by Nicole Casey
Roommate Material
A Valentine’s Day Romance
Nicole Casey
Copyright © 2019 by Nicole Casey. All Rights Reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
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Contents
Prologue
1. Tia
2. Alex
3. Tia
4. Alex
5. Tia
6. Tia
7. Alex
8. Tia
9. Alex
10. Tia
11. Alex
12. Tia
13. Alex
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Sneak Peek: Can’t Get Over You
Prologue
1. Blake
2. Mal
3. Blake
Also By Nicole Casey
About the Author
Prologue
Alex
“Eliza and I broke up,” I said flatly, scanning the wine list over even though I’ve already ordered my drink. I didn’t realize that the restaurant had a 2008 Didier Dagueneau Silex sitting in reserve. I loved a good Sauvignon Blanc. But then again, I did order the steak, so it didn’t make sense to call the waiter back to change my order. There was no sense in pairing a white wine with red meat.
My sister sat across from me, too preoccupied with whatever app she had on her phone to look up. Molly continued to scroll through her feed, the bright image of her screen reflecting off her dark brown eyes.
“That’s too bad,” she muttered absentmindedly. “You better not start hooking up with my friends again. I don’t want to deal with another Holly incident.”
“Holly incident,” I echoed, a smug little grin stretched across my face. “You make it sound so official.”
Finally, Molly looked up and sighed, placing her phone screen-side down on the table. There was a soft and smooth silk cloth draped over the table, two dining sets arranged neatly on its surface.
“I’m serious,” she complained, scrunching her face up in annoyance. “Don’t date any of my friends anymore. It’s a giant headache for me when they eventually break up with you.”
“Break up with me?” I snorted. “Other way around, kiddo.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped. “I’m two years older than you.”
I threw my hands up in mock surrender. “Excuse me, Miss I-just-turned-thirty. Thought you’d be happy pretending you’re younger than you are.”
Molly rolled her eyes, fiddling with a loose strand of her long, strawberry blonde hair. She tucked it behind her ear, clearly unimpressed with my antics. She wore long, dangling earrings with purple crystals attached to the ends.
Amethyst, she had once explained. It’s supposed to improve emotional intelligence.
“Alex,” she stressed, eyes dark and thoughtful.
“Fine,” I gave in, “fine. I won’t ask any of your friends out.”
“Good.”
Molly slumped back in her chair, fiddling with the fringe of her golden-brown leather jacket. She’s wore her high-waisted black jeans up with a braided leather belt, along with a deliberately worn-down Nirvana shirt. I knew my sister well enough to know that this was just her style, something laid back and effortless. One with the universe, and all that nonsense. But I didn’t know who she was trying to kid. The black riding boots she had on cost at minimum a grand.
“What about your yoga buddies?” I added quickly. “They’re not really friends, so they’re not off limits, right?”
Molly shot me a smirk. “Hell no.”
“Come on, sis. Don’t be such a prude. I’m sure you’ve got one of their numbers logged away somewhere in there.” I tossed my head in her phone’s direction. “Know any pretty single ladies?”
I had never had a girlfriend who was super into yoga before. I thought it might be worth a try. Lean bodies, beautiful curves, unimaginable flexibility... Girls who were into yoga probably had a lot of endurance, too, which was never a turnoff.
“When did we become those siblings that talked to each other about their love lives?” she grumbled, plucking at one of the jade beads on the bracelet she wore.
“Always? We’re very close.”
“Maybe a little too close.”
The waiter returned with a black serving tray, our drinks balanced perfectly on top. He placed down two circular coasters before setting our drinks down. He smiled politely at Molly before turning on his heels, needed elsewhere in the restaurant. As he walked away, my sister leaned to keep him in perfect view. I shook my head, smirking.
“What?” she asked defensively. “He’s got a cute butt.”
“You know who else probably has a cute butt?”
“One of my yoga friends?”
I clicked my tongue and winked. “You read my mind.”
Molly picked up her drink –it’s a Bellini, because she’s not that adventurous– and took a sip. “Yeah, there’s a girl in mind. She just moved to the city, now that I remember. But she’s not your type.”
I picked up my own glass, staring into the bottom of my Scotch. The dark liquid reflected the dim, warm lighting of the restaurant back at me.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, a little incredulous. “I don’t have a type.”
“Yes, you do,” she corrected immediately.
“Nah.” I took a sip. After I while, curiosity got the better of me. “What’s her name?”
“Don’t worry about it?”
“I’m just asking you for her name. Would you relax?”
“Tia. Her name is Tia.”
