It made me gag.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy Justin found someone to love, but I’ve never been quite as lucky. It’s left me with a lot of meaningless hookups, which have become sparse.
Leaving my former abode behind meant moving in with my sister, her husband, and three kids.
The first hour after I moved in—temporarily—had me wondering why I thought I’d had to leave Justin and Kelly behind so quickly.
Endless fucking or a newborn screaming?
Both suck, both mean little to no sleep for me, but the former means I get lassoed into baby holding at times and now several of my shirts sport puke stains.
I’m living the life.
This is exactly how I imagined my senior year at university going.
I read the ad over again.
WANTED: A ROOMMATE
Requirements
Don’t be a smoker. That’s gross.
Don’t be a jerk. I have no time to deal with your mood swings.
Clean up after yourself. Is it really so hard to put dirty clothes where they belong?
If you meet these qualifications, call me.
Sincerely,
Desperately Seeking Roommate
There’s no name, but the way it’s worded tells me the poster must be a female. The idea of living with a chick is weird. I’ve only lived with my parents, Justin, and now my sister and her family. Living with only a woman is a foreign concept. I’m not opposed to the idea, especially if she’s hot. But even if she is, I won’t be fucking my potential future roommate. I made a vow to stay celibate this year, so I could focus on my last year of football, school, and all the shit that comes after you graduate.
I lean back in the black plastic leather chair in my brother-in-law’s home office. I would’ve been upstairs in the guestroom on my laptop, but I had to escape the gremlins—aka my niece and nephew of talking age. Don’t get me wrong, I love those kiddos, but I can only take hearing, “Uncle Abie! Play wif me!” so many times a day before I lose my mind.
The kids are great if I’m just visiting, but living here day in and day out? I never get a break from them.
Feeling like I have nothing to lose I swipe my phone from the desk and call the number.
It rings a few times before I hear a sigh on the other end.
“Mom, I’m not giving or receiving oral, nor penetrative sex, you don’t have to call every five minutes to tell me you’re praying for my soul, okay? I know the fact my hymen is not fully intact, or like at all intact, is a sore subject with you—but you are the one who encouraged me to let myself flourish and insisted I could tell you anything. The cracking of my hymen falls under the anything category.”
I clear my throat.
There’s silence on the other end and then a squeak, “You’re not my mom.”
“Nope,” I say, stifling a laugh. “I’m definitely not your mom, but I would like to know the story of the … cracking of your hymen as you framed it.”
“Oh, the cliché—prom night. Didn’t even take my dress off and I rode that tiny dick in the front seat of his car. It wasn’t fun, but it did the job. Best night of his life, based on his facial expressions and moans—as for me, I learned guys have no idea what to do with the female body. Open a damn anatomy book, already.”
I cough to hide my chuckle. “Sounds…”
“Awful—awful, is the word you’re looking for. For the record, I don’t have caller ID and my mom usually calls this time of night and we’re close, so I usually answer the phone in some weird way.”
“Interesting,” I say, despite myself. I should be hanging up. Clearly this chick is certifiable, but I find myself entertained and slightly curious. “How do you not have caller ID? Everybody does.”
“On my cellphone I do. This is a landline.”
“A landline?” I repeat in disbelief. “Those still exist?”
The girl huffs in my ear. The sound is so loud it’s almost like she’s right beside me. “Yes, they do.”
“Why didn’t you put your cell number in the ad?”
“Um…” She begins slowly, her tone implying I’m an idiot. “I’m a single woman living on my own, no way in hell am I posting my cell number in an online ad. I just watched those Ted Bundy tapes on Netflix—I’m not about to hand out my cell number like candy to a serial killer.”
“You sound interesting…?” I pause, waiting for her name.
“I’m not giving you my name.”
“How do you expect to get a roommate, then?”
“Meet up in broad daylight in a very public place, obviously. I’ll be the one with a pink Taser.”
“Well,” I clear my throat, “you’re desperately seeking a roommate, and I happen to be desperately seeking a place to live. I don’t smoke, I’m not a jerk—at least I don’t think I am—and I’m capable of cleaning up after myself. I also cook, so that should score me some bonus points, right?”
“Possibly,” she hedges. “I’ve never lived with a guy.”
“Coincidence, I’ve never lived with a woman before—well, except my mom and sister. Come on, I really need to find a place to live and nothing sounds promising.”
She’s quiet on the other end for a beat … two … “Fine, meet me outside of Griffin’s coffee shop tomorrow at four, does that work for you?”
“Sure. How will I know who you are?” That time of day there are all kinds of people hanging around Griffin’s, the surrounding restaurants, and shops.
Another beat of silence and somehow, I know she’s smiling.
“Why don’t we let fate guide our way? If our paths are meant to cross, we’ll somehow know.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’ve been called worse. See you tomorrow, Stranger. Or not.”
Before I can respond, there’s a click and she’s gone.
I stare down at my screen flashing call ended, completely baffled and slightly turned on by this mystery girl.
I love games, and she’s initiated one of the most interesting.
“I’m going to find you, mystery girl.”
