Chapter 2 TAYLOR IS NOT A GIRL

RIVER

I stare at the boy standing in front of me; there is no way the mysterious Taylor I had spoken to over text was a boy. It made no sense. The automatic system had paired us together, and when I saw his name, I assumed that it had to be a girl. The university systems have never made mistakes like this ever. They were the best and have proven it for years now.

I stare at him again, hoping this was a dream, even though I would never dream about a boy as gorgeous as this; it being a dream was the only explanation for what I was seeing right now.

"Are you going to keep staring at me, or are we going to sort this out?" I stared at him, the tone of his voice leaving me confused.

"You're in the wrong house." I managed to say, gathering my strength and walking to the room, digging through my bag. I take out the file containing all of my documents, and I search through until I find the rental agreement. I walk back out, and he is still standing there shirtless; he didn't even think of putting something on to cover up, almost as if he was enjoying the attention.

"Here's my agreement for this house, and my roommate is Taylor, a nice girl in 300-level theatre arts," I say, feeling my chest rising and falling as I realise that Taylor is a unisex name and this boy standing here could also be a student in theatre arts.

"Well, I am Taylor DeLuca, and I am in my 3rd year of theatre arts," he responds without missing a beat.

"Impossible!" I scream even though nothing about the situation is impossible.

"And you must be River Wilson, first-year pharmacy," he recites as if he were at a play.

"Yes, but..." There is no explanation here. I had been so comfortable with the name and the house that I had not bothered to ask what gender Taylor was. I never thought Adlerbridge University's off-campus housing system would make a mistake.

"So you are really my roommate?" I ask, and he nods, his hair swaying with his head movement.

"I have a similar one," he adds, dropping the agreement to the counter out front.

"I am sure there must have been some kind of system mixup; I will go to the housing office and have all of this figured out," I tell him, and he shrugs as if saying I could do whatever I wanted. I walk back into the room and pick up my shoulder bag and keys, ready to go complain and get all of this sorted out.

My father would be so disappointed if he got to know that I was sharing a house with a boy. In reality, I do not know what he was going to feel, and I was just assuming this.

"Where are you off to?" His voice stops me before I can get halfway through the living room.

"To the housing office"

"They are closed."

"Huh?"

His hand points to the fancy wall clock, and my eyes follow his hand and land on the clock, stating a few minutes after five pm. "The office closes by five, and even if you leave now, the place would be locked," he explains, not looking in my direction. I had no idea where I was __going, so there was a chance I would have missed my way, but it was a risk I was willing to take, so I wouldn't end up spending the night in the same room as this boy.

"Oh," I say as I slowly lower myself into the couch.

"You can go tomorrow," he explains, and I want to tell him how all of that would ruin my schedule. I plan to get all of my admission-related issues and class schedules sorted tomorrow, but if I have to go to the office, then that would disrupt my plan. I look at him once again, and I know he does not care about what I do, so I nod.

"Okay then, I guess we would have to share the house for tonight," I say, and his response once again is a shrug. I do not want to have a conversation with him either, so why was he being so rude?

I walk into the room and close the door before locking it from inside. I sit on the bed and stare at the empty wall ahead. I turn my head to my suitcase, still sitting pretty in the room. I was somehow glad that I had fallen asleep instead of unpacking; I would have been too stressed to have to pack it up again. I'm lost in thoughts of how the hell this could happen to me when I hear a knock on the door. My roommate is a boy. A hot, shirtless, arrogant, smirking boy. This was a Greek tragedy, and I was the main character, about to suffer. I did not need to stay with him too long to know he was the kind of boy who broke hearts and rode motorcycles in leather jackets.

"River?"

"Do you need something?" I called back without bothering to stand up.

"Are you going to get the door?" His question was accusing, and I hated it. I stood up and walked to the door before slightly opening it and putting my head through the crack.

"How can I help you?"

"Aren't you going to have dinner? I was going to have some pizza, and I was wondering if you wanted me to order some for you."

I didn't expect him to care about what I ate, so I stared at him for a while, and his response was a raised eyebrow. "Well? What is your answer?" he asked, and I cleared my throat.

"I am not sure if I want pizza, but thank you for asking." I am about to shut the door in his face when my stomach rumbles. I have been too nervous to eat on the plane, and I haven't had anything to eat aside from a few slices of apples my father had cut open in the morning.

"Your mouth is saying one thing, but your stomach is saying another. Which should I believe?" He asked, amused by what was going on.

"I'm not hungry; I just have an upset stomach," I lie, trying to cover up how embarrassed I am.

"Are you sure? I mean, I think you should...."

"Don't worry," I say, cutting him off, ready to slam the door in his face, but before I can even react, his hand is pulling mine out of the room. I stumble forward and touch his chest by mistake; my hands linger just enough to feel his hard rock abs. It was like touching marble sculpted by sin. I hated myself immediately. I jolt backwards and stand free of him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" I say in a hushed, screaming tone.

"Getting you dinner," he turned as if nothing had just happened. "Do you want anything extra with the pizza? Maybe some garlic bread or salad?"

"I will take the garlic bread," I murmur. Why was he being kind? Bad boys don't offer garlic bread.

I couldn't believe what had happened, but I was hungry, and his offering food was not the worst thing in the world.