After I shower off the sweat from practice, I try to get some work done in the room, but I’m starving and the bed isn’t very comfortable for sitting and working on my computer. After hunching over for almost an hour, I give up and head out to the kitchen.

Making my way through the living area, I get a look at Jude’s guests. They aren’t college students. They’re all over sixty, at least.

Jude is right in the thick of it too, laughing and passing around trays of appetizers while Mr. Bojangles sits in his lap, regarding the goings-on like a king lording over his subjects.

As soon as I step into the kitchen, Beast hands me a steaming bowl of food along with a fork and napkin.

“Thanks.” I take the bowl. Smells good. Some kind of meat, vegetable, rice concoction.

How did he know I was coming?

Beast covers the casserole dish, puts it in the fridge, then walks silently out the doorway into the living room, where I can still hear voices and laughter.

Does he ever speak, even to Jude? I haven’t heard him utter more than a grunt since moving in.

I turn toward the dining table and that’s when I spot her.

Reese. Alone, laptop open in front of her, typing away at warp speed.

It’s going to be an uncomfortable couple of weeks if we can’t be civil to each other in close proximity. Especially after the odd moments both inside and outside the room before I went to shower.

I didn’t mean to creep on her sleeping, and she woke up right as I was about to announce my presence anyway.

Then outside the door, I could swear she was checking me out before she ran away.

It was . . . really flattering, actually.

So flattering it led to a very pleasurable shower.

Maybe this means we can be friends, at least? Attraction leads to . . . peace treaty? Maybe it’s a stretch, but there’s only one way to find out. I make my way to the table and pull out a chair.

I’ll probably get the freeze-out. Again. But no one will be able to say I didn’t give it my best shot.

“Hey.”

Reese isn’t watching me, her eyes resolutely on her computer screen. There’s a textbook next to her and a dirty dish set to the side, forgotten.

I glance at the cover of her textbook. “Quantum physics?”

She nods.

Well, at least that’s some kind of acknowledgement. “Isn’t that a third-year class?”

She shrugs.

It’s not actual verbal conversation, but I suppose it’s an improvement over a complete snub.

I sit across from her and take a few bites of food while I decide how to approach this.

“Listen, Reese,” I wipe my mouth with the napkin, “I’m really sorry about how things started out with us and everything. I said a lot of things that were hurtful. I shouldn’t have placed the blame on you for this . . . situation.”