Chapter 3: Heat and Confessions

"Sit for a while?" Natalie echoed, her eyebrows arching as she hesitated, glancing at the couch like it might bite her.

"You can’t go out now. If the roommate sees you, it’ll be impossible to explain," I said, trying to sound calm even though the tension was thick enough to taste.

Natalie smiled awkwardly, hugging her arms tighter across her chest as the pink towel shifted a bit. "Yeah, this is so awkward. Why did I have to run into this? I didn’t expect you were heading to the bathroom too."

For a second, we both just stood there, not knowing where to look. It felt like a sitcom—minus the laugh track.

After all, that tense moment had just happened. And never before had a girl entered my bedroom. I really didn’t know what might happen next.

My hands fiddled nervously with the edge of my desk. Every detail seemed sharper—the way the light filtered through the blinds, the sound of her breathing, the awkward space between us.

"My room’s a bit messy. Haven’t tidied up in days. Sit on the couch—I’ll get you a clean cover," I said, motioning to a pile of laundry, feeling self-conscious. At least the couch cushions looked halfway decent.

To be honest, I hadn’t dared to look at her directly. I kept my eyes on the bookshelf or the window, sneaking glances from the corner of my eye.

As I rummaged for a clean blanket, I started to steal more glances. She didn’t notice at first, running a hand through her damp hair, freckles glowing in the sunlight.

Natalie had her hair in a bun and was wrapped in that pink towel from just under her arms to above her thighs. She was really slim—about 5’7”, probably only 105 pounds, her skin flawless and pale. Her lips were bright red, her cheeks round, and she was clearly bare-faced, but still glowed.

Maybe I stared too long. Natalie caught my gaze and quickly looked away, cheeks turning pink as she pretended to study a crack in the ceiling.

"Did you find it? If not, it’s fine, I’ll just sit down," she said, giving a nervous laugh as she perched on the edge of the couch, towel still clutched tight.

"That wouldn’t be clean—you’d get dirty," I said, finally producing a fresh blanket. I waved it like a prize and draped it over the couch, hoping it looked inviting.

Natalie adjusted her towel, then sat down gently, starting to look around my room. She curled up on the couch—knees hugged to her chest, hair still damp—making her seem both younger and older than she was.

Sunlight streamed through the sliding glass door, catching the mess of clothes, a dusty guitar, and a stray skateboard. The fridge in the kitchen hummed louder than my old roommate’s playlist, and the faint smell of burnt toast and dollar-store dish soap drifted in.

She glanced around with a hint of envy. "Your room is so nice—facing south, great light, and you even have a balcony. How much is the rent per month?"

"Nine hundred bucks a month, and my view is mostly just the neighbor’s rusty grill. But hey, it was California," I replied, shrugging.

"A side room? I’ve never seen a layout like that. My room is so small, faces north with no sunlight, but the rent is cheap—only $350." She smiled, a little disappointed but content.

I thought back to all the ramen and instant coffee in the pantry—things you bought when you were stretching every dollar.

"Honestly, they’re all about the same. I was in a rush and ended up paying too much—I feel like I got ripped off," I joked, hoping she wouldn’t feel bad about her smaller room.

Natalie put her hands on her knees, arms holding the towel, toes pointed inward, knees together in a pigeon-toed pose. She looked so careful, it almost made me want to offer her a robe or something.

"Are you cold? Want to put on some clothes?" I asked, instantly regretting the awkwardness of it.

She grinned, smirking: "You sure you don’t want to start a trend? Shirtless Fridays?"

Only then did I realize I’d been bare-chested the whole time. Embarrassed, I quickly grabbed my shirt and pulled it on.

"The AC’s busted—probably out of refrigerant. I just booked a repair guy for tomorrow." I handed her a little electric fan, paint chipped but still working.

She clicked it on, letting the cool air flutter her bangs, and closed her eyes for a second, soaking in the relief as the scent of her coconut shampoo drifted my way.