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Feyre was cooking dinner when her roommate came running into the kitchen, screeching to a halt in front of her. He doubled over, panting and gesturing wildly to the ringing phone in his hand.
She peered into the screen. It was an unknown number.
“One of your admirers is calling,” Lucien smirked in between two desperate breaths. Her best friend was in terrible shape. “What’s it gonna be this time?”
She tapped her chin, considering.
She couldn’t pinpoint the moment this little game had started, or if it had been her or his idea. It was now a habit of hers to offer every stranger hitting on her Lucien’s number, then try to outsmart him by coming up with a more ridiculous answering statement.
Last time had been his turn, and he had told the poor guy his girlfriend, their boyfriend and he didn’t need a fourth addition to their perfect relationship.
“Well?” Lucien urged frantically.
When she still didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and answered the call on speakerphone.
“Hello?” he said in a high pitched voice.
She scowled at him. She did not sound like that.
“Feyre, darling,” purred a sensuous voice.
Her breath hitched, her heart picking up speed in answer. She leaned against the kitchen island, suddenly faint.
Lucien’s eyebrows rose comically high. “That’s not funny,” he said with his normal, albeit cold, voice.
There was a pause.
“Is this not Feyre’s number?”
The way he pronounced her name made her shiver.
“It is.”
“Can I talk to her?” the handsome stranger – Rhys – asked cautiously. Cauldron knew what he made of this situation.
“You could,” Lucien replied. “Except she died fifteen years ago, this very night.”
Feyre gaped at her roommate. He winked at her.
“I… wow. I’m sorry for your loss. I –”
Lucien hung up.
“You –”
“Feyre, darling,” he mimicked Rhysand. His jaw dropped. “By the Cauldron, are you blushing?”
She crossed her arms defensively. “I am not.”
Lucien was bouncing on his toes. “Feyre, darling,” he repeated, his eyes lighting up when her blush deepened. “Oh my Gods, you like this one!”
She shook her head, checking on the oven so she could hide her flaming cheeks.
“You do,” Lucien screeched. “Why the fuck did you give him my number?”
The lasagna was ready. She got it out of the oven, deposited it on the island and opened the fridge. They had to have some good wine in there.
“You chickened out, didn’t you?”
She set the table, pouring all of her focus into the simple task so she could ignore the regret creeping up her throat.
“Feyre,” Lucien called softly. “Look at me.”
She slowly raised her gaze. His amber eyes were so open and warm that Feyre felt her walls cracking.
“It’s been a year since you left that bastard.” His voice was gentle but firm. “It’s high time you stop feeling guilty and start living again.”
Tears blurred her vision, and she swallowed thickly. “I broke his heart, Lucien.”
Her roommate pulled her into a hug, his pine needle scent washing over her. She sighed into his chest. He patted her on the back cautiously.
“And he broke yours, Feyre,” he reminded her. “Your relationship was doomed. You did what you had to do.”
Feyre’s voice was muffled as she asked the question that had been plaguing her for the last year. “What if we just break each other again?”
“Then you survive, again. You are a fighter, Feyre. You can’t let one bad relationship deprive you from love forever. Aren’t you lonely?”
She nodded, sniffling.
“Aren’t you horny?” he asked, humor seeping into his voice.
Feyre pulled away, punching his chest.
“Ouch,” he exclaimed, but the mirth never left his eyes. He handed her his phone. “Call him.”
She stared at it for a long moment, debating. Did she really want to give this a chance? Was she ready to take this risk again?
Eyes like the night sky flashed in her head.
Yes, she was.
She took the phone and called the last number. It answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Rhysand, darling,” she purred, or at least attempted to. Her voice was still thick with tears.
There was a beat of silence.
“If I had known I would become psychic, I would not have invested my money into an engineering degree.”
Feyre let out a wet laugh. “Since when have you been a psychic?”
“Since,” his voice grew faint as he got farther from the phone, “about four hours ago. Since when have you been a ghost?”
“Four hours, give or take one eternity.”
Rhysand’s laugh was short. “I am probably going to make this weird,” he began hesitantly. Feyre’s heart sank. “But I have to ask. Was that your boyfriend earlier?”
“My boyfriend?” she frowned. “Oh, you mean Lucien? No, he’s my roommate.”
“Oh.”
“I…” Feyre inhaled deeply. “I am probably going to make this weird by oversharing, but here is the thing. I went through a pretty nasty break up one year ago and I just couldn’t bring myself to date again. So anytime some guy asked for my number I would give him Lucien’s. It’s a funny game between the two of us. But then you called, and –”
“And I brought you back from the dead,” he concluded. She could just imagine the smug smirk on his kissable lips.
She steeled herself. “I wouldn’t mind a little death at your hands,” she breathed into the phone. “Or other parts of your body.”
She heard a sharp intake of breath.
“I am probably going to make this weird,” Rhysand’s voice was husky and amused at the same time, “but I’m at the coffee shop where we met.”
“The one I said was close to my place?”
He coughed awkwardly. “I may have been hoping for a date tonight?”
“How eager of you,” she teased, even as her heart sped up. She hurried to her room where Lucien was already picking out an outfit for her. She blew him a kiss and he shook his head, smiling.
“What can I say? Life is short.”
She snorted, already pulling down her pants.
“See you in 5.”