Page 3 of The Snowball Effect
Her words came out slower as the woman whipped off her shirt entirely, her chest heaving in the white bra as she muttered unintelligible but clearly angry words under her breath. She grabbed Regan’s sweatshirt and jerked it on over her head.
“Well, thank god I like to buy my sweatshirts a couple of sizes bigger,” she commented with an appreciative nod.
Regan liked to cuddle into that sweatshirt for comfort, and she bought it with that purpose in mind. So it sat baggy and low on her, ending at her mid-thighs. On this woman, conversely, it hugged her chest and sat flatteringly fittingly on her curved hips.
She only realized her words could be taken the wrong way when the woman’s mouth fell open in offense, and she gave Regan a look that she could only explain as – this woman definitely thought she was legit out of her fucking mind; she was somewhat familiar with it.
“Unbelievable.”
“Not that I’m, like, calling you fat,” she quickly explained, shaking her head, before she thought for a second and wrinkled her nose at herself and added on, “Or that there is anything wrong with being fat, either, for that matter, I just meant, like, it fits well–”
The woman clearly did not want to stick around to hear the rest. She huffed out a breath and balled up her wet shirt in her fist as she cut Regan off, “I’m leaving now.”
She strode to the door before pausing and took a noticeably deep breath. She squared her shoulders and it only then occurred to Regan that this woman was embarrassed to walkback out through the café full of people who’d seen her without her shirt.
“I’m really–” she started, stepping towards the woman. Who strode out of the back room without a backward glance as if propelled away by Regan’s voice, “Sorry.”
If she had given Regan a moment to speak, Regan would have offered her an exit through the back!
Regan had nearly forgotten about that terrible, no-good morning a month later.
The semester was re-starting after winter break, and business was picking back up at Topped Off, but that wasn’t Regan’s problem tonight! Because tonight, she was having a night in with her best friend/roommate, Sutton.
Sutton was on her way back from her first day of classes, officially halfway through her second year of grad school, and had texted Regan an hour ago to say:
I hope you didn’t order dinner already! I’m going to leave campus soon, but I’ve been hanging out for the afternoon with Dr. Woods’ new teaching assistant and showing her the ropes. I invited her to have dinner with us if that’s okay?
Regan’s reminder alarm to order dinner had just gone off, so…
You got me just in time. Hit me with the order. Can’t wait to meet your new school friends, sunshine!
She’d just received their order and laid the spread out on their kitchen table when their apartment door opened. “And your fortunate timing continues, Sutton-lucky-Spencer!” She shouted, wiping her hands on her thighs as she moved to step through the doorway into their short front hall.
Only to stumble over her feet and come to a stop at the sight of the woman next to Sutton. Tall – just as tall as Sutton was, in fact – with familiar icy blue eyes.
Sutton grinned, bright and oblivious, as she nodded toward Regan. “Emma, this is my roommate, Regan.” She gestured at the woman. “And this is Emma, my fellow teaching assistant.”
Those icy blue eyes seemed to frost over as they widened, then narrowed. “We’ve met,” she’d muttered darkly.
Even though it had beenweeks, Emma’s glare was just as sharp as it had been that day. Regan was fairly certain right then and there that they were not destined to be friends.
one
Emma Bordeaux yawned widelyas she blinked her eyes open, staring up at her bedroom ceiling.
For the briefest of moments, her morning awakening was peaceful.
Waking up without the assistance of her alarm was incredibly rare. So rare, actually, that it was unheard of for her. Typically, her first alarm went off at six-thirty. Followed by her alarm at six-forty-five. Followed again by the alarm at six-fifty. And finally, the alarm that annoyed her enough to rouse her was her seven o’clock.
With that thought in mind, she rolled onto her side to tap the screen of her phone to check the time.
Only to frown, sitting up straighter in bed as her stomach sank.
Because her phone screen remained dark, even as she continued to tap on it, each touch more compulsive than the last.
“No. Nooo, no, no. Comeon,” she hissed, all semblance of her calm welcome into the world washed away in panic.
Was her phone broken?! It wasn’t the newest model… all right, it was far from the newest model. But it had been workingperfectly fucking fine last night! It had been at ten percent battery when she’d plugged in to charge before going to sleep.