He’s…he’s happy to see me! Probably because I told him I missed him. And I did. But…not in the spin me around like a ballerina in love kind of way. His arms, though—they do feel…nice.

“Okay, you can put me down now,” I say, purposely not looking up at him. I direct my gaze right to my shoes on the floor. I pick them up as soon as he sets me down, tucking them in my suitcase so they don’t get damaged, or stolen.

“Sorry,” Houston says, and his mouth is grimacing. His friends are both looking at him trying not to laugh. “So,” he breathes out, clapping his hands together once. Back to business. No more whatever that was.

“Hey, I’m Casey. And you must be the hot new roommate,” says one of the guys standing behind Houston. He reaches past him, his build nowhere near as broad or muscular, but he’s tall, and I immediately size him up to make sure he can lift things.

“Hot new roommate, meet Casey, my dumb-ass friend,” Houston says as we shake hands. I can tell he’s annoyed that his friend called me hot, and in a way gave away the fact that Houston probably called me hot, too. I’ve been called hot before, though. This isn’t special. There are lots of other things about me, things that only someone who really understood me would point out. Hot isn’t one of them.

“Dumb-ass Casey, nice to meet you,” I say, for Houston’s benefit. He seems happy when I take the dig at his friend. His smile dimples his cheek, and I…I notice.

“I’m Eli,” the other guy says. This guy’s bigger, strong like Houston. His face is half covered in a beard, and he’s wearing a shirt with a beard on it.

“Eli, nice to meet you. Clever shirt,” I say. He smiles and says thanks, even though I wasn’t really complimenting him. I glance at Houston, and he’s holding in a laugh. When our eyes meet, we both break a little and have to turn away. I need Eli to move a shitload of furniture, so I can’t go offending him right from the start.

“So what are we doing here, Paige?” Houston asks, leaning against one of the hallway walls. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that hugs his body more than most of the things I’ve seen him in, and when he crosses his arms, I notice that there’s a tattoo on his right arm. I don’t have to ask to know it’s for her.

“Follow me,” I say, walking down the hall toward my old room. The smell of paint is still strong, and when I open the door and see the horrible brown color that my sister’s boyfriend and his brother Nate have painted on the walls, I understand why my sister is doing this now. Rowe only sent pictures—and honestly, in the photos, it didn’t seem so bad. But seeing it live—in person? The brown paint looks more like a stain, a gigantic stain that drips all around the room. I have to give Ty credit—it’s pretty funny, and it’s far away from the pink we painted his room a few months ago.

“Dude, the paint stinks,” Eli says as he steps into the room and around me. Houston and Casey are still behind me, surveying the space.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. About three months ago, me, my sister, and our other roommate painted Ty and Nate’s room,” I start.

“Who are Ty and Nate?” Casey asks, now covering his own nose with his sleeve. Babies. The paint smell isn’t that bad.

“Keep up. Ty’s my sister’s boyfriend, and Nate’s his brother. He’s dating Rowe, my other old roommate. They have this stupid prank war. And now I have this to deal with,” I say, turning in a slow circle with my hand outstretched to take it all in. Their room honestly looks like one of those dens from the seventies. All it needs is orange shag carpet.

“So, we’re painting it back? That’s easy,” Eli says, rolling up his sleeves. Bless his little heart; he’s eager to get started.

“Not exactly. We’re moving their stuff down the hall, and putting the boys’ stuff…in here,” I say, stepping over to my sister’s bed. I start folding her blankets into my arms, and when I turn around, all three guys are staring at me, their mouths parted, their foreheads showing their confusion. “Just start grabbing crap and help me. We have two hours.”

Amazingly, they don’t protest, after an hour and a half of sweating and lifting more than I think I ever have, we have successfully relocated everyone’s belongings. I lock up both rooms, and direct the boys downstairs. We stop at the mailbox area, and I sweet-talk the very shy guy working the front desk into putting both sets of keys in Cass’s mailbox. By the time I turn around, Eli and Casey have left. It’s just Houston, me, and my giant suitcase and travel bag—and a landfill-sized feeling of awkward.