Tia, I echoed in my mind. It was a cute name. Short, but sweet. Easy to remember. I tried to imagine what she looked like. She was probably short, like her name, but adorably so. I imagined her with long red hair, with beautiful green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. She was probably curvaceous, but proud and unashamed of her figure. I imagined her with a sweet voice, with nothing to say but kind words.
“Trust me,” continued my sister, “not your type. She’s too smart for you.”
A chuckle bubbled past my lips. “Too smart. For me. Do you remember who you’re talking to?”
Molly sipped at her drink slowly. “Yes, yes. Geez, you score a one-eighty on your LSATs and suddenly you’re Einstein.”
I shrugged my shoulders, pretending to be humble. “I aim to impress.”
“Yeah, well, as I was saying, Tia’s too career-driven. All she ever talks about in class is her job.”
I grimaced. “Workaholics are gross,” I joked.
“I suddenly understand your lack of work ethic.”
“Please,” I scoffed as I took another sip of Scotch. The liquid warmed my tongue, my throat, burned delightfully on the way down. “You’ve always known I’m not a hard worker.”
“Another reason why I don’t think you’d get anywhere with her. She’d never fall for a lazy guy like you.”
“Ouch,” I feigned.
“Besides, I know you. You like playing the role of the white knight. You need yourself a d
amsel in distress.”
I raised a quizzable eyebrow at her. “What? No way.”
“Jill was in a shitty relationship with that guy –what was his name?– Mike. You swooped in, saved her like you were freaking Prince Charming.”
“A coincidence.”
“Holly,” continued my sister, “needed someone to help after her dog died from cancer. Who showed up the next day with a puppy? And let’s not forget about Emma when her mother passed away –the poor girl. But luckily she still had enough sense not to accept any of your advances.”
“Yeah, but–”
“You have a type. And Tia doesn’t match that description.”
I snorted, rolled my eyes. Okay. Maybe my elder sister had a good point, but I didn’t really appreciate her tone. “You make me sound like such a sleaze.”
“Call it like I see it.”
“There’s nothing wrong about being there for women in need.”
“Yeah,” she said as the corner of her lip curled into a grin, “but at what point does it start to get creepy?”
“What are you saying?”
Molly shrugged her shoulder, her hand-knitted cashmere sweater elegantly slipping off of her shoulder. “Maybe you should try being single for a little while. Get some perspective and all that. Experience what it’s like to be a bachelor for a hot minute.”
I took a deep gulp of my Scotch, paying special attention to the way the liquid simultaneously burned and warmed my throat, leaving a satisfying heaviness in the pit of my stomach. I sighed in relief, satisfied.
“Speaking of experiences,” I mumbled, a thought suddenly occurring to me. “Aren’t you going to India tomorrow?”
“First thing in the morning,” she replied. “This was supposed to be a bon voyage dinner, remember?” She pronounced her words in an overly dramatic French accent, making good use of all those private tutoring sessions our father paid for throughout our childhood.
“Right, right. Did Dad pay for it?”
Molly’s cheeks flushed, bright red. She nodded slowly, glancing down at the table to avoid my gaze. “Yes,” she mumbled sheepishly. She raised her index finger at me, a warning. “Please don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“I told Dad not to. I just really think it’s the next best step for my career.”
“You mean your travel vlog?”
“Lifestyle channel,” she corrected. “I’ve got thousands of subscribers. I just need an exotic new location to film in. My views went up significantly when I was in Japan last month.”
I threw my hands up in mock surrender. “No need to get defensive, sis. I didn’t mean anything by it. We’re from a wealthy family, you can afford to do what you enjoy.”
Our waiter returned with our food, setting down a freshly grilled steak and mashed potatoes before me. My mouth watered at the mere sight of it, stomach grumbling excitedly. I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into the juicy, thick ribeye in front of me. I looked across the table to Molly’s meal: a delicate salad with slices of peaches, strawberry, and roasted pecans.
“Is there anything else I can get you before I let you enjoy your meals?” asked the waiter graciously, smiling as wide as possible to give off an air of graciousness.
I shook my head. “We’re all good here.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said quickly before leaving to attend to a nearby table.
I eagerly cut off a bite-sized portion of my meal, basically stabbing my fork into it before bringing it to my mouth. The meat was so tender and savory that it practically melted against my tongue. I groaned, in awe.
“I’m so turned on right now,” I joked.
Molly curled her face at me, shaking her head. “Gross, dude.”
“How’s your rabbit food?”
“It’s vegan,” she answered by way of explanation.
“Rabbit food,” I insisted.
“It’s delicious.”
