Chapter 5

Maya's POV

Living with Dean wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be.

That was probably the most surprising part.

The first morning after he moved in, I woke up expecting the apartment to feel completely different. It did, but not in the dramatic way I'd imagined.

There was simply another person living with us now.

Another pair of shoes by the door. Another jacket hanging over the back of a chair. Another toothbrush beside ours in the bathroom.

And another voice drifting through the apartment.

Dean stayed in Ethan's room with him. They were brothers, so sharing a room wasn't exactly strange. They had grown up doing it, and Ethan didn't seem bothered by having to make space for his older brother.

In fact, he seemed almost happy about it.

His department had given him and the other students a week off from regular classes to prepare for their upcoming exhibition. Apparently, preparing for an exhibition involved much more than putting paintings on a wall and hoping people liked them.

There were adjustments to make, pieces to finish, frames to prepare, and several other things Ethan complained about every time I asked how it was going.

I was just happy to have him around more.

Usually, our schedules were so different that we barely saw each other during the week. Now, I could come home from class and find him sprawled across the couch with a sketchbook in his lap.

Dean was a different story.

I had no idea what his schedule looked like.

He was in my department, but he was a year ahead of me, and unlike Ethan, he didn't talk about his classes every five minutes.

Some mornings, I would leave for class and find him asleep.

Other mornings, he was already gone.

I didn't ask where he went.

It wasn't my business.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

The apartment settled into a strange routine over the next few days.

I went to class in the mornings and spent most of my afternoons on campus. Ethan stayed home to work on his exhibition pieces, while Dean came and went whenever he pleased.

Sometimes I'd return home and hear them arguing about something from Ethan's room.

Other times, I'd find them in the living room, playing video games or watching something on television.

It was almost normal.

Almost.

The only problem was that I was becoming increasingly aware of Dean.

Not because he was doing anything.

He wasn't.

That was the problem.

He was simply there.

I could hear him moving around the apartment. I would catch his voice when he spoke to Ethan. Sometimes, I'd walk into the kitchen and find him standing there, and suddenly I'd become conscious of where my hands were, how I was standing, and whether my hair looked terrible.

It was ridiculous.

I had known this man for years.

But knowing someone and living with them were two very different things.

I learned that one morning when I woke up thirsty.

It was early enough that the apartment was quiet. Ethan and Dean were still in their room, or at least I assumed they were.

I dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes.

I wasn't expecting anyone to be awake.

Then I saw him.

Dean was standing at the counter.

Bare-chested.

I stopped in the doorway.

He was pouring something into a blender, completely focused on whatever he was making.

My sleepy brain took a second to process what I was seeing.

Then I noticed the gray sweatpants.

They sat low on his hips.

Very low.

I immediately looked away.

Too late.

“Morning, angel.”

I froze.

He had noticed me.

Of course he had.

“Morning.”

My voice came out quieter than I intended.

I walked toward the cupboard, refusing to look at him.

“Water,” I muttered.

“I figured.”

I grabbed a glass and filled it.

I took a drink.

Then another.

Then another.

I wasn't even thirsty anymore.

I just needed something to do.

“What?” I finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“You're staring.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

I turned around.

Big mistake.

Dean was leaning against the counter, watching me with a faint smile on his face.

His hair was messy, probably from sleep, and there was a small smear of whatever protein mixture he had been making on the back of his hand.

I looked away again.

“Do you always make those?”

“Protein shakes?”

“Yes.”

“Most mornings.”

“Why?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Because I like them.”

I nodded.

Right.

Of course.

I took another sip of water.

“You know, you could put on a shirt.”

He looked down at himself.

“Could.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

“But I don't have to.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door.

“Have a good day, angel.”

I stopped.

“Don't call me that.”

“Why?”

“Because it's annoying.”

His smile widened.

“You didn't think it was annoying when you were twelve.”

I looked at him.

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flutter.

I left the kitchen before he could see my face.

After that, I started avoiding the kitchen in the mornings.

It was ridiculous.

This was my apartment.

I shouldn't have to change my routine because Dean happened to be standing in the kitchen without a shirt.

But apparently, my dignity had other plans.

By the end of the week, though, things had started to feel almost normal.

I came home one evening to find Ethan sitting on the couch, surrounded by sketchbooks and papers. Dean was sitting in the armchair with his laptop open.

I dropped my bag by the door.

“What's going on?”

“We're deciding what we're ordering for dinner,” Ethan said.

“Pizza.”

Dean spoke without looking up.

“Chinese.”

“Pizza.”

“Chinese.”

I looked between them.

“You've been arguing about this the entire time I've been gone, haven't you?”

“Yes,” Ethan said.

“Absolutely,” Dean added.

I sighed and dropped onto the couch.

“Pizza.”

Ethan pointed at Dean triumphantly.

“See?”

Dean finally looked at me.

“You just wanted pizza.”

“Yes.”

“You're biased.”

“I'm hungry.”

“That isn't an argument.”

“It is when I'm the one eating.”

Ethan laughed.

For a while, we sat there talking about random things.

School.

His exhibition.

One of my professors.

Dean's roommate situation.

The conversation was surprisingly normal.

So normal that I almost forgot how strange our living arrangement actually was.

Dean was just Ethan's brother.

Ethan was just Ethan.

And I was just Maya.

Three people sharing an apartment.

Nothing strange about that.

Except I knew that wasn't entirely true.

Because every once in a while, I'd catch Dean looking at me.

And every time he did, I remembered that he had once been the boy who gave me my first kiss.

I wondered if he remembered it too.

I hated that I wanted to know.

Ethan suddenly leaned back against the couch and looked at me.

“So, Maya.”

I immediately became suspicious.

“What?”

He grinned.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don't have time for this.”

“You're in university. Everyone has time for this.”

“That's not true.”

“I'm serious. Is there anyone you like? Anyone you're talking to? Anyone you're interested in?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Any new love interest?”

“No.”

“New crush?”

“No.”

“New phase?”

I laughed.

“What does that even mean?”

“You know. Someone you suddenly decide is attractive and then spend three weeks pretending you don't care.”

“I don't do that.”

Ethan gave me a knowing look.

“Sure.”

I reached for a pillow and threw it at him.

He caught it easily, laughing.

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

I shook my head and settled back against the couch.

For a moment, everything went quiet.

Then Ethan looked at me again.

“Seriously, though. There's no one?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped.

Because Dean had finally looked up from his laptop.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

His eyes were fixed on me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

But he didn't look away.

Ethan glanced between us, apparently oblivious to whatever had just passed between us.

“Well?” he pressed. “Any crushes? Anyone you're secretly into?”

My fingers tightened around the pillow in my lap.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Dean's eyebrow lifted.

I immediately regretted it.

Ethan laughed. “You're terrible at lying.”

“I'm not lying.”

“Then prove it.”

“How?”

“Tell me who you find attractive.”

I stared at him.

“That is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Because it's none of your business.”

Ethan groaned dramatically.

Dean finally looked back down at his laptop.

“Maybe she doesn't want you knowing.”

Something about his voice made me look at him again.

His eyes met mine.

And there it was.

That look.

The same one he'd given me at the restaurant.

The same one that made me wonder if I was imagining things or if Dean knew exactly what he was doing.

I swallowed.

Ethan threw the pillow back at me.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.”

I caught it against my chest.

But I couldn't stop thinking about what Dean had said.

Maybe she doesn't want you knowing.

The problem was, I wasn't sure anymore whether my secret was that I liked someone...

Or that I was starting to wonder if someone already knew.