Two

The budget hotel is an easy one-mile walk to central campus. The miserable weather from last night has retreated and, in its wake, a refreshing sunny day has settled in, the sneaky cool winter breeze tangling my hair. I think I miss the rain now. There’s a certain soothing quality to it after having your heart violently smashed to pieces.

My classes start in an hour and while I usually look forward to them, this time they fill me with dread. The last thing I want to do right now is endure four hours of back-to-back lectures, but I drag myself to class anyway in hopes that it will distract from the shitshow that happened last night.

When I’ve found a place to sit in the amphitheater, I use the screen on my phone to check my reflection. I’m appalled by how terrible I look. My skin is sickly pale. My hazel eyes are glassy with the lack of sleep, with huge dark circles dragging my face down. It probably would have been a good idea to slap on some concealer around my eyes, but waking up sporting a raging headache had immediately dissolved any desire to doll myself up. So I guess the end result is partially my fault.

I drop my phone back in my bag, determined not to dwell on my appearance any longer. Instead, I poke my head back up, scanning the growing sea of students filing into their seats, and notice my favorite person right now giving me a thorough wave as he enters the hall.

I haven’t known Brent long, but since meeting him on my first day last term, he’s grown to be the best thing that’s ever happened to this physics class. We like to share each other’s notes—or, to be more specific, he shares his notes with me—and exchange cheesy pickup lines to get through the day. I’m not sure how this contributes to a degree in human physiology, but at least it makes the lectures easier to stomach.

“Are you my textbook? Because seeing you is the absolute highlight of my day right now,” I say, almost like a sigh of relief, as he slides into the seat next to me.

“You better hope I am,” Brent says, letting loose a dramatic sigh as he drops his bag in the available space on the floor beside him and jerks the bag’s front zipper open.

“Though I’m not functioning well today.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I believe you’ve stolen a pizza my heart.” He grins as he whips back to me, revealing a container with the lid peeled off and a couple slices of pepperoni pizza tucked inside. “I managed to cop several slices from the food sale today. I know you’re always busy with work and stuff, but you up for some lunch later?”

“That’s nice of you to offer but I’ll take a rain check,” I say, not wanting to elaborate further. But it’s not enough to quell his curiosity. His eyes bulge in surprise when he takes a good look at my face.

“What the hell happened to you?” His eyebrows rush together. “You look like you got stomped on by Godzil a.”

“Thanks.” I try to swallow down the all-too-candid observation. “I found out that my boyfriend has been sleeping with my sister, so there’s that,” I say, albeit a little bit too harshly. “And then I lost my apartment because she’s staying there and I can’t really look at her face without wanting to bash it in.”

“Holy shit.” His mouth hangs open in shock as he processes the news. “That sucks. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll deal,” I say, even though I doubt I believe what I’m saying.

“What are you going to do now?”

I bite my lip in contemplation. “I was planning to check if there are any available places to rent on campus after class but . . . I don’t know. Term’s just started, so I doubt there’s anything.”

He frowns, the thick-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose falling slightly. “Well. . . if you’re looking for places off campus, I know someone who’s renting out a room in Allston for, like, 500?”

“Seriously?” I ask. There’s no way a room in Allston would cost that little. “Sounds like a scam to me.”

“It’s not,” Brent assures me. “It’s just . . . not about the money for him.”

Interesting. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look, I guess.

“Fine. Let me check it out. Where do I find him?”

He peels off a Post-it note and scribbles down a name and an address. Then he slaps the note on my keyboard.

“His name’s Kayden,” he tells me. “But be careful, all right? He can be . . . intense.”

Intense? Doesn’t sound very promising.

“You’re not sending me to a serial killer’s house, are you?” I lift the Post-it to my face and trace the words on it with my eyes.

Kayden Williams? Rings a few bells. Julian might have mentioned him before. I’ll have to ask him about it later.

“You’ll be fine,” Brent says, though a little hesitantly. “I think.”

I wait for him to deny that Kayden’s a serial killer but the words don’t come. It amplifies my wariness.

Tags: Claudia Tan Perfect Romance
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