4
Lou
It’s five minutes until four when I finally amble near the vicinity of Griffin’s. A crowd is gathered around one of the trees out front, sitting on the stone built around it. Others stroll by, talking on a phone, some walking their dogs.
A breeze stirs the leaves on the trees and the hair around my shoulders with it.
I look at my phone and find it’s two minutes until four now.
I’m not going to make this easy for the guy. I said we could meet at Griffin’s, but that doesn’t mean I have to loiter around the front, making it obvious I’m waiting for someone.
I lean over, perusing the menu in front of one of the restaurants on the walking mall. I know the menu well, having eaten here plenty of times, but being inconspicuous means pretending I’m not waiting for my potential future roomie.
If he can find me.
On the phone, his voice was buttery and smooth with a slight rasp that sent lust spiraling through my body. He could be a total troll for all I know—not just in looks, either.
I knew in my desperate times I had to be open to a guy roomie, but the possibility and the reality are two different things.
I know girls can have weird quirks too, I have my fair share, but guys are inherently gross. It’s a fact.
But he did say can cook, which scores him more bonus points than he can imagine.
I don’t cook. Ever.
It ends in disastrous consequences.
Last time, I had to get four stitches in my finger when I nearly cut it off. It was traumatizing and after that, I decided the kitchen is not the place for me.
I live off takeout and those frozen dinner meals I get at the grocery store.
Spinning away from the restaurant and facing Griffin’s, my eyes connect with brown ones. It’s sudden, completely unexpected…
Fate.
All I see is those warm brown
eyes at first, then I notice the two cups of iced coffee in his hands, bearing the Griffin’s logo, and I think this can’t possibly be Stranger. A wide smile lights up his face, highlighting his handsome features, sharp cheekbones covered in dark stubble, and tousled dark hair begging for fingers to run through it.
I was taking in each part of him separately, but putting the whole image together—
No. My mind shouts the word at me as he walks forward.
He stops in front of me, his orange Vans nearly touching my white Chucks.
“DSR?”
“Stranger?”
But he’s not a stranger.
No, because fate—who I put all my trust in—has fucked me up the ass with no lube. If fate was on my side, we wouldn’t have made eye contact.
Abel Russo looks back at me, with absolutely no clue who I am.
On campus, I’m a nobody. But he’s a god.
I don’t care about sports. Yoga and the occasional game of Bingo at the local fire department where I’m always the youngest person in the room, is the most athletic I get.
Despite my lack of sports knowledge, everyone on campus knows who Abel Russo is. He’s the quarterback of the football team. He’s managed to lead the team to the past two championships or whatever they’re called and he’s expected to do it yet again this year before he graduates and says goodbye to football.
“I got you a coffee.” He holds out one of the cups, the one with a pink straw.
I wrinkle my nose and take the offered cup. Pink, my favorite color, is clearly another sign.
Look, Fate, I get it—this guy is meant to be my roomie but I don’t have to be happy about it.
“Looks like fate wanted us to meet.” He grins and it’s a disarming kind of smile. I understand why he’s the campus heartthrob, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts everywhere he goes.
“It appears that way,” I admit, walking over and plopping my ass on the stone around the tree I was looking at earlier.
He follows and stands in front of me, blocking the sun with his looming height.
“I’m Abel.”
I know.
I swallow nervously. “Lou.”
That smile again.
“Lou,” he swirls my name around his tongue, “unique name.”
I don’t comment.
“Well,” he begins, shoving one hand in the pocket of his jeans, his other still clasping the other iced coffee, “does this mean we’re roommates? You know, since fate made sure we met.”
“Why’d you call me DSR?” I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut, even when it would do me good. “And why’d you get me a coffee? You don’t know what kind of coffee I like—I could hate this, and that’s a waste of money, plastic cups, straws. God, the straws. Don’t you want to save the turtles?”
“Whoa.” His hands fly in the air—well, one hand does, and three fingers fly off his cup in a simmer down motion. “One at a time … DSR for Desperately Seeking Roommate, the coffee is my secret order and I’ve never let anyone have it before, so count your blessings, Blondie.” He tilts his head to the side. “Plus, once you taste it you’ll be begging me to tell you what it is.” He drags his straight, white teeth over his bottom lip and dammit if my lady bits don’t clench in response. “Thirdly, I do love turtles, but I left my stainless steel straws at home.”
“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”
He grins.
With a sigh, I spare a look anywhere at him before my eyes finally meet his again. “Why do you want to live with me?”
“Because, living with my best friend wasn’t going to work out once he moved his girlfriend in with plans to propose. I don’t want to listen to Justin and Kelly going at it like rabbits twenty-four-seven. I do need to study and I kind of like my sleep. Plus, Kelly uses all the hot water. Not cool.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “Your friend’s name is Justin and his girlfriend is Kelly? Like those American Idol winners in that horrible movie? Don’t get me wrong, Kelly Clarkson has some pipes, but she’s no actress.”
He throws his head back and laughs. Something in me stirs because I made him do that.
