Roommates

by Erin Leigh

  Roommates

  An unlikely love story

  A Novel by Erin Leigh

  The Romantic Side of Tara Brown

  Copyright 2015 Tara Brown

  http://TaraBrown22.blogspot.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction and is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration or copying of content is permitted. This book is a work of the author’s crazy mind—any similarities are coincidental. Any similarities are by chance and not intentional.

  Cover Art by KC Designs

  Edited by Andrea Burns

  Other romance books by Tara Brown writing as AE Watson and Erin Leigh:

  Crimson Cove Mysteries

  If At First

  Second Nature

  White Girl Problems

  My Side

  The Long Way Home

  For Love or Money

  Chapter One

  Flying the coop

  Natalie

  Looking the apartment over one more time from the images loaded on the website, I finalize the list of things I’m going to need to ensure I don't forget anything. Fortunately, it’s furnished with the essentials like beds and couches so we just have to bring the rest of what we need to live.

  I didn't think I’d be able to take the job offer until I discovered that rent in Hartford is reasonable, very. A large furnished two-bedroom apartment, downtown, with a fabulous kitchen and a view of the park, is under two thousand dollars. Between Sami finding me a roommate the day after I got the job offer and the cheap rent, leaving home is actually a reality.

  Split amongst Sami’s cousin’s friend BJ and me, we won’t even be a thousand a month each in bills.

  Hopefully she’s cool. She seems cool.

  Except her name. BJ?

  It’s such an unfortunate name.

  Girl or boy, it’s a cruel fate.

  I can only imagine the terrible things kids said to her when she was around twelve and everyone was discovering what BJs were from the kids with older siblings. I can think of things, but I never would have said them. I would have thought them for sure.

  What horror must lie in that first name for her to choose BJ over it?

  Beulah.

  Bernice.

  Betty.

  Biscuit?

  I heard of a Biscuit once. She was in the South on one of those Gypsy, dumpster-diving, I-married-my-second-cousin reality TV shows. Reality TV is the first sign that the apocalypse is nigh, if you ask my mother. She would take us all back to the renaissance if it were up to her.

  Glancing at the apartment once more, I imagine what my roommate will be like and how our life is going to look.

  My first real dose of freedom.

  I close the laptop and sigh. A small part of me, actually a very large part of me, wishes I’d ignored my parents’ (mother’s) demands and just gone to Manhattan to live with Sami. When she invited me I thought about it seriously until my mother tore the idea apart.

  I would have regretted it my entire life if this opportunity hadn’t come along. Not sewing my wild oats in college was one thing, but not living on my own before I ended up in a serious relationship was another.

  And my relationship might be headed toward serious. Maybe. We’re still negotiating that one.

  “Are you almost ready, Natalie?” my mother calls from the hall using her teacher voice. She has a schedule to keep and by the gods we are keeping it.

  “Just getting the last couple of things,” I call back, not raising my voice too high. I don't want to start something. She’s already amped up in her disapproval of me going at all.

  Grabbing my photo of William and me from my nightstand, I add it to the final box I have to pack. It’s of us standing under one of the many beautiful trees on his parents’ estate. It’s sunset and we both look fabulous. I sigh, staring at him, wondering if things between us will really work out.

  Is this the end of one part of my life and the beginning of another?

  Is it really what I want?

  Part of me thinks I won’t know until I live on my own and figure my life out for myself.

  He’s that fairytale ending I don't see in my future at all, and yet here I am, dating him—again. He’s more than I ever would have imagined for myself. I always saw myself as more of a “girl meets guy at coffee shop” sort. Not girl meets guy at yacht racing when she’s twelve and then spends the next seven years watching him and imagining.

  It was never that he happened to be the son of the people who own the nicest house in Greenwich.

  It wasn't that he was gorgeous and charming.

  It was the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke and the way he smiled like no one in the room saw us.

  I spent over half a decade imagining it from the silent sidelines before he finally asked me out.

  But even now I don't know why he’s dating me.

  I’m not humble about how I look; we just don't match. I’m pretty, but pretty in Greenwich is the bare minimum a girl can be. Beautiful is expected. I never cared about that, not as much as my peers.

  “Darling, we have to go—” Mom comes in, giving me a look. It softens as she sees what I’m staring at, the only thing in my life she approves of. “It’s only one more year and then he’s done law school, and you can be together full time. Plus, he’s planning something for this fall, some sort of getaway one weekend.”

  “He always is.” I say it as nicely as I can. I hate it when she reads into my words. Sometimes I just mean what I say. “It just feels like this last year is going to take the longest.”

  “He’s two and a half hours away. I’m sure if you have to see one another you can figure it out. Hartford isn’t so far from Princeton.” She lifts a permanently arched eyebrow. “Though I will say, I don't understand why you have to take this job in Hartford in the first place. You could live here and work somewhere close by. There have to be computer jobs that are commutable.”

