just how splendidly his demons eat up every one of my lies.

"What are you doing here?" I should be embarrassed by the breathlessness of my voice, but I can't think about anything but his thumb now stroking my bottom lip.

"Come home with me," is all he says in that addictive voice of his, sounding as if he needs me to say yes.

"Last time I was there you kicked me out."

"I didn't kick you out. I just stated the truth."

I roll my eyes at him but don't argue with his statement. The thing is, I want to go back to his apartment. I want to go back to the stalemate, the laughs, and the conversations.

I want to go back, and since I've never been good at keeping my promises, I do the thing I'm not supposed to do-I succumb to my desires.

"Fine. But if you kick me out again, I'll make sure to steal all your soft-ass T-shirts first. And I'm not returning the one I already have."

A smirk makes its way to his lips, his body relaxing at how easily I agreed. "You can have all the shirts you want."

Scowling at him to keep my insides from melting, I state, "And I'm staying in your comfortable bed all day until the cramps pass."

Helping me up from the bed, he nods dutifully at my brattiness. "You won't hear me arguing with that."

He's staring down at my fully clothed frame with clear interest and I scoff at him before sticking my feet into my crocs and grabbing my phone and keys.

Pointing at him with a sweet smile, I explain, "Oh, and we're not friends. I know that. It will do us good to both remember that despite the truce."

________

"Um, you wouldn't happen to have any pads just laying around, would you?"

Looking away from his laptop with a raised brow and gaze that tells me he in fact does not have any pads laying around, he remains quiet.

"Tampons, perhaps? Period panties? Diva cups?"

Closing his laptop and setting it on the table next to him, he stretches his spread legs and crosses his arms, looking like some sort of god perched on his plush couch.

I stare at him from my spot on his bed, watching him take in my presence in his room with a look I can't fully decipher. I've felt his eyes on me several times in the last hour I've been here.

Though I've kept my eyes on the TV, it doesn't mean that it's been any less irritating to have him watching me so closely on his bed.

The worst part is how comfortable and at peace I feel on his bed, listening to the faint sounds of his rapid typing while I watch meaningless TV.

"And I would have those things because?" he questions dryly, eyebrows still raised.

"In case a guest requires them? It would certainly feel much more like a cared for a guest if you'd had them ready for me."

In reality, I don't truly need a pad at the moment. My first day is usually my lightest and in addition to the maxi one I'm wearing right now, I'm pretty sure I have a tampon in my purse.

I was just tired of feeling Finley's eyes on me without being able to look back at him, so I came up with an excuse to talk to him and make eye contact.

"Prince Charming would store feminine products in his apartment for the potential of such an occasion, wouldn't he?" he asks me with mild amusement, though his face is still mostly impassive.

A bit thrown off by the mention of the fictitious character, I falter before nodding. "Yes, he definitely would."

Not so sure why he brought it up, but my response seems to annoy him even though I'm agreeing with him.

Um, okaay.

Standing up to his impressive height, he grabs his phone sitting next to his laptop and nods decisively. "I'll go out to purchase the products for you. It shouldn't take me more than fifteen minutes."

He barely gives me time to register his words before he's stroking my cheek and throwing a command my way before heading out of the room.

"Make sure to keep your phone next to you, Jaya. I want you to be able to reach me."

Then, he's gone, taking all the damn heat with him as he always does. For whatever reason, the pang in my lower abdomen increases as he shuts the front door.

For the umpteenth time today, I question what the hell I'm doing here, laying on his bed in companionable silence as he works on his computer.

And like every time I've asked myself this question, I reach one conclusion: my pathetic-ness knows no bounds when it comes to Finley Barton.