Wait for You - J. Lynn

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apartment building parking lot was packed with cars, some even in the nearby field that butted up to West Campus. It hadn’t been like this when I’d left for my evening class and I wondered what was going on. I managed to find a parking spot all the way near the main road and as I turned off the ignition, my cell rattled in the cup holder.

      I grinned when I saw it was a text from Jacob. We’d exchanged numbers earlier in class since he lived in one of the dorms.

      Art sucks was all his text said.

      Laughing, I sent him a quick text back about our homework, which was to identify what painting belonged to what era. Thank God for Google, because that was how I was completing the assignment.

      Gathering up my bag and food, I climbed out of my car. The air was sticky and I lifted my hair off my neck, wishing I had pulled it up into a ponytail. The scent of autumn was in the air, though, and I was eager to see cooler weather. Maybe even snow in the winter. I headed across the brightly lit parking lot, toward the center cluster of apartments. I was on the top floor—the fifth. It seemed like a lot of students lived here and most hadn’t really started to arrive until today, but as soon as I stepped up on the sidewalk, I knew where all the cars were coming from.

      Music thumped from somewhere inside my apartment building. A lot of lights were on, and I could pick up pieces of conversation as I headed up the stairs. On the fifth floor, I found the culprit. The apartment across the hall, two doors down, was throwing a party. The door was cracked open, and light and music spilled into the open hallway.

      A little bit of jealousy wiggled inside my chest as I unlocked my door. All the laughter, the noise, and the music sounded fun. It all seemed so normal, like something I should be doing, but parties …

      Parties didn’t end well for me.

      Closing my door behind me, I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag on the couch. Furnishing this apartment had put a dent in my account, but I’d be here for four years and I figured I could sell everything when I left or take it with me.

      And it was all my stuff. That meant a lot to me.

      The party raged on across the hall, long after I finished my not-so-healthy salad, changed into sleep shorts and a long-sleeve shirt, and finished my art homework. It was just after midnight when I gave up on reading my English assignment and started back toward my bedroom.

      But I stopped in the hallway, my toes curling into the carpet.

      A burst of muffled laughter rang out and I knew the door of the party apartment must’ve been open, because it sounded louder than before. I was frozen, worrying my lower lip. What if I opened the door and recognized someone from class? It was obviously a college kid throwing the party. Maybe I would know the person? So what if I did? Wasn’t like I was going to join in when I was braless, wearing my jammies, and rocking the messiest ponytail known to man.

      I turned and flipped on the bathroom light, staring at my reflection. Scrubbed of all makeup, the freckles on the bridge of my nose stood way out and my face seemed more flushed than normal. I leaned against the sink my mom would’ve laughed at and pressed my face closer to the mirror.

      With the exception of my reddish-brown hair, which came from my father, I was the spitting image of my mom—straight nose, rounded chin, and high cheekbones; with all the cosmetic help she’d had over the years to stay looking fresh, we looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.

      Footsteps echoed out in the hall. More laughter.

      I made a face at my reflection and pushed away from the mirror. Back in the hall, I told myself to go to sleep, but I found myself walking toward my front door. I had no idea what I was doing or why I was being so nosy, but everything sounded … warm and fun out there and everything in here was cold and boring.

       Warm and fun?

      I rolled my eyes. God, I sounded lame. It was cold in here because I had the central air cranked like a mother.

      But I was at the door and there was nothing stopping me. Yanking it open, I peered out into the stairwell, seeing two heads disappear down the steps. The door to the party was still open, and I stood there, torn. This wasn’t home. No one was going to send me a scathing look or yell obscenities at me. If anything, they’d probably think I was some kind of freak just standing there, half out my door, all bug-eyed, and letting all the cold air out.

      ‘Bring Raphael back!’ exclaimed a familiar voice and a deep laugh that had my stomach dropping in stunned disbelief. ‘You fucktard!’

      I recognized that voice! Oh my God …

      It couldn’t be. I hadn’t seen the big-ass silver truck outside, but then again, there were so many cars and it wasn’t like I was searching for his truck.

      The door swung all the way open, and I froze as a guy stumbled out, laughing as he set a tortoise—what the fuck?—on the floor. The thing stuck its head out, looked around, and then disappeared into its shell.

      A second later, the guy who’d put the tortoise outside was pulled back into the apartment and Cam appeared in the doorway in all his shirtless glory. He reached down and scooped up the little green guy. ‘Sorry, Raphael. My friends are complete, fucking …’ He looked up.

      I tried to jerk back inside, but it was too late.

      Cam saw me.

      ‘Assholes …’ He did a double take. ‘What the … ?’

      Would dive-bombing into my apartment seem weird? Yes—yes it would. So I went with a very lame, ‘Hey …’

      Cam blinked several times, as if he sought to clear his vision. ‘Avery Morgansten? This is becoming a habit.’

      ‘Yeah.’ I forced myself to swallow. ‘It is.’

      ‘Do you live here or are you visiting?’

      I cleared my throat as the tortoise’s legs started moving like it was trying to wiggle away. ‘I … I live here.’

      ‘No shit?’ Those baby blues widened and he swaggered around the railing. I couldn’t help but notice how his gym shorts hung way low on his narrow hips. Or his stomach. It was ripped, taking six-pack into eight-pack territory. ‘You really live here?’

      I forced my gaze up and got stuck on the sun tattoo. ‘Yes. I really live here.’

      ‘This is … I don’t even know.’ He laughed again, and I met his stare. ‘Really crazy.’

      ‘Why?’ Besides the fact he was standing in my apartment hallway, shirtless and barefoot, holding a tortoise named Raphael?

      ‘I live here.’

      I gaped at him. The whole half-naked thing sort of made sense now and I guess so did the tortoise, but it couldn’t be true. Way too many coincidences. ‘You’re joking, right?’

      ‘No. I’ve been living here for a while—like a couple of years with my roommate. You know, the fucktard who put poor Raphael outside.’

      ‘Hey!’ the guy yelled from inside their apartment. ‘I have a name. It’s Señor Fucktard!’

      Cam laughed. ‘Anyway, did you move in over the weekend?’

      I found myself nodding.

      ‘Makes sense. I was back home, visiting the fam.’ He shifted Raphael to his other hand, cradling the squirming thing to his chest. ‘Well, hell …’

      I was gripping the door so hard my knuckles ached. ‘That’s … um, your tortoise?’

      ‘Yeah.’ A half grin appeared as he lifted the little guy. ‘Raphael, meet Avery.’

      I gave the tortoise a little wave, feeling stupid afterward for doing so. It just stuck its head back in its green-and-brown shell. ‘That’s a very interesting pet.’

      ‘And those are very interesting

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