Lately, the rumbling of the bus seats always seemed to get to her.
It wasn’t that the city buses didn’t normally rumble—they used big noisy motors, and the vibrations always carried up a bit through the seats. She was simply a little more sensitive of late. Adjusting her groceries in her lap, Paige bit her lip and looked out the window.

Gina. Vexing, goddamn siren of a woman Gina.

She had answered Paige’s ad for an apartment mate roughly 5 months ago, and it had gone relatively well from the start. They were friendly with each other, but generally good at keeping out of each others’ hair: ideal qualities in a suitemate, by Paige’s estimation. But the past month, good lord…

The bus hit a bump, and her stomach fluttered. She ground her teeth.
Utterly vexing. She must have gotten very comfortable over the past month. Because there was no other explanation for the way she had taken to lounging around the apartment in that tshirt every evening. Kicking her feet up on the coffee table. Grabbing that mug from the highest shelf. That god forsaken tshirt stretching and lifting and exposing teasing bits of the curves that demurely hid above those gloriously bare legs.

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