Bad Boy Roomie (The Bad Boy Roomie Romance Series Box Set)

by Claire Adams

  The best I can do is try to hurry to my feet, but Rob catches his voice, as does Nick a moment later, and the sound may as well be trumpets heralding my inadequacy to any and all within earshot.

  I’m walking with my back toward the greater portion of the skate park as I go to retrieve my board, but I can only pretend like I’m the only one who can hear the two of them so long before I turn back around and see everyone, including Mia and that friend of hers, looking in my direction, most of them pointing and all of them laughing.

  There’s no sympathy whatsoever.

  Assholes.

  * * *

  I manage to get home with a sliver of dignity, but you have to really want to see it.

  Mom’s home health nurse, Jackie, is running water for Mom’s evening coffee. Dad… I don’t really know where Dad is right now. He’s probably at some fundraiser or something.

  Dad and Mom were never really close, at least not from anything I can remember, but he’s always made sure she’s well taken care of. The thing is, in my dad’s book, being around someone, spending time with them, savoring what moments of clarity she has don’t really come under the definition of caretaking.

  Dad’s real love has always been his work, but at least Mom’s got Jackie.

  “How are you doing tonight, Jackie?” I ask. “Have you thought about you and me and my plan for the two of us to run away together?”

  “I have,” Jackie says in her matter-of-fact, New England way. “I must tell you that I have some concerns.”

  “Such as?” I ask.

  “Well, first off, you are far too young for me. You’re what, 17?” she asks.

  “Twenty-one,” I answer. “I’m legal, baby.”

  She gives a throaty laugh. “I’ve got you by 30 years,” she says. “What are you doing flirting with someone so much older than you?”

  “I can’t help it,” I tell her. “You put a spell on me with your wiles. The way you put those coffee grounds into the filter—it’s just magic.”

  “You’re an odd young man, you know that?” Jackie asks.

  “I’ve heard such rumors before and I categorically deny them all,” I answer. “How’s Mom today?”

  “She’s having a bit of a rough one,” Jackie sighs. “When she woke up, she was her old self, but she’s been losing touch more and more.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “I guess that’s what we expected, though, right?”

  “Listen,” Jackie says, “I hear that you have some big competition coming up. Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “It’s still a little bit off, but it’s coming up quick.”

  “I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” she says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Well, the competition’s going to be broadcast on ESPN, right?” she asks.

  “I think it’s something like ESPN Four or something like that,” I answer, “but yeah, if you’ve got extremely extended cable, you should be able to pick it up. Why?”

  “I was wondering if you and your father have talked about the possibility of your mother going to the competition with you,” Jackie says.

  I close my eyes and take a slow breath. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I tell Jackie.

  “I think it would be nice for her, when she’s having days like today, to be able to see a video of you and her and see how successful her son is,” Jackie says.

  “Do you really think Mom’s up for something like that, though?” I ask. “I talk to her every day, Jackie. I know how she’s been doing.”

  “There comes a point in treatment when there’s simply not much more you can do,” Jackie starts. “Medication has given her some time that she wouldn’t have had otherwise, but there are going to be more days like today. Sometimes you just have to do whatever you can and hope that something helps, even temporarily. Would you at least consider it?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “It just seems like she’s having more time, even around close family. I don’t think that putting her in a crowd of a few hundred or thousand people would be such a—”

  “These competitions really draw out hundreds of thousands of people?” Jackie asks.

  I look at her quietly a moment, blinking a few times. “No,” I tell her, “a few hundred or a few thousand. Something like this, it’s hard to tell what turnout’s going to be like. It’s more likely going to be a few hundred, but you never know. Sometimes people get that wild hair up their ass and show up—it doesn’t really matter whether it is a hundred or a hundred thousand, though, does it?” I ask. “She can’t go, can she?”

  “No,” Jackie sighs. “She can’t.”

  “Then why would you bring up her going as a possibility for me to consider?” I ask.

  “I wanted you to know that she wouldn’t be able to go and I wanted you to come to that realization on your own,” she answers. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be the most diplomatic approach. I screwed up.”

  “I don’t understand why you’d do that,” I tell her.

  “Well,” she says, “I thought it would be mean to just come in here and tell you that your mom wouldn’t be able to come to your big competition, so rather than doing that, I thought that if I brought up the possibility of her going, you’d kind of get there on your own.”

  “Is she up?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Jackie says. “I’m sorry. Should I have just told you she wouldn’t have been able to make it?”

  Jackie’s problem is that she never wants to make anyone feel bad about anything, ever. That sounds very nice and flowery and all that, but it leads to some of the most brutal situations I’ve ever encountered.

  This one’s just confusing, though. “I didn’t expect that she’d be able to make it,” I tell Jackie. “She hasn’t been able to come to any of my competitions for a while now. Why would I think this one was any different?”

  “I don’t know,” Jackie says. “I’ve just heard you and your friends talking about it.”

