“Anyone ever told you it’s not good manners to be rude to your new roommate?”
He parked in the driveway behind Jagger’s Defender and glared over at me. “Anyone ever told you it’s not good manners to be dancing drunk on a bar on a Sunday afternoon?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his shoulders dropped and he closed his eyes. “Crap, Samantha, I didn’t mean—”
I forced my door open and stumbled out, barely catching myself on the frame. “So much for not judging,” I fired back, slamming the door and entering the toddler-esque phase of drunkenness. I scowled away his offered arm and made it into the house, nearly tripping on the doorstep.
“Don’t!” I snapped when Grayson reached for me. “I’m not helpless.”
I’m pretty sure his sigh was heard in Florida as he dropped my purse on the entry table. Wait, he had my purse?
I gripped the back of the couch and took deep breaths as my head buzzed. “Here.” Jagger forced a bottle of water into my hand.
“I’m fine,” I argued.
“Sam, I said I wouldn’t give you shit, but fine isn’t exactly drunk at five p.m. on a Sunday unless it’s the Superbowl. What is going on?”
I swallowed past my numb tongue and glanced over to where Grayson stood, his arms across his chest again like a damn statue. As if on cue, the oven began to beep, and he walked past me into the kitchen. “Wow, this house smells amazing.” I wanted to lick the air now that I noticed.
“Grayson cooks. Focus, Sam.”
“Knock, knock,” Paisley drawled as she came in through the front door. “You ready to head out to dinner?”
“Hey, Little Bird.” Jagger smiled, which lit up his face like a freaking Christmas tree. Paisley wrapped her arms around his waist, and he kissed her. Love radiated from them. That was all I had wanted. Love. A chance to belong to someone—my someone. She’d had heart surgery two months ago, her scars were still pink, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Jagger popped the question soon.
“You guys are so cute I may vomit.” The room turned slightly. “Or maybe that’s the tequila.”
“I’m not letting this go, Sam. What’s going on with you?” Jagger reached over and opened the bottle of water I still clutched in my hand, and I took two long pulls.
“I got kicked out of college.”
“Right, which is why you’re here…”
I rolled my eyes at him. A year ago, I’d never have guessed that Jagger Bateman would have his life more together than me. “Not just Colorado. I got kicked out of Troy.”
“But you haven’t even had a class yet.” He dug a little deeper.
I laughed, the sound as hollow and empty as I felt. “Yeah. How special am I?”
“They can’t do that.”
“They withdrew their acceptance, Jagger. It’s done.” I looked up at the ceiling fan like it was going to spin me away into my dream life, or at least away from here. “What am I going to do?” My eyes burned.
“Oh, Sam,” Paisley whispered.
“I moved down here—completely inconvenienced you and Josh and…” I motioned to the kitchen, where Grayson watched my meltdown quietly. “…him. Took this last chance, hundreds of miles away from home. Hell, not that I have a home, right? She’s gone so damn much, and it’s not like we stay in one place long enough to mark up a height chart on a freaking doorframe or anything. What the hell am I doing here? I have no job, no school, no family, and no direction.” My fingers bit into the plastic, distorting the bottle as a tear slipped down my cheek. “What am I going to do?”
The question hung in the air, devouring any other thought that could come to mind as seconds ticked on the wall clock.
“You’re going to eat,” Grayson answered from the kitchen, the sound of clattering dishes breaking the silence as he put plates on the large, bar-height, square table. “We all are.”
“Uh, we have this family thing to—” Jagger started, glancing down at Paisley.