But he practically lived outside in the summers. Sooner or later, he’d have that tan. Maybe this year, I wouldn’t drool over him shirtless.
“See you at home?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m swinging by the store after work. Need anything?”
“Condoms.”
“Luka.” I poked his rib, giving him a scowl as he laughed.
Was he joking about the condoms? I couldn’t tell.
“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said. “Highly recommend working in a pop quiz.”
“I pity your students.”
His chuckle filled the hallway as he walked away, his long strides lazy and confident.
Luka had a swagger. And for years, it had made me swoon.
But as Jeff slowly meandered with his daughter, I couldn’t decide which stride I liked best. My arrogant roommate and friend. Or the dad who shortened his steps so his daughter didn’t have to rush hers.
I let myself take one last glance at Jeff’s muscled behind before I sighed and retreated to my classroom for the remainder of my day. Unlike Luka, I preferred smiles on my students’ faces over looks of terror. I lived for the engaging discussions and peeks inside their blossoming minds.
Middle schoolers always had a way of surprising me. They rarely said what I expected and they didn’t miss much. This was the age when sarcasm bloomed.
Katy Dawson had a dry humor. Why did I have a feeling she’d learned it from her dad?
The remainder of my classes went smoothly. When the last bell chorused through the hallways, it was followed by the explosion of kids racing for their lockers. I waited until the noise subsided, the kids streaming outside for buses and activities, then did a few final tasks before grabbing my coat and heading outside myself.
My trip to the grocery store was efficient. I breezed through the aisles, snagging every item on my list—refusing to go anywhere near the condoms.
Luka and I were…complicated. For years, more than I was willing to admit, I’d held out hope that one day he’d see me. Want me.
Those hopes had faded lately. Once upon a time, my feelings for Luka had been as vibrant as a rainbow, iridescent strokes in a blue sky. Now they were hazy, like a fog had rolled in and cast everything in gray.
So now he was just my friend. A coworker. A roommate.
At twenty-eight, living with a roommate wasn’t ideal. But Bozeman real estate was ridiculously expensive, and I was on a teacher’s salary. Some of the other single teachers lived in neighboring towns where rent was cheaper, but I didn’t want a thirty- or forty-minute commute on icy winter roads. Plus, I loved Bozeman. It was trendy and charming.
So two years ago, when I’d gotten sick of living in a college neighborhood, dealing with keg parties and midnight antics, Luka and I had moved in together.
Our two-bedroom house was in downtown Bozeman, in a neighborhood full of young families and single retirees. Most people assumed Luka and I were a couple.
I liked that. Or I had, once.
The neighbors who did think we were together had clearly missed the unending stream of women that flowed in and out of Luka’s bedroom. Either he was just that good about sneaking his hookups in and out of the door, or they thought he was a pig cheating on me.
Maybe both.
Sooner rather than later, I needed to move. With every passing day, I itched to change my address. This living arrangement was only supposed to be temporary until I saved up some cash for a down payment on my own place. Splitting bills with Luka, the cheap rent, meant that with every paycheck, my savings account was growing.
But my balance just wasn’t enough. Not yet.
I parked my mint-green Jeep Wrangler on the street outside the house, then I looped my grocery bags over my forearms and made my way inside, stomping the snow off my shoes in the entryway.
“Della?” Luka called. “That you?”
“Who else would it be?” I asked, shuffling to the kitchen, plopping bags on the counter.
He rounded the corner from his bedroom dressed in a pair of gray sweats and a Montana State University hoodie. “How was the store?”
“Fine.” I unbagged a bunch of bananas, setting them on the counter while he put a carton of eggs and a bag of shredded cheese in the refrigerator.
We worked in tandem, emptying the bags. Two people who’d lived with each other for years. Two people who’d known each other long enough to feel entirely comfortable in our bubble.
Maybe too comfortable. Too stagnant.
“No condoms?” he asked, peering in the last plastic sack.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re exhausting.”
He chuckled. “But you love me anyway.”
“Love?” Yes. In the past. But now? “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He smiled wider. It had become this little game of mine, letting my inner thoughts come loose, just to see if he realized they weren’t as sarcastic as I made them out to be.
“How much do I owe you?” he asked.
I plucked the receipt from my purse and handed it over.
He did the quick math, then went to the whiteboard we’d hung on the wall, adding forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents to his column. As part of our living arrangement, we’d decided to split utilities and food equally.
Like we were a couple. That whiteboard had become a constant reminder of what we shared. And what we didn’t.
But we weren’t a couple. He’d made that clear.
“Okay, I’m going to change and then—” Before I could offer to make dinner, the front door opened.
“Luka?” A female voice drifted from the entryway.
My eyes shot to his.
He just shrugged and went to meet his guest.
No wonder he’d called out for me. He’d been expecting someone else.
A leggy blond with striking blue eyes stood at his side when he returned to the kitchen.
“Oh, uh, hi.” She gave me a finger wave with the hand not linked with Luka’s. God, she was young. Probably a senior in college.
“Hi.” Why hadn’t I grabbed a bottle of wine at the store?
Luka didn’t bother introducing her, if he even remembered her name. He just jerked his chin to the hallway, his silent cue that they were disappearing to his bedroom.
My stomach knotted as they vanished. The dull click of his door echoed down the hall, followed by her muted giggle.
They always giggled.
When would this stop bothering me? When was I going to get over him?
Another giggle.
“Not today,” I muttered, sweeping my purse from the counter. Then I walked to the door, slamming it too hard before I stomped to the Jeep.
So much for dinner at home. At least I had a good alternative.
On nights when Luka and his sexcapades drove me from the house, I retreated to my favorite café in Bozeman.
The Maysen Jar.
My junior year at Montana State, when I’d been buried beneath a mountain of credits, I’d struggled to find a place to study. The library had lost its appeal when I’d found Luka and another girl from the education program making out on the third floor. So I’d decided to break free from campus and find a place of my own.
Three coffee shops later, I’d been about to suffer at the library, but then I’d stumbled upon The Maysen Jar. I’d been coming back ever since.
After parking the Jeep, I made my way inside the restaurant, breathing in the scent of cinnamon, sugar and vanilla.