Better With You (Better Love 2)

4

Idon’t hear from Alex all day. It’s not a surprise, really. We both got what we wanted out of the exchange. And though I’ve caught myself dazing off, reliving moments of last night or absentmindedly brushing my hand over the mouth-shaped bruise on my hip, I’m cool with the silence.

It may have been the hottest lay of my whole damn life so far, but I’m a young, sexual being, and dicks are everywhere—both literally and figuratively. I’m not concerned.

I go to my classes and manage to avoid conversation with everyone, which means I thankfully don’t have to explain to anyone that, no, I’m not scowling at you, that’s just the way my face looks. Around noon, I grab a smoothie with my friend Jesse in the student union. As usual, he carries the conversation rambling on about his mom, his med school interviews, and the new knitting project he’s working on. Then I head back to my apartment later that afternoon to knock out some cookie experimenting.

Ivy isn’t home when I get here, but that’s not unusual. She’s been studying for the LSAT like crazy, and though I miss her, I’m so proud of her. She’s come a long way from the scared, timid girl I roomed with sophomore year. She might be a little too chipper at times, might be a little too friendly and talkative, a little too obsessed with pros/cons lists, but she balances me. I like to think I balance her, too.

I was a mess when I transferred to Butler University sophomore year. Broken and sad and pissed off at the world. I’ll admit that I immediately judged the gorgeous, curvy, blonde bombshell who was to be my roommate in the dorms. Thought for sure we would clash, would hate each other, and the year would end up being a continuation of the nightmare I was currently living.

But she surprised me.

I surprised me.

Turns out, we were both dealing with some shit—both trying to find our way out of a personal darkness, trying so damn hard to heal—and together, we helped each other find a glimmer of light. Now here we are, senior year of college, roommates once more and slightly less broken with each passing day.

Ivy is my kindred spirit. My sister of the moon. My soulmate. I love that girl, and I’ll fight anyone who talks shit.

Well, I’ll have some choice words for them, anyway.

Let’s be real—I’m puny and unlikely to inflict much physical damage. Ivy made me go to self-defense classes with her one summer, so I know some need-based defensive moves, but I’m probably a goner in a street fight.

I sit down at the kitchen island with my notebook and a pencil. I’ve got cherries and a pair of chocolate brown eyes on the brain, and it shows in the cookie recipe I draft up. I don’t have the ingredients to bake it just yet, but when I do, I think this one could be delicious. I write out a shopping list to get me through the next few recipes, tally up the approximate cost, and stick it to the refrigerator with a magnet. I’ll have to ask Ivy if I can borrow her car—this much stuff requires a trip to the Wal-Mart, a few miles off campus, and I don’t think I could carry it all in a backpack on Baby, even if I wanted to.

I resist the urge to go count the money in my Crisco can. I know the total hasn’t changed since I last counted. The sticky note inside displays the same number it did before. But I feel like no matter how much I put in, I’m always having to take it back out again. I rub my chest. This is an important investment. Winning this contest would mean I could retire the Crisco can for good. I glance at the calendar on the fridge—the date of the Bakery On Main Cookie Contest is circled in purple highlighter, while two other dates, unmarked except for the ink on my skin, stare back me.

A promise and a debt.

Redemption-in-waiting.

I work on some homework for one of my accounting classes until my back and head ache. I luckily finished my required internship hours over the summer—any excuse not to have to go home—and all I have to worry about now are my final credit hours and business electives. Honestly, I really hate accounting. The internships were torture and unpaid. But I’m good with numbers, and this program guarantees a good paying job right after graduation. I glance at my pile of recipe notebooks—legal pads that Ivy gets for free from the law firm where she interns. Not all of us have the luxury of doing what we love for work. Sometimes, you just have to work so you can afford to do what you love.

Ivy texts around six to let me know she’ll be home by eight, and she’s going to bring home takeout from the burrito place on campus. My stomach rumbles, and I text her back a thank you. I didn’t even realize I was hungry until I saw the words “steak burrito” on my screen.

I pack my shit back up into my backpack and drop it on the floor of my bedroom, then take my glass of wine from last night out of the fridge, removing the plastic wrap lid and taking a sip. Snagging my phone off the counter, I walk out to the balcony and settle into my wicker bowl chair.

I’m reading this new enemies-to-lovers book on my e-reader app, and I’m just getting to the good part. I seriously love a good hate sex scene. Honestly, I enjoy them way more than the lovey-dovey sex scenes. Something about hate sex just seems hotter. Sexier. More enjoyable. My body tingles at the memory from last night that invades my head. The big hands that gripped me hard. The punishing, relentless pace. The deep, dark, commanding growls. The smattering of small bruises left on my skin.

Without thinking, I close out of the e-reader app and check my texts.

Nothing.

I go back to reading.

Ivy brings home dinner, and we eat it together in the living room while watching an episode of one of the true crime shows she likes. We don’t talk much. She’s exhausted, and I enjoy the silence. When she heads to bed, so do I.

I’m plugging my phone in on my nightstand when a text from Alex comes in.

I open it and find a single picture.

A picture of his thick wrist, adorned with woven bracelets, and his big, tan hand fisted around something red.

Red and cotton.

My underwear.

In spite of myself, I shiver.

Me:Where’d you find them?

Unknown:Under my mattress.

Unknown:Where I put them.