Off Ice.

Chapter One.

THREE AND A HALF YEARS LATER

Avery

"Alright. Come on. Enough of the silent treatment," he groans, tapping my bare leg impatiently. "What do you want to eat?"

"You're not going to like my answer," I finally answer matter-a-factly, not looking up from my computer as I write my research paper. I've been working on it for a solid four hours now.

My eyes hurt.

"Mexican again?" he groans out dramatically, his hands running through his grown out, long brown hair. "You're killing me."

A smile tugs at my lips as I glance at him for a moment, before going back to typing. I love pissing him off by doing absolutely nothing.

"You know what? Fine. At least it's food," he says indignantly, pushing my legs off his lap and going into his room. I smile triumphantly when he comes back in with a shirt on.

He grabs his keys from the table by the door with a pus on his face. I grin over my shoulder at him as he opens the door to our apartment. "Love you, Cam!"

"Fuck off," he answers before the door shuts behind him. The best way to get what you want for dinner is to give the silent treatment until they get so hungry that they let you win.

Looks like I'm getting my burrito again.

Cam and I have lived together for a little over a year now, right off the UCLA campus. We're a little over halfway done with our first semester of our last year here, which is a bit mind blowing. I can't believe how quickly college is going. I thought high school went fast, but this is a whole other level.

I ended up switching my major from Communications to English Language and Literature, which I was scared to do at first. I knew Com was the safe way to go, I knew that I would get a job easier with that.

But I decided to go for it because I want to have a career that I love; I want to love what I do. I don't want to do something just for the sake of doing it. I want to enjoy my time at work and studying. I want to be passionate about what I'm doing everyday.

I'm working at a publishing company currently, but only as an assistant. I get the big bosses their coffees and run half-edited novels between editors, answering their calls and scheduling their meetings. I can't say that I like the job, in fact it drains my soul from my body, but it pays the bills and having the company on my resume will help me get a job I actually like.

What that is though.. That's the million dollar question.

But it's okay. I only just turned 22 last week. I've got time.

What's not okay, though, is this fucking paper. I swear to Christ, I'm going to throw myself off a very tall building if I don't finish it within the next hour.

I love the little apartment Cam and I have together. It's a small, two bedroom on the border of West Hollywood, which sounds boujee but in reality it was the cheapest we could find that didn't have rats and roaches.

Cam is a Production major and actually has an amazing paid internship at CBS Studios that he's been at for around a year. They love him there and already have talked to him about a permanent job once he graduates. I'm happy for him. He seems to have really found his place there.

Between the two of us and our decent paying jobs, we were able to move off campus. Living with your best friend is probably the best thing a person can do. I love it.

After about twenty minutes of writing, Cam comes back home with a bag from our favorite Mexican place. It's a small little shop about five minutes away from here and they have the best fucking burritos in LA.