Desperately Seeking Landlord

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  I continue to fan myself and once Lou is strapped into her dress it’s minutes away from show time.

  I hug her as tight as I can which is tough with my pregnant belly in the way.

  “I’m so happy for you. You’re marrying your soul mate.”

  “Thank you. I can’t wait.”

  She’s absolutely giddy.

  “I’m still mad I’m not the Man of Honor. I’m way cooler than Miranda. Just sayin’,” Tanner says from the corner of the room, feet propped on an ottoman. He’s already drinking what looks like a gin and tonic. Only Tanner.

  The wedding planner appears out of nowhere, fussing over us, and then guides us to get lined up to head outside where everyone waits.

  I’m worried I look like a sweaty cow but everyone assures me I look great.

  That’s good news I suppose considering I’m miserable. The heat is killing me, and I haven’t told anyone but I’m pretty sure I started having contractions this morning.

  Yeah, I’m crazy, what’s new?

  I loop my arm through Abel’s brother-in-law’s arm, plastering a smile on my face as we head out and then down the aisle.

  We’re halfway there when I feel it.

  The telltale wet trickle and then the feeling of a balloon popping.

  Oh. Shit.

  Lou is going to murder me.

  Abel’s brother-in-law pauses, looking down. “Did your—”

  “Yeah, yeah it did.”

  People are beginning to look and Jamie, bless him, stands up. He immediately spots the problem and with Toby’s help wrangles Caleb and Logan.

  Every single eye is on us and I hear whispers spreading.

  Yep, that’s right. Best friend and Maid of Honor extraordinaire, stealing the spotlight by going into labor at the wedding. I’m available for other events for a hefty fee.

  Jamie helps me out, while a teenage Toby holds onto Caleb and Logan.

  Passing by a stunned Lou on our way out, I mouth, “Sorry.”

  She shakes her head, stifling laughter, calling out, “Good luck!”

  Jamie drives me straight to the hospital, the boys in the backseat. As soon as we were in the car he called his mom to meet us at the hospital.

  I had a home birth with my first two but I knew I couldn’t risk it with twins, much to Jamie’s relief.

  Chaos ensues and six hours later, two tiny, perfect, identical human beings enter the world.

  Our two boys look more like me, but the girls are all Jamie.

  They have the same reddish brown hair, nose, eye shape, mouth, and even his long fingers.

  Sophia Grace and Abigail Madison might already have their daddy wrapped around their fingers even more than their brothers do. Watching my husband hold them both, rocking them in his arms as he looks back and forth between them, chokes me up.

  When I first met Jamie, never in a million years would I have believed I’d marry the guy, let alone have four kids with him.

  It was a gigantic lesson for me—don’t judge a book by its cover.

  Jamie smiles at me, eyes crinkling at the corners.

  I know whatever decisions I made that led me to him, I’d gladly do it all over again.

  Epilogue #3

  Miranda

  Another Four Years After That

  “Look at our little boy,” I cry, wiping way tears as Tobias’s name is called.

  He strides across the platform, accepting his high school diploma. He ducks his head when Jamie and I cheer, along with his five siblings.

  Toby’s grown into a brilliant young man who’s going to go far in the world.

  It’s going to kill me when he goes off to college in the fall. He wants to be a doctor and despite the years of studying ahead of him, I know he’ll make for a compassionate and kind doctor when he does.

  It takes a while to get through the rest of the names but when it ends, and the caps have been tossed into the air, we storm the field.

  Jamie and I rush after the kids trying to keep up with them as they plow through the crowd for Toby.

  Somehow, they find him easily, sniffing him out like some sort of little human bloodhounds.

  They pile on Toby, tackling him to the ground. He laughs beneath their weight.

  “I love you guys, too.”

  “Don’t leave us, Toby!” Sophia pleads.

  “Yeah, you have to stay,” Logan chimes in, stealing his cap and sticking it on his own head.

  “I’m not leaving until fall and I’ll visit as much as I can.”

  His school is only two hours away, which I know isn’t too far, but it feels like forever. The kids pull away, letting Toby up.

  He hugs Jamie first, then me.

  “I’m so proud of you. Watching you grow up has been one of the greatest blessings I’ve ever been given. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom.” He kisses my cheek.

