Page 17 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)
I block out the aching in my chest and join Chelsea and Nathan.
Evelyn deserves this; Morgan is a really great guy, and they will probably be very happy together.
This is a good thing. Plus, he will be even more off-limits if he’s dating someone else, and maybe then this stupid crush will die.
His gaze finds mine, and I give him an encouraging thumbs-up and take a sip of the beer that was supposed to be his.
For the rest of the evening, I hang back with Nathan and Chelsea.
Karis comes back over and spends most of the night bickering with her friend.
It’s a near-constant back-and-forth of threats, insults, and swear words.
Despite the words flying from their lips, this seems to be fun for the two of them.
Mr. Scary Bartender—Gage, as Karis tells me—joins in on their antics in the brief moments he can escape the stream of customers.
It’s the first time I’ve seen something that even resembles a smile on his face.
The trio mostly ignores me, but every time Gage comes over, he brings me a drink too .
Evelyn and Morgan rejoin the group after playing through several of the worst games of pool I’ve ever witnessed. Morgan slips out of Evelyn’s hold on his arm but hovers near her.
“Do you guys want to come to the game with us next weekend?” Chelsea asks.
“I’m in,” Nathan says, then plants a kiss on the top of her head. “Sounds like fun.”
I cast a glance toward Morgan as excitement bubbles in my chest. Georgia football is one of my favorite things, and it’s the perfect opportunity to push him and Evelyn closer together.
The excitement has absolutely nothing to do with how I’ll get to spend more time with him too.
His eyes meet mine, and he studies them for a moment before responding.
“I’ve never been to a football game. As long as you don’t mind explaining things to me along the way, I would love to go.”
“Absolutely. We are going to have so much fun.” Evelyn wraps her arms around him in a giddy hug. He reacts with a stiff one-armed side hug, but his attention is still on me. I give him a small nod and a smile, and he flashes one right back.
We stay at Cutter’s until last call and are eventually forced out into the cool night air.
“Let me walk you home,” Morgan says. “It will be awkward if you don’t. People will think I’m stalking you or something.”
His joke is terrible, but I don’t put up any fight. We walk together in silence, but Karis’s words from earlier buzz around in my head.
“Do you really think I’m a bitch?” I ask as we get about halfway back to the apartment, and he freezes with his mouth agape.
“What? No. Why would you think that?” His hand takes that all-too-familiar path through his hair.
“Karis said you did. ”
“She said what ?” His voice takes on a hard edge I’ve never heard before. “You aren’t a bitch, James. I never thought you were.” He says it with such fervor, I’m incapable of doing anything but believe him.
“But I did act like one,” I tell him, “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I clearly said something that put that impression in her head, and that was a mistake. I’ll talk to her about it.”
“It’s fine…as long as you don’t think I’m a bitch now.”
“I think you are pretty great.” Pink stains his cheeks at the confession.
“Good.” I resume walking, and he falls in step beside me. We don’t say anything else as we finish walking home.
As soon as I’m alone in my room, I remember exactly what drove me to go out in the first place. My gut hardens with dread as I pull my phone out and turn it back on. The screen brightens with life, and a notification pops up with a chirp.
It does it again.
And again.
The notifications seem to arrive in a never-ending wave. My dread only deepens with each new message, but it’s nothing compared to the weight that settles once the phone falls silent.
Seventeen missed calls and forty-eight unread texts. All of them are from Tanner.
Fuck .
I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad.
Missed call
O, I’m sorry, babe
Please pick up the phone
(3) Missed calls
I’m really, really sorry
Answer the phone, O
I know I messed up, just talk to me, please
Please, O, you are killing me
(2) Missed calls
James, answer your phone
(2) Missed calls
Babe, I’ll change
I won’t push you again
I love you, please answer your phone
The texts continue like that, getting more and more desperate as the hours passed without a response. I don’t listen to the voicemails; I already know they’ll all be Tanner drunk off his ass, alternating between begging for forgiveness and demanding I answer him in the same breath.
I’m about to turn the phone back off when another call comes through. Fucking read receipts . He was probably waiting for me to open his messages.
I take a deep breath and answer the phone. Might as well get this over with.
“Baby, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll never ask you to do that again. I was drunk and an asshole, and I’m sorry. Please forgive me, O.” His desperate apology rings out before I can utter a hello. He at least sounds more sober.
“I’m tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?”
He may be sober, but I am not, and I don’t trust myself to have this conversation like this .
“I’m sorry. Please just tell me we are okay. I love you. Please tell me I didn’t ruin us.”
My heart melts at the raw anguish in his voice, and my anger melts away with it. “Tanner, love. We are fine, I promise. I love you too. I just went out with Chelsea and Evelyn tonight, and I’m tired. Let’s talk about this more when we are both rested and sober.”
“Okay. I love you, babe. I really am sorry.”
“I know. I love you too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone with a hollow feeling in my chest. We are fine, right?
My head tells me yes, that it was just a fight, and he’s apologized for it—it’s not even the worst fight we’ve had—but my words lacked their normal conviction.
Telling him everything is fine feels like a lie, and my heart agrees.
I love him, but am I happy?
I shake the thought away as quickly as it came. Of course I’m happy. He’s the love of my life. It’s practically a fairy tale, so how could I not be happy? I keep repeating that mantra in my head as I get ready for bed, not stopping until I actually start to believe it.
I’m just drunk, and the alcohol is confusing me.
But all it takes is a sticky note on the bathroom mirror to knock over that house of cards.
I clutch the note to my chest, and my reflection stares at me with a stupid smile on her face. With butterflies fluttering with renewed vigor, I grab my notepad and scrawl a response.
Next Friday can’t come soon enough.