“Finally, someone who gets it.”
“You’ve seen that movie?” I ask in disbelief.
Do you mean to tell me campus’s number one hottie has watched the worst movie known to man?
He shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “My sister made me watch it when we were little.”
“Admit it, you liked it.”
He pretends to gag. “Absolutely not. But that brings me to my current dilemma. After I left Justin and Kelly, I moved in with my sister temporarily. They have a new baby and two other kids. I love those kids, but they never stop blabbering. It’s exhausting. I need some peace and quiet.”
“How do you know I’m quiet?”
“You have to be better than a newborn crying from three in the morning until six.”
“True,” I acquiesce.
“So,” he rocks back on his heels, “what do you think? Am I suitable roommate material?” He tilts his head to the side, an adorable grin lifting his lips. I never thought I’d be interacting with one of campus’s elite, and if I had imagined it I wouldn’t have expected this. Abel seems nice, easy going. Living with him couldn’t be too terrible, right? He’s not bad to look at either.
“I don’t know? Depends.” I bite my lip, trying to hide my growing smile.
“On what?” He blinks at me, waiting for me to finish.
“You do have a job, right?”
“Excellent question. I do, in fact, have a job. I work as a mechanic part-time, it’s how I became friends with Justin actually. I know it’s nothing luxurious but I do make enough to pay bills. Come on, Blondie. I really need this.”
“You haven’t even seen the apartment. Don’t you want to check it out first?”
He brings the yellow straw of his cup to his lips and takes a sip before answering. “I’ve seen you, that’s enough.”
I raise a brow. “What does that mean?”
He releases a warm chuckle, his chocolate brown eyes capturing my baby blues.
“Whatever you want it to mean,” he replies. “When can I move in?”
“This weekend?” I suggest. “I hope you have furniture and a mattress, because I don’t have that in the spare room.”
“I have them.”
I sigh, seeing this is unavoidable. “All right, new roomie.” I hold out my hand to shake his. “Welcome to Casa Louise.”
He takes my hand in his and I feel electricity shoot up my spine from his touch. His tanned hand swallows mine whole.
“Thank you, Louise.”
“One more rule,” I warn him, pulling my hand from his since he hasn’t let go. I wiggle my finger in front of him and blurt, “Don’t fall in love with me.” It’s meant to be a joke, but the words sound serious from my lips.
His eyes darken and fall to my mouth where I realize my tongue is moistening my lips.
“Don’t worry, Blondie. I don’t fall in love.”
5
Abel
I rap my knuckles against Lou’s door.
Against my door, since I’ll be living here too.
Before we parted ways at Griffin’s she gave me her cell number and the address information for the location of the apartment.
In hindsight, I should’ve taken a tour of the place. It could be a total dump, but something about Lou piqued my curiosity and I decided living with her would not only be interesting, but fun.
Not to mention, I’m as desperate to move as she is to have a roommate.
Now that I’m here, the building is nice, so I’m praying she’s not one of those people who should be on the television show Hoarders.
“Come on, man,” Justin grumbles, holding onto my mattress. “Don’t you have a key yet or anything? My arms are tired.”
I turn around and stifle my laughter as he struggles to hold my queen-size mattress.<
br />
“Dude, I told you to lean it against the wall. Stop trying to show off for your girlfriend. She’s not even here yet to see your heroics.”
Justin and Kelly volunteered to help me move, and since my sister and brother-in-law have kids to wrangle, I took them up on it. Kelly’s busy sorting through the boxes in the back of my truck, because apparently things need to be carried inside in a proper order.
Whatever the hell that means.
I’m about to knock again when the door swings open. I have to look down to meet Lou’s eyes she’s so short, and a grin spreads over my face.
Her hair is split into two parts and done in those space-bun things girls on my Instagram keep posting pictures of, but instead of looking ridiculous like those girls do Lou actually looks good in them.
“Welcome, mi casa is now su casa—but don’t think that means you can run a prostitution ring out of this place. I’m not your co-pimp.”
Justin snorts behind me and she peers around me.
“This is Justin, one half of Justin and Kelly,” I introduce her. “Justin, meet Lou. My new roommate.”
“This is Blondie?” he asks, a brow raised in surprise. “She’s hot.”
“Who’s hot?” Kelly chooses now to enter the building.
Justin turns bright red. “You, babe. You.”
“You must be Kelly,” Lou says politely. “Nice to meet you.”
With the niceties out of the way Lou steps aside and allows me into the apartment.
“Holy hell, there’s a lot of pink.”
“It’s not that much,” she defends. Her eyes flick around the space. “There’s gray too—and cream.”
She’s not lying, I guess. But there are light pink throw pillows, blankets, vases—hell, pink dotted everywhere like sprinkles on a cupcake.
My eyes land on a pink rotary phone sitting in the corner of the kitchen counters where someone might normally put a blender. Not Lou. Hanging above the phone, on the wall space between the counters and cabinets is a picture that says, Never let anyone treat you like a yellow starburst. You are a pink starburst.
Desperately Seeking Roommate Page 3