  His wavy hair, the same color as Jamie’s—though Jamie is starting to sport some gray at his temples—tumbles over his forehead. He shoves it out of the way smiling. I can’t believe this is the same boy I met eleven years ago. It’s like I blinked and he became a man. He might not be of my blood, but he’s my son nonetheless, and the fierce protectiveness I feel for him is all-consuming. He’s the sweetest teenager, who loves his siblings, even the unexpected six-month-old, Jade, who cries all the time. Sometimes I fear he’s too kind and precious for this cruel world, but I know he has to be allowed to go on his own and spread his wings.

  At least I know without a doubt, he’ll be successful at everything he does.

  Except maybe when it comes to girls. The poor guy clams up and turns into a bumbling fool, but I know even with that he’ll figure it out in time.

  Toby picks up Abigail and she wraps her arms around his neck. “If you’re not here who’s going to protect me from Caleb. He’s mean.”

  “Caleb, are you being mean to your sister?” Jamie scolds in his dad voice.

  Caleb groans. “I told her she couldn’t come in my room. Boys only. She’s such a tattletale.”

  Jamie opens his mouth, but I shake my head and tell him, “Later.”

  Today is Toby’s day.

  We wrangle the five little ones—Goddamn that stupid Buzzfeed quiz for being right, I gave birth five kids and Jamie fertilized six eggs—and head off the football field.

  “You know,” I begin, looking up at Jamie, “our life might be the definition of crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He bends down, kissing me. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else at my side to handle it with.”

  Acknowledgments

  I can’t believe this is the end of yet another book. Every time I finish one there’s this “whoa” moment where I can’t believe I did it. So many people helped shape this book and I hope I don’t forget anyone.

  Barbara, B. Celeste, B. Struggle, the Kim to my Kris, I don’t know what inner workings of fate brought us together, but I’m thankful for it. I don’t know what I would do without you, truly. You’re always there whether I need advice, to rant, or just need to laugh. Thank you for reading this book before everyone else and rooting for Jamie the whole way through.

  Kellen, you are such a combo of Thea/Miranda, and your comments on this book cracked me up. I love that when you beta for me you don’t hold back and tell me where you think I can improve. You totally whipped this baby into shape. Now we both need to find our Jamie’s.

  Raquel and Stefanie, words cannot describe how thankful I am to have you guys beta for me. I don’t say it enough, but truly, thank you. You put so much work and love into my books and it never goes unappreciated.

  Emily, Emmers, Wifey, hahaha, you’ve been here since practically the literal start of my career. You started as a reader, then became a friend, and now you’re a sister. I seriously feel like we’re a part of each other’s families at this point. You’re wonderful and I love and miss you so much. Oh, and we can’t forget to add designer to that list! You knocked this cover out
of the park. It’s incredible and I’m obsessed.

  Thank you to the early readers who take time out of your busy lives to read and review early copies of my books. It means so much. Thank you!

  And to you, dear reader, whether you’re reading me for the first time or the thirty-seventh, thank you. Thank you times a million. You’re the reason I can do what I do. You’re the real MVPs.

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  Whatever Happens

  Desperately Seeking Roommate

  Haven’t met Lou and Abel? That’s okay! Start their story today. Here’s a peek at chapter one!

  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

  When I put the ad in my university’s newspaper, the last thing I ever expect is for the star football player to respond.

  From what I know of him, Abel Russo is a womanizer and an absolute jerk.

  Sadly, he’s the only thing stopping me from being evicted by my annoyingly gleeful landlord.

  It should be easy enough—there’s no chance we’ll fall for each other. But then he gives me lingering looks, and I might just be looking back.

  All I wanted was a roommate, but I’m about to get so much more than I bargained for.

  1.

  Lou

  “I can’t believe I have to do this,” I sigh, staring at the ad I’ve typed up.

  “It’s not like you asked your landlord to be King of the Douchebags and raise your rent,” my best friend Miranda chimes. She’s lying across my bed on her stomach, swiping madly on Tinder. I don’t know why she likes the stupid app. I find it insulting more than anything. The one time I used it I got a message within five minutes of a dick with a bow wrapped around it. I immediately replied that that was not the gift I was asking for at the moment, thank you very much.

  She turns her brown eyes to mine and heaves a dramatic breath. She reaches past me and pushes the pad on my laptop, sending the ad through to our university’s newspaper.

