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“Harry said his girlfriend was in the arts, but I didn’t realize we’re on the same path.”

“She’ll be home soon, actually. You’ll love her.” Tom laughed, weaving through the beer bottles on the floor. “Everyone adores darling Olivia.”

Something in the way Tom delivered that last statement made Alex pause. Did everyone adore Olivia? Was she the doting sister, perfect friend, irresistible lover? Or was Tom being sarcastic in that charming yet confusing way Brits can be?

Four

Alex appreciated Tom’s ‘tour’, but it kept her from her most urgent desire—her room. Once introduced to her own private space, a little freshening up—perhaps a relaxing bath or warm shower—she’d feel more at home. With Olivia expected to walk through the door at any moment, she couldn’t think of anything else.

“What’s with the face?” said Tom.

Alex scrunched up her eyebrows. “My face? Nothing. That’s just the way it is. I look pouty if I’m not smiling.”

“Some girls I know pay a small fortune to get luscious lips like yours.” Tom threw a heavy arm over Alex’s shoulder and pulled her into his chest. “Come along, Miss America, the next stop is the sleeping quarters.”

She let out a nervous giggle and shifted slightly away from him. Tom was attractive and charming in an odd, still drunk way, but she didn’t like strangers invading her personal space, especially if they needed a shower. And was he flirting with her? All that touching, hugging—she didn’t want to flatter herself, but…seriously? Compared to the pretty girl on the doorstep, Alex shouldn’t register on Tom’s hook-up list at all: short, A-cup breasts, freckles, and a slight gap between her front teeth. Picking up her backpack and laptop bag by the door provided the excuse to slip out of his touchy-feely grasp.

“The redhead I ran into downstairs…is she your girlfriend?”

“Who? Oh…nah. She just popped ‘round for a cup of sugar,” Tom winked. “Actually, I met her last night in the pub by the park. I doubt I’ll see her again.” His response surprised her, but then Alex wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl.

“So what about you? Did you leave a boyfriend behind in Florida?” They swerved around an expensive looking road bike propped up against the wall. Shiny without a blemish, it still dreamt of its first outing.

Alex bit her nails. “How much time do you have?” she said, intentionally being evasive.

“Ooh, a lady with a past. Love it. You’ll have to tell me everything.”

Alex’s long bangs concealed her eye roll. Tom seemed even more interested now. Great.

The first two doors along the hallway were closed, the bathroom, and the bedroom belonging to Harry and Olivia. The third door was open—Tom’s room—and much like the man himself, a mess. Cluttered with empty take-out cartons, crumpled magazines, and clothing, both designer and casual, haphazardly strewn over every surface, it looked like a hurricane had hit recently.

Her eyes widened at the chaos. She struggled to find something nice to say. “Looks…cozy.”

“It is,” said Tom, not picking up on Alex’s neat freak-inspired disgust. “I haven’t been here long, but I’ve certainly made it my own.”

Alex smirked. “Yes, you have.” Stifling a giggle, she turned away from him and set her sights on the final door. Her room. A smile slowly crept across her face.

“And here we are, my dear.” The door stuck, so Tom gave it a hearty push. It swung open and clobbered something in its path. He swept his left arm out in front of his body like a game show model revealing a breathtaking prize. “Ta-da!”

Alex gasped.

And shook her head.

The ‘prize’ hidden behind door number four could hardly be classified as a winner or even a bedroom. A storage closet, maybe, but only at a stretch. A narrow wardrobe leaned crookedly against the wall, its wire hangers dangling precariously over a twin-size futon that hogged most of the floor. An ugly ceramic table lamp lay sideways on the hardwood, its green shade bashed in—the casualty of Tom’s door shove, perhaps?

If Alex wanted a dresser, desk or chair—forget it. Even her backpack and laptop bag faced a struggle for real estate. High-end shopping bags from Harvey Nichols, Burberry, and Matthew Williamson appeared to be multiplying like rabbits in the remaining floor space and on top of the futon. Clothes, purses, and who knows what else overflowed from their cardboard and paper constraints. Suitcases, old Christmas decorations, out-of-season clothes belonged here, not humans.

No window. Only one visible power outlet. Her crappy dorm room back in Atlanta was easily three times larger.

Tom looked at Alex open mouthed, staring silently at the floor. “Shit. Harry told Olivia to shift these bags, but she must’ve had a breakfast meeting and forgot.” He grabbed an armful, tossing them into the hallway. “It’s a shame this room is so titchy, but at least you’re travelling light, Alex.”

Her chin trembled. It took every scrap of self-control not to burst into tears at Tom’s joke. For months she had been picturing this moment, how she’d skip into her own room, jump on the fluffy bed and instantly make herself at home with her books, clothes, and cherished mementos. Her London bedroom was supposed to have been a comfortable haven from which she’d launch her career and in the process, figure out who she was destined to become. She should’ve known better. In Alex’s experience, real life and dreams never synced; this room, her latest proof.

Slumped soaking wet against the doorway of the ‘titchy’ broom cupboard, her confidence and excitement had pooled on the floor along with excess water from her clothes. She didn’t feel how she was supposed to feel at all. She shivered, hiding her face behind her hands. I’m an idiot. Kiss goodbye to any semblance of cool in front of the new flatmate.

Tom tugged at his t-shirt. “Was it something I said? Oh…” He legged it.

Alex rubbed her eyes until they watered. Tom popped back in the room, holding a grey cotton sweatshirt adorned with red fabric hearts.