The blond guy narrows his eyes and pulls off the sheet I’d covered the bed back with and swears.

“Okay, you’re coming with us,” Fletch says as we all stare at the offending words.

Blond Dude starts putting things into a box.

“What?” I ask. “Where?”

Blond Dude answers for him, “Our house.” Then he adds, “Hi. I’m Shane. I’m your new roommate.”

I try to protest, but they insist on packing up the things on my side of the room.

“I can’t sleep on your couch indefinitely,” I argue, grabbing the panties Shane is holding before he can box them up. I don’t think I can ever look at him again. He was holding my panties. I think I’d rather take my chances with Sami than deal with strange good-looking boys handling my panties.

“Jeff moved in with his girlfriend, so his room is empty.”

I gather Jeff was their roommate. I try to tell them I can’t pay, that my housing money is tied up with my scholarship and the dorm, but they act like they don’t hear me.

Fletch palms both my shoulders and forces me to look up. Way, way up. “You’re like my little sister, Penelope. Do you really think I’ll let you stay here to get murdered in your sleep?”

I don’t know how to answer that. Not really. I’ve never really felt like his little sister. But I’m so grateful right now that someone cares. I can’t even describe how much it means. I know I’m lonely, but it isn’t until I have something tangible in front of me saying I’m not alone that I realize how bad it’s been.

I’ll figure something out. I can’t stay with them forever. But tonight, I’m safe. Tomorrow can work itself out.

Chapter Two

The next morning, I stumble out of the third bedroom at Fletch’s house with acquiring coffee the only thing on my mind. I rummage through the kitchen, alarmed when I don’t see any kind of magic machine to make my morning cuppa.

Why didn’t I bring my little French press?

Oh, yeah, because when I went to use it yesterday, I found it on the windowsill of my dorm room. Where I know I didn’t put it. Shortly after that, I found the message on the mattress, and now even my life-giving coffee carafe is suspect. I don’t know what Sami might have done to it. I left it on the windowsill when we left.

I open the last cabinet in the kitchen and spy a Mr. Coffee on the top shelf. Whew. But I haven’t seen any coffee in my search. What if there isn’t any coffee to put into the Mr. Coffee?

One problem at a time, Winters.