  “When have you heard me and my friends talking about it?” I ask. “I haven’t had anyone over in a long time. I always meet my friends at the skate park.”

  “Oh no,” she says, physically walking backward, her hands up and in front like I’m holding a gun on her or something. “I didn’t mean—it wasn’t, just sometimes—I don’t know. I just hear things, you know.”

  “You hear things?” I ask. “Have you been listening in on my phone calls?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head and smiling entirely too big. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that sometimes I’m walking from one room to another and, while I’m just minding my own business, I overhear conversations or bits of conversations.”

  “So you’ve been eavesdropping on me?” I ask.

  “You’re not listening—it doesn’t matter,” she says. “This one’s different, though, right?”

  My phone starts ringing in my pocket.

  “Yeah,” I tell Jackie, pulling my phone out. “This one’s different.” I answer the phone. “Yeah?”

  “Hello, is this Ian Zavala?” a woman asks.

  “Who’s this?” I return.

  “We have you down as a part-time volunteer, is that correct?” the woman asks.

  “Oh,” I answer. It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten to expect the call.

  Jackie’s just standing there in front of me, listening in unrepentantly. There’s something vile about gossip, but I’ve got to respect her willingness to fly her busybody flag so brazenly.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Seven

  Gerald

  Mia

  “I’m still mad at you,” I tell my father. “You need to stop treating me like I’m some precious antique that can’t get any fingerprints on it.”

  “Has he been putting fingerprints on you?” Dad asks.

  I don’t have to think about it: my eyes just roll on instinct. “I’m not even sure I know what that means,” I tell him. “This is som
e apology.”

  “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  Dad’s been trying to “apologize” for the way he behaved with Ian. He’s been trying for about the last 15 minutes, but every time we seem to be making a little headway, he jumps right back into Looming Father Figure Man—a superhero I doubt will ever have a movie of his own—mode and then we’re right back where we are now.

  “I wanted to do something to show you how sorry I am,” he says.

  “You’re cosigning a lease on an apartment for me?” I ask, though I’m smart enough not to expect such a thing.

  “No,” he says, looking down at the ground, his hands in some strange fidget war with one another. “It’s a surprise,” he says.

  It kind of weirds me out when my dad is all contrite and reasonable. Usually, he’s the guy he’s been apologizing for, not the guy doing the apologizing.

  “I’m supposed to meet him again tonight,” I tell him. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “You’re not doing it here, are you?” he asks.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I answer and grab my jacket from the back of the couch. “I’m going to go out for a walk, maybe into a body of water and, you know, not stop until I’m floating.”

  “Hold on,” he says. “Before you go all Virginia Woolf on me, would you at least get in the car so I can take you to pick out your surprise?”

  “That was distasteful,” I answer, then look at the door and back at him. “What do you mean, ‘take me to pick out my surprise?’ You’re not trying to win me over by taking me out for ice cream, are you? I am 20 years old.”

  “It’s not ice cream,” he says. “You’ll see when we get there. When are you meeting your tattooed friend?”

  I scoff. “His name’s Ian, Dad,” I tell him. “You know his name is Ian. You’re really bad at seeking forgiveness, you know that?”

  “I know,” he says. “Just get in the car, and I promise it’ll be worth it, all right?”

  I look at the clock.

  As long as he’s not trying to take me out of the city, I should have time for whatever his surprise is before I meet up with Ian. That said, I’m not sure if I can really stomach too many more of my dad’s half-apologies.

  “Is there any way you can leave your little comments about my class partner while you’re trying to buy me off?” I ask.

  “I will do my best,” he says.

  “I’ve seen your best,” I tell him. “It’s not very inspiring.”

  “Fine,” he says. “We won’t even talk about it. Come on, I want to get there before they close.”

  It’s pretty early in the day for a store to be closing. What kind of stores close early in the day?

  With that, he’s got me. I cannot abide unsatisfied curiosity, even with something as trivial as wanting to know what kind of store closes at 4 o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.

  It’s a crack in the armor, but there hasn’t been much I’ve been able to do about it.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll go. Just remember that you’re going to play nice and not end up having to apologize anymore because that really defeats the purpose of the whole thing.”

  “Agreed,” he says. “Come on, let’s get down there.”

  We head out to the car, and as I’m getting in the passenger’s seat, he has to rub it in.

  “It was the comment about the place closing that did it, wasn’t it?” he asks.

  “Why would a store close at 4 o’clock?” I ask. “Some places close at 5, but those are usually banks and other corporate entities which seek the domination and eventual destruction of the human race, but you’re taking me somewhere out of contrition. I don’t think you’d take me shopping at a bank or a post office,” I tell him. “Why would they close at 4?”

  It’s not until we’re pulling away that he tells me he made up the thing about the place closing to get me to quit arguing and get in the car. I’m not sure whether to be madder at him for exploiting a known weakness of mine in order to achieve his goals, or myself for actually being sucked in by something so stupid.