  I take a breath and fire every bit of ammo I have, “Mom, we’ve talked about this. It’s best for me to pay my own way for the year and not cost you and Dad any more than I already have. Valuable life experience comes from paying your own way. Dad agrees. And I need the time to get to know myself.” I glance about the room that has started to seem more like a prison than a haven in the last four years. “It’s time I lived on my own, even if it’s just for a year, so I can get a feel for being independent. This isn’t about William and me.”

  “Yes. I know.” She licks her lips as her eyes do a tour of the room with mine. “I did read somewhere that couples who spend some time living on their own do better than couples who move right in with one another from their parents’ houses.” Of course she goes to the marrying of William with this.

  She has a plan.

  “See!” I let her have that one and ignore my want to point out that I’m also twenty-two, far too old to live at home. But I refrain from bringing up age. She feels that twenty-two, about to turn twenty-three, is still a very small kid. Being their only child, I’ve never had that sibling to run interference for me. I’m their sole focus. And while it’s been lovely, it’s also annoying as hell.

  I close the box and do one last look at the room that I have spent my version of a lifetime in. “I guess that’s it.”

  When I look back, her bright-blue eyes are watering, making them look like sapphires. She blinks and wipes, shaking her head, blocking out the sadness. She’s a master
of it. “Luckily, I wore waterproof mascara.” She sniffles and forces that winning Banks family smile across her face. “Your father will grab this last box. Do a quick turn about the room and ensure you have everything.” She turns and vacates the premises before she has to endure the feelings any longer.

  I don't do a turn about the room. I’m only moving an hour and a half from home. I suspect if I’m missing anything, I can come back and get it.

  The hour and a half makes me laugh. According to her, I might as well be moving to Seattle or China. Hartford is the other side of her world.

  It’s lucky she’s never asked me how I feel because then I’d have to admit I think it’s not quite far enough. But I know it’s the only way I’m ever leaving this house unless I get married.

  New York is expensive for a single girl. My parents forbid me to live with Sami. And my job offer is in Hartford.

  This is my best chance at some growing up.

  It started out that she made me stay at home to keep costs down when I went to college but when a cost-free alternative came about, I saw the writing on the wall. She never wanted me to leave. She’s controlling and needy.

  When she forbade me to live in Manhattan with Sami, I knew I was never getting out of here. Not without causing shit I didn't want to cause.

  I love my mom, but I need some space. I fear the dark places I might go to get it. Middle children go to the dark places for attention. Only children go there for some peace.

  But she always has an argument for everything. When Sami offered me free living in Manhattan, she used her ability to sway my dad and told me that she was afraid of the influence my best friend would have over me. Like the last seventeen years haven’t been enough time for Sami to seduce me with the debauchery she enjoys. Not that Sami knew she was a completely immoral mess when we were five. She was closer to twelve when the wickedness crept through her. But even then I didn't succumb to her terrible habits.

  She smoked. I spritzed her with perfume to hide the smell.

  She drank. I helped her get into bed at the sleepovers.

  She kissed boys. I cringed and offered mouthwash.

  She lost her virginity at fifteen. I shuddered and pretended the pills from Planned Parenthood were for me.

  No, being best friends with a rich, spoiled, entitled little princess never rubbed off on me. Because no matter how much time I spent with her in her castle, I always came back to my cottage.

  Deciding this is it, I’m not packing anything else, I stroll into the living room where my dad is watching ESPN. A handsome jock is on the screen—dark eyes and hair and a chiseled face. Typical meathead material. The newscaster is talking about his possible trade and blah, blah, blah. I tear my gaze away from the beautiful guy being talked about by the ex-football player turned sportscaster with the seriously tanned Botox face and give my dad a look. “You ready, Dad?”

  He glances up over the sofa and smiles. “Be right there.”

  I go back to my room, taking that last look I didn't think I would need.

  It’s a small room, not even the size of Sami’s closet. But it’s cozy. It’s where we watched every horror movie because her room had too many shadows.

  It’s where we sat when we were sad or heartbroken, eating cake from the pan we’d bought it in. Her mom refused to buy cake that was premade and in a pan, already cooked and iced.

  It was our safe place, mine and hers. I think she liked my cottage better than her castle. She liked how real it was.

  I turn, hearing his footsteps and smile at my dad as he walks into the room. He’s the sane one in the house, and as I’m too much like my mother to be trusted with that description, he’s alone with his sanity. He’s sort of akin to a hostage. “All ready then?”

  “I guess so.” I nod and shrug, confused as to how I feel about it, so pretending I’m indifferent feels right.

  “You are.” He wraps himself around me, making the world stop in those warm arms. He whispers as he kisses the side of my head, “You are ready for this. Don't listen to your mother. She’s just worried. She likes having the control. But you need to go and be a little messy before the whole world lands in your lap. Trust me. Everyone has oats to sew, Nat, and they will be sewed now or later. Better to do it young than to wake up one day amid a midlife crisis.” He kisses again and squeezes once. “Now get out to the truck before she has an aneurysm. Her pills can only help so much.” He chuckles and starts lifting the last boxes. I would help but my nails were just done a few days ago.

