Rebel Roommate: A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Jeannine Colette

  Rebel Roommate

  Jeannine Colette

  Lauren Runow

  Contents

  Falling for the Stars

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2021 by Jeannine Colette and Lauren Runow

  All rights reserved.

  Cover photo credit: 4Max and Adam Vilimek

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Falling for the Stars

  A Zodiac-Themed Romance Series celebrates the unique qualities of men based on their zodiac sign. Each book features a distinctive trope, a kick-ass heroine, and a love written in the stars!

  This book’s hero is the AQUARIUS

  Challenging, Unpredictable, Inquisitive, Childish,

  Entertaining, Nocturnal, Independent,

  Noncommittal, Generous.

  Chapter One

  “Are you sure you have everything, Stacey?” Mom asks as she closes the door to my beat-up Toyota.

  This truck has been in our family since I was born, and I’m proud to say it’s still purring like a kitten—if said kitten made loud noises and had a dent on the side.

  “I have blankets, clothes, toiletries … and that college survival kit full of Lysol, tissues, Band-Aids, and mace. Don’t think I didn’t notice the sneaky way you placed that bag in the trunk.”

  She clutches her waist and lets out a sigh. “Did you remember your inhaler? You know how your asthma gets when your allergies kick in.”

  “I’m twenty-one years old. I can handle my own medication.”

  “You might be an adult, but I’m still your mother, and I can worry about you for as long as I’m alive.” She leans inside the front seat to check my gauge. “Do you have enough gas? I don’t want you stopping until you get there.”

  “This beauty is a ’96 4Runner, not your Subaru Outback that gets amazing miles to the gallon. I promise you, I’ll have to stop for gas. Don’t worry though; I’m not going to get kidnapped on the road to UC Berkeley.”

  “There are men who will want to take advantage of a beautiful young girl. You remember that when you’re living on your own.”

  I place my hands on her arms, leveling my eyes with hers. “Stop worrying. I’m living with Chad. You know he’ll be worse than you and Dad combined when it comes to me actually having a life.”

  She tilts her head as she plays with her bracelet. It’s a butterfly with amethyst wings. It matches the one on my wrist. “It does make me feel better that you’re staying with him.”

  “It’s a small price to pay, not having a hefty price tag for my future,” I respond.

  Perfect for the pocketbook? Yes. Perfect for my social life? No way. Just what every young woman dreams about … living with her brother.

  While Chad got scholarships in both academics and baseball to UC Berkeley, I stayed home and went to the community college to get my associate’s degree. It paid off, and I earned the grades and the admission to the same elite university as him to finish my junior and senior years. And since he has an available room in the apartment my parents are already paying rent for, it’s a win-win as far as my finances are concerned.

  She pats me on the cheek. “You’ve always been my thrifty girl. Now, remember what I told you. Don’t take drinks from strangers; if you have to take an Uber, always ride with a friend; and make sure Chad knows where you are. He and Wes will take care of you.”

  I try to hide my frustration at the mention of my brother’s roommate and childhood best friend, Wesley Knight.

  He was the smart-ass, quick-talking kid who chased me around the house with rubber snakes just because he thought my scream was funny. He liked to push my buttons because he didn’t have a sister of his own. In the eighth grade, he told Jimmy Foti not to go to the spring dance with me because my dad was part of the Hollywood mob and was going to bury him on Sunset Boulevard if he found out.

  FYI, there is no Hollywood mob, and my dad is the last person who would chase away a kid for asking his daughter on a date.

  That was Chad’s and Wes’s job.

  Wes isn’t my brother, but he’s always treated me like the annoying little sister.

  Well, except that one time when we—

  “Well, kiddo”—my father walks to the curb and places an arm around my shoulders—“you call us as soon as you get there.”

  “You know it.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss his cheek. I might have just told my mom I’m an adult, but there’s something about a father’s embrace that makes a woman feel like a little girl. Then, I hug my mom.

  They kiss me good-bye before I climb into the truck. I close the creaking door behind me and reach for my seat belt.

  Dad places his hand on the window. “I checked the oil, so you should be good to go. Make sure to stop before the Grapevine to check it again, so she doesn’t overheat.”

  “Will do, Captain!” I give a salute with a laugh.

  “You don’t have to salute me.”

  “Dad, you’re currently playing Captain Lieutenant Commonwealth on Navy Captain, which happens to be the hottest show on TV right now. If I want to salute my dad, it’s only because I’m damn crazy proud of him.”

  That quirky grin of my dad’s, which has been charming the television screen for three decades, appears. “My daughter’s off to college, and she’s saying she’s proud of me. How did I get so lucky?”