  I decide not to fret about it so much and so I ride in the passenger’s seat with a more generalized hatred toward everything.

  “Close your eyes,” he says.

  “What?” I ask. “Why?”

  “I told you,” he says, “It’s a surprise.”

  I close my eyes.

  We’re driving for a few more minutes, and then the car comes to a stop.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” he says. “Open your door.”

  I open the door and it immediately slams into the car parked next to us. My eyes spring open, but it’s too late. The dent is already made.

  “That’s my fault,” Dad says. “I should have thought that through a little better.”

  “It’s all right,” I tell him and look to see where we are. “A kennel?” I ask.

  “It’s a shelter,” he says. “They take in strays and other unwanted pets and find them new homes. I was thinking, if you’d like, you could pick out a dog. No cats, though,” he says. “You know I’m allergic.”

  “You know,” I tell him, “for someone trying to cover verbal assault with bribery, you’re a pretty amiable guy, Dad.”

  “I appreciate that, sweetheart,” he says. “Now, let’s go pick you out a pet.”

  “I’m going to need a little money for his care,” I tell him. “Or, you know, you could let me get a job.”

  “No job,” he says. “I don’t have that much more time with you in the house and I want to be able to spend as much of it with you as possible.”

  It’s a nice thought in an overbearing, Kathy Bates in Misery kind of way.

  “So, you’ll be shelling out some money, then?” I ask.

  “Isn’t it shilling?” he asks.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s shelling,” I tell him, but now that he’s asking, I’m not so sure myself. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him and with that, we head inside.

  We’re greeted at the front by a woman who looks like she’s late for about a dozen appointments, but still manages what I’m assuming is a smile.

  “Welcome to Pet Haven Sanctuary for New Friends, Pets, and Companions,” the woman says. “How can I help you today?”

  “That’s a pretty impressive name,” I tell her.

  “You wouldn’t believe how much it costs in business cards,” she says. “The boss wants the name on one line and so we’ve got to use different paper.” She reaches in front of her and grabs what I had simply assumed to be a smallish bumper sticker and holds it out to me. “Not really wallet-friendly,” she says. “Anyhoo, what can I do for ya?”

  “We would like to look at your dogs, please,” Dad says.

  My dad really likes to come across as the old-fashioned gentleman type, especially in public, but it’s a particular quirk of his I’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s not that he’s a bad guy or a mean guy, he’s just so over the top on so many things, hearing him asking a question like a Boy Scout doesn’t quite strike the ear right.

  “Follow me,” the woman says. “We’ve got some beautiful dogs, all of which are spayed and neutered, shelter policy.”

  She leads us into the back, and from there, we just follow the barking.

  I love animals, especially dogs. I have never liked shelters like this. I’m sure they do great work and help a lot of animals, but walking down rows of cages, knowing that any dog I don’t pick is that much closer to…

  “How many can I get?” I ask my dad.

  “I think just one for now,” he says with a chuckle.

  “What happens to the dogs I don’t choose?” I ask.

  “You’re concerned they’ll be euthanized?” the woman asks, pulling her glasses down her nose a little with the tip of her thoroughly chewed pen.

  I look at my dad and back at her. “Yeah,” I answer.

  “We’re a no-kill shelter,” she says. “Nobody here is going to point a gun at animals’ heads just because they ha
ven’t found the right family after a couple of weeks.”

  Suddenly, the cages don’t seem quite as confining.

  “Do you have a particular breed in mind?” the woman asks.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think we caught your name,” my dad says.

  I never know if he’s flirting or just being awkward the way dads everywhere are awkward with women in public.

  “I’m Tonya,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you. We have some older dogs and some puppies and just about everything in between,” she goes on, returning to her preferred subject. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

  “What about this one?” my dad asks, but I don’t even look over.

  Standing, facing the bars of his cage and looking up at me is a little furry guy with a grey beard and dark brown eyes and my heart is sold.

  “How much is it for the miniature schnauzer?” I ask.

  “We charge a $40 licensing fee,” Tonya says. “Also, we do offer full vet services here if you need to bring him in for anything, but he’s current on all his shots.”

  “Forty bucks?” I ask.

  “Forty bucks,” she answers.

  I look at my dad. He smiles.

  “What’s his name?” dad asks.

  “That is Gerald,” Tonya says. “He’s a charmer. You’d better keep your eye on that one.”

  “Is he, uh, trained?” my dad asks.

  “He gets a little excited sometimes, but he’s usually very good about going outside,” Tonya says. “I’d say just work with him a little bit over the next couple of weeks and try not to get him overexcited when he hasn’t been out to do his business in a while, and you shouldn’t have a problem.”

  “What kind of things would cause him to be overexcited?” dad asks.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “I’ve got to meet with Ian, and I want to make sure this little guy’s all comfy cozy in his new home before I go.”