  Chapter Two

  Blow Job Brady

  Brady

  Andy tosses me my old practice stick as I finish loading the last box. “You got it all, there big shot?”

  “Maybe.” I scowl, contemplating for a second before reaching into my pocket. “I think I have one last thing, I almost forgot.” I pull my middle finger out. “This is for you, big shot.”

  “Nice.” He chuckles and nods. “Typical Big Shot Brady.”

  The name makes me want to kick the shit outta him even if it’s better than Blow Job Brady. Unfortunately, he’s built like I am and has just as much rage, maybe more. The fight is always the kind where we both go to the hospital, and I don't have that kind of time today.

  Instead, I turn my head toward Mom, as she comes out of the house with a box of baking she’s made, and shout, “He’s making fun of me.” I add the little brother whine to it. It’s a low and dirty shot, but he deserves it.

  She gives Andy a look. “You cut that out. BJ’s nervous about playing in the big leagues.”

  I wince at the name and the comment as Andy starts laughing. “Awwww, little brother. It’ll be okay. All that free beer and tail will keep your spirits up.” He rolls his eyes and closes the tailgate for me.

  “Suck it, Andy,” I mutter before she gets close enough to hear me.

  “Not a chance. You let too many PFs ride that pole, buddy. You definitely got a little hep-seedy at college.”

  “Don't hate ‘cause you got the same piece of dry toast to look forward to every night.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “Dude, your idea of marriage is ridiculous. Married people don't have sex every day, not after the first year anyway.”

  “That's why I’m never getting married.” The thought makes me shudder. The same boring girl for the rest of my life. Kill me!

  “I used to have same-girl-itis and then my balls dropped. Yours will too. One day you’ll be a man and you’ll meet a girl, and you’ll just know.” He gives Mom a look as she gets close enough to hear us. “Can I have a cookie?”

  “No, Andrew. I didn't bake them. I just made the dough so BJ can bake them at his new house. You always bake cookies at your new house. It makes it homey.” She smiles at us both and places the box of dough and other baking on the passenger side of my truck. “Now, honey, I want you to stay outta trouble and make sure you work very hard. Like your dad always said, you find the hardest worker on the team and you beat him every day. You show them what a player from Providence looks like.”

  “I will, Ma.” I lean in, giving her a kiss. I want to sigh, tell her I work hard, and roll my eyes—but I don't. She’s the sweetest lady in the world and there’s just no belittling her. I’d probably cut my own arm off before I was ever cruel to my mother. The woman’s a saint. When my dad dropped dead at forty, I was ten years old. Andy was only twelve. This last twelve years she’s been a single mom to a hockey kid who has managed to go all the way. She worked two jobs to pay for that shit, and I will never disrespect her. I got good grades, worked hard, and earned scholarships.

  Even if she calls me BJ which gave Andy the idea to start the name Blow Job Brady. Nicknames and hockey are like fire and gas. Blow Job stuck, and on every team I managed to get a Blow Job Brady jersey. I even have one from when I was fourteen which means one of the parents had to have ordered it.

  When I pull back her eyes water, making dark pools that I can see my reflection in. “If only your father were here to see
this day. All that hard work has been for something.”

  My chest aches as I bend down and wrap myself around her. “Thanks for everything, Mom.” I can’t cry, not in front of Andy. He’ll beat the shit outta me for years if I do.

  Andy’s hand shakes as he grips tight to me. I know he’s fighting the tears too. It's the end of a long journey for us as a family. But neither of us will let the other get away with crying. We haven’t cried since the day they put Pops in the ground. Neither of us. It’s like a silent challenge now. Whoever cries first is the family pussy. He has a pregnant wife so I suspect I’ll be winning that one. He’s so going to be the douche crying in the delivery room.

  “You’re going to the big leagues, little bro.” He pats me on the back the way Pops always did.

  “We’re going to the big leagues. This is a family dream, not just mine. We all sacrificed for this.”

  My mom sniffles. “Your father would have been so proud.” She pulls back, reaching up and cupping my chin. “So don't blow it, BJ.” She winks, making me and Andy laugh. I swear she doesn't understand the stupid thing she’s just said. She’s naïve about stuff like that.

  “I won’t, Ma.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. “I better get going though. I’m meeting Nate in Hartford in an hour and a half. And I’m already late.”

  “Don't speed and don't do anything I wouldn't do. You sure about this Nate guy? You sure he’s not going to steal your stuff?”

  “What stuff?” Andy scoffs. “Ma, he’s six foot four and over two hundred pounds. If Nate’s a bigger dude, BJ won’t have much say in the matter.”

  “Andrew!” She slaps him in the chest, not that he feels it. In his sheriff’s uniform he wears body armor underneath. But he recoils like it hurts.

  “He’s some cousin of Matt’s girlfriend or something. Some computer nerd or tech dude. I’m not too worried.” I wink and offer my token grin, the one that always gets the ladies to drop their drawers.