  “Is that a confirmation that I’m your favorite child? If so, I’ll be more than happy to relay that information to Chad.”

  Dad doesn’t say a word, which I take as an admission.

  I mean, I’m not surprised. I am pretty awesome.

  He shakes his head. “Keep that ego in check when you’re on the road. Remember the steering sticks, so keep it easy on the turns. And no tailgating.”

  Mom throws her arms in the air. “I don’t know why you just don’t take my car. It’s safer.”

  “Because I don’t believe in taking a dime from you. Paying for school is enough. Besides, Dad taught me how to handle this beast.” I pat the dash of my truck. “A capable woman is a dangerous woman.”

  Dad slides his hands in his pockets and grins proudly. “That’s my girl.”

  I start the engine with a literal bang, and when it purrs once it’s warmed up, I place it in gear.

  As I drive down the street I’ve lived on my entire life, I look at the rearview and see my parents standing in the ro
ad, waving me off. We live in a suburb of Los Angeles, and the six-hour drive to Berkeley is the longest I’ll have driven on my own.

  My Spotify playlist keeps me company as I make my way down the 405 freeway. About halfway through, I pop one of Mom’s old Celine Dion CDs in the radio and belt out classic ballads at the top of my lungs. I might or might not get a few curious stares from passersby as I belt out “My Heart Will Go On.”

  My beast is doing better than I expected, so when I see signs for the Grapevine on I-5 approaching, I stop to check the oil, put water and gas in the car, and let her cool down a bit before getting back on the road.

  As I exit toward Berkeley, a city on the eastern shore of the San Francisco Bay, I get butterflies in my belly. I’m not nervous; I’m excited!

  The narrow streets are filled with bars, restaurants, and shops. Young professionals are heading home after a long day at work, and college coeds in Birkenstocks are off to coffee shops, most likely to have intellectual conversations about progressive politics.

  Chad’s building is on a main street that’s lined with cars on both sides of the road. Thankfully, he has an arrangement with the lot to an office building next door, and we can park there on nights and weekends when they’re closed. I pull in and turn off the engine, stretching out my arms before opening the door.

  “She made it here alive!” Chad yells from the second-story window when he sees me get out of the truck. “I heard that jalopy pull in from all the way up here.” He laughs, and I give him the finger, which makes him laugh harder. “I’ll be right down.”

  I walk to the back of the tailgate to start unloading some of my bags.

  “Hey, Stacey.” Chad jogs over and envelops me in a hug.

  I welcome the comfort my brother provides. He might have been a huge pain in my ass, growing up, but when it comes to him just being a brother, I hit the jackpot with him.

  “You cut your hair.” I rub my hand over his crew cut, making him duck away.

  “Thought I’d make it shorter than usual before workouts start for the season.”

  “Good. Last year, your whole caveman look of not cutting your hair during the baseball season was a little much.”

  “You know how the guys are. Superstitious to the core. I’ll forgo a cut and a shave for as long as we have runs on the board.”

  With a laugh, I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and grab two more.

  Chad grabs the biggest box in the truck, and we lock up the rest. We carry everything into the building and up the narrow stairs into his place—my new home—and then we step into a small entryway.

  The kitchen is to our left and only big enough for two people to stand in. There’s a counter with a cutout window that leads to the living room. A worn-out black leather couch sits up against the wall, and a TV hangs only six feet away on the other side of the room.

  It’s a three-bedroom apartment that really should be a two-bedroom, but they converted the dining area into a sleeping space, which I learned is typical. Bay Area living should be called shoebox living.

  “You’ll take Rodney’s old room.” He points toward the doorway that’s just off the living room. “Only downfall is, it doesn’t have a closet. And there’s only one bathroom, so we all share it.”

  “I’ve shared a bathroom with you my entire life. As long as there’s no porn in there, I’m cool.”

  “No porn, I swear. Just don’t ask to borrow anyone’s phone. I can’t vouch for their viewing habits.” He points to the bathroom door, which is closed with the light shining from underneath, showing someone is inside. “Bathroom is there, my room is next to it, and Wes’s is at the end of the hall.”

  I stare at Wes’s door and notice his room is adjacent to mine. If these walls are as thin as Chad says, I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll have to hear him getting frisky.

  “Does Wes have a girlfriend? I’m just wondering if I should invest in noise-canceling headphones.”

  “Not that I know of,” Chad answers noncommittally, and my shoulders relax.

  It shouldn’t matter to me if Wes is dating anyone or not. I mean, it’s been three years since we’ve seen each other.