  I cry out, hands fumbling toward my laptop. “Miranda, I wasn’t ready! I needed to proofread it again.”

  “You would’ve been here all day reading it and then talked yourself out of posting it. It needed to be done.”

  She rolls off my bed and strides over to my closet door, swiping through the clothes on the hangers.

  Miranda is the first friend I’ve ever had who I could share clothes with. I’m short and curvy—or what many would call plus size—and most of my friends growing up were either thin or average-sized. I always felt like the odd duck out, until Miranda and I met during English 101. Neither of us are from Winchester—I came from the southern part of Virginia to here in the north, and she ventured all the way from Delaware.

  Somehow, we ended up sitting beside each other in our English class and the rest is history.

  She holds up an oatmeal colored over-sized sweater. “Can I borrow this?”

  “Sure,” I reply with a shrug, shutting the lid on my computer. With a groan, I stand up, stretching my stiff muscles. I’m twenty-one going on eighty. If I’m sitting or in any position for too long my limbs lock up despite my nearly daily yoga routine. It’s ridiculous.

  “Thanks.” She drapes the garment over her arm. Her dark brown curls swing around her shoulders. With her father being Hispanic and her mother Asian, the girl is the epitome of the word unique. She’s stunning and I tell her all the time, but she never believes me because of her size.

  I don’t know why us bigger girls are shamed by society. We’re normal-sized—I’m sorry your media standards are candy-cane stick thin. I’d rather eat them than look like one.

  “I wish you could move in with me,” I whine, as she goes back to flipping through my closet. I’ve been pouting about this fact for a solid week—ever since I found out rent was going up and I was no longer going to be able to afford my two-bedroom apartment in the historic district. The idea of living with a stranger isn’t appealing at all, and since I have no time to spare, I have to be open to a guy for a roommate too.

  The prospect of going to pee and falling into the toilet doesn’t sound like my idea of getting wet, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I need a roomie stat.

  She sighs, her lips twisting downward in genuine apology. “I know, babe, but I just re-signed the lease on my apartment. There’s no way I can get out of it. Living here would be so much nicer. My place is a dump.”

  She lives in an older apartment beside the small airport of privately owned planes. I still don’t know how I lucked out getting my cute place downtown—but right now I don’t feel so lucky and want to punch my landlord in his smug face. He’s young, probably late twenties or early thirties, and inherited this building over the summer when his grandpa passed away. Now, the greedy bastard wants to make more money off broke college students like me.

  “Does this match?” she asks, pairing the sweater with a maroon skirt that ends above the knees with buttons down the front.

  “Yeah, it’ll be cute,” I tell her honestly. “But … what do you need it for?”

  Color blossoms across her dark skin. “Charlie asked me out.”

  “Charlie?” I shriek. “Why am I just now hearing about this? I thought you hated him.” I jolt upright from this news, in desperate need of hearing the tea on how this came about.

  Charlie is in our history class—he’s the type who answers every question correctly and then looks around smugly like we all care that he’s so much smarter than us.

  Newsflash, we don’t.

  She shrugs. “It happened yesterday. I bumped into him in the library and he asked. I don’t really like him, but … L
ou, it’s been forever since I got laid and I’m desperate. My kitty needs more than some sweet vibrations. I need a man. On top of me. Inside me. All around me.”

  “But Charlie?” I can’t get over this. He’s not hideous, but if looks were determined by personality he’d be one ugly guy—like Smeagol.

  “He’s not horrible looking,” she reasons, her bottom lip jutting out in thought. “And you never know, he might be cool.”

  “Well, when he bores you with his vast knowledge of the size of every shit a president took, don’t come crying to me.”

  “I doubt he knows that.” She spreads the clothes on top of my bed and stands back, assessing how they look together. Glancing at me she adds, “I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, okay. Can you do that, too? For me?”

  I hug my best friend. “I’d do anything for you.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles, her dark slanted eyes looking relieved. Her relief transitions into worry and her lips flatten. “What are you going to do if no one responds to your ad?”

  I sit down on my bed, looking out the old dirty window onto the street below.

  “Live on the streets, I guess.”

  “You know I’d never let that happen,” she vows. “My place might be small, but I can make room for you somewhere—maybe add a cat cushion in the bathroom.”

  I grab a pink pillow and toss it at her. “My ass wouldn’t even fit on it.”