“What do you think you’ll film yourself doing in India?” I asked, interested to know about her plans. Molly had always been the adventurous one in our family, travelling to new and exotic places whenever she had the time. Money was obviously never a concern, so it was just a matter of what interested her. She’d been to Japan, China, the outback of Australia, several countries in Europe, and more than one luxury resort along the coast of Mexico. I had to admit that India seemed a little out there, though.
“I’m hoping to learn more about Buddhism,” she admitted. “My yoga instructor is super into meditation. He’s super one with the cosmos, like he just is, you know?”
“Mhm,” I hummed, maybe a little flatter than necessary. I raised my eyebrows and nodded along. “Totally tubular, dude.”
Molly chucked a pecan at me. It ricocheted off my navy blazer’s lapel, landing in my mashed potatoes. “Are you making fun of me?” she huffed. She wasn’t angry though. I could see a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
“No, not making fun of you.”
“Anyways,” she continued, “I’m hoping to get a better appreciation for their culture. Maybe dedicate a whole video to exotic street foods. Stuff like that.”
“That actually sounds pretty cool.”
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, I’d watch it.”
“Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe,” she joked, stifling a bubbly giggle. She looked way too pleased with herself, but I wasn’t about to spoil her fun.
I lifted my Scotch glass and held it out, clinking it against Molly’s Bellini.
“To new experiences, then,” I cheered.
“To new experiences.”
1
Tia
I wasn’t actually that into yoga. But the studio was literally a block away from my apartment and they had an excellent membership plan that was non-committal. Besides, I figured that I would need an outlet for all my stress, what with the new job and all. I wasn’t going to be one of those attorneys that sacrificed their health for the sake of their career. I found that health and work often function in tandem to one another. I couldn’t succeed at my job if my body and mind weren’t up for the task. So here I was out of necessity, lying on my back in savasana, stupidly excited for what awaited me the next day at my brand-new job.
“Remember to breathe deeply,” instructed our yogi, Trent. He was up at the front of the class, sitting upright with his legs crossed, keeping a vigilant eye over us. “Concentrate on the sensation of your blood pulsing through your body. Breathe in. Breathe out. Give your mind the gift of silent reflection.”
But I wasn’t able to. The last week and a half had been a whirlwind of frantic packing, moving, workplace outfit shopping, and apartment arranging. I had just moved to New York in what I could only describe a miracle of organization, determination, and coordination. When I found the email from Richardson & Sachs waiting for me in my inbox, my heart had been in my throat. After years spent studying for the LSAT, surviving four years of law school, volunteering and interning wherever I could, and finally passing the bar, I was finally getting the chance I had been waiting for. All I ever wanted to be when I was a little girl was a brilliant, powerful attorney –just like my mother before me. And now, at Richardson & Sachs, my dream career was finally about to start. And if I didn’t have a crazy roommate to deal with, things really would have been perfect.
“Alright,” started Trent calmly, bringing his palms together in front of his chest. “That’s class everyone. I’m very happy with all of your progress this week. Good stuff. I’ll see some of you tomorrow. But until then, namaste.”
“Namaste,” the room chorused together.
I stood up, feeling the stretch in my legs. I bend over, rolling up my purple yoga mat in time to see Molly approach. She claps me on the back, chipper as ever.
“Hey girl,” she greeted with a smile, “great class today, huh?”
I stood, tucking my yoga mat in the crook of my arm. “Yeah, pretty good.”
“How’s that hi
gh-strung roommate of yours treating you?”
I giggled nervously, throwing a cautious glance to my left toward the studio’s front doors. It was a spontaneous action, like I was subconsciously worried the mere act of mentioning Jenna would summon her.
“She’s not high-strung,” I cleared my throat. “She’s just particular.”
Molly rolled her eyes, the corner of her lip ticking up into a smirk. “Sure,” she said, unconvinced.
“She’s not that bad,” I lied.
“Are we talking about the same woman?”
“Yes?”
“This is the lady who screamed out at you for leaving the toothpaste cap off.”
I winced at the memory of Jenna’s shrill voice first thing in the morning. We received a noise complaint filed by our neighbors later that day. It was a, for a lack of better words, a shit show.
“Yeah, well,” I mumbled bitterly, “I sure learned my lesson.”
“What does your roommate do again?”
“She’s a school librarian.”
Molly threw her head back, laughing so loudly that her voice shook the room.
“Come on, let’s go grab some breakfast mimosas and fear for the poor young souls who mistakenly wander into her library.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I began to protest, rubbing at the back of my neck with my palm. “The move kind of drained my budget, and–”
Molly wrapped her arm around my waist and ushered me toward the studio door, nodding her head at Trent as she passed by. “Come on,” she said. “My treat.”
Her treat? How could I argue with such a kind offer?
“I guess I could do brunch,” I giggled.