  While Chad comes home for holidays and summer breaks, Wes stays in Berkeley since his parents sold their home after he graduated high school. I can’t imagine not having my childhood home to come back to.

  Chad taps me on the shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. We turn back to my room. I stare at the full-size bed pushed up against the wall that’s painted white with a poster of Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow. The mattress is bare, and there’s a creak in the wood floor next to the bed.

  “It’s perfect.” I place my bag on the floor.

  Chad goes to put my box on the bed, but I usher him to halt. “Except Scarlett has to go, which makes me wonder what Rodney used to do on this mattress, so let’s not put any of my things on top.”

  Chad makes a gagging sound. “I didn’t think of that. Rodney might have moved out to live with his girl, but trust me when I say, they never got busy in here. I would have heard it because these walls are thin. Still, good thinking.” He puts the box on the floor. “You should fumigate that thing.”

  “I brought three mattress covers, a pillow top, and two sets of sheets. I think I’ll be protected,” I say.

  Chad raises his brow in curiosity.

  I laugh. “Explaining the crazy thoughts that run through my brain on a daily basis would probably frighten you. Just know, I planned ahead on this one.”

  I’m smiling as we walk out of my room. That smile is instantly wiped away when I hear the deep bellow of a man coming from inside the bathroom.

  “Is Squid here?” a man’s baritone calls out from behind the bathroom door.

  While the voice throws me off, there’s only one man who calls me that.

  Wes.

  “Yeah, and your ass had better be covered,” Chad yells back.

  “I hate that nickname,” I grunt, which makes my brother shrug.

  “Like Wes is ever going to change.” Chad nudges me as he leaves me standing in the living room and walks toward the kitchen.

  I give a half-smile as my attention is pulled toward the bathroom door being unlocked.

  As the door opens, steam billows out of the room in a thick plume. Wes appears, wrapped in a towel from the waist down. I take a moment to let the guy standing in front of me sink in.

  Gone is the lean-cut teenager who used to tease me about my love of knee-high plaid socks. In his place is a man—a dark-haired, light-eyed, steel-chested Adonis of a man. Wide shoulders, bulging biceps, and a ripped torso with a smattering of hair to complete the package.

  Wes will never change? Yeah. Right.

  My brother has never made a falser statement in his entire life.

  Wesley Knight is all grown up.

  His dark curls are still dripping wet, droplets streaming down his chest and over the rough planes of his abs, skirting toward the edge of his towel. He runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair, making his biceps curl with the action.

  I can feel my jaw dislodging from my face as I gawk. Yes, I’m staring. It’s rude as all hell, but damn … when did Wes become … this?

  And if I’m not mistaken, he does a double take when he sees me as well. His gaze travels over my wide eyes and my parted lips and down to my lifted chest as I hold my breath. His brows curve when his attention goes to the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans, and then he shakes his head quickly, as if realizing he was staring.

  Can’t blame him. I’m gawking like a tweenager at a BTS concert.

  “Put on a shirt, dickweed,” Chad chastises from the kitchen.

  I use Chad’s voice as a slap in the face to get myself together. This is Wes, my brother’s best friend and the bane of my existence from when I was eight to eighteen.

  “As we already discussed, this is my house, and if Stacey’s going to live here, she’s going to see me walking around without a shirt,” Wes say
s with a crinkle around his eyes. He winks as he struts past me.

  Chad walks back into the living room, holding a beer. “Back off, fucker.”

  “I think she’s seen a man’s naked body by now,” Wesley shouts back.

  “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  “Come on. It’s just Squid. I’m not going to try to seduce her.” His words are stated like the idea grosses him out. “Besides, she’s just here to get her diploma and get the hell out of town, so she can meet some Ivy League douche and run off to have his douche babies.”

  “Glad to see you’re still the same pain in the ass,” I say, defensively crossing my arms. “For the record, yes, I have seen a man naked. Many.”

  Chad chokes on his beer, and I ignore him, taking the time to stare Wesley square in his hazel greens. “And while I’m here to get my degree, I will not be leaving with an Ivy League douche. I happen to like my men rough, rugged, and street-smart over book-smart.”

  A slow Cheshire cat grin builds on his handsome face. “Looks like Squid grew up and got a pair of lady balls.”

  “Can we drop the nickname?” I huff.

  Wes takes a step toward me and leans in, so impossibly close that I can practically taste the fresh soap flecks on his skin. His mouth inches close to mine. “Not a chance, kiddo. Not a chance.” He ruffles my hair, and then he turns and struts into his room.

  I roll my eyes, heading back into mine. Chad follows me in.

  “I see he hasn’t changed a bit,” I say to Chad while smoothing out my long, dark hair.