Page 19 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

Morgan

I ’m so stupid .

I need to get this crush under control before I fall for her and break my own heart in the process.

But that’s impossible when every thought is filled with James: her voice, her laugh, her fiery anger, and her infectious joy.

Rationally, I know we are nothing more than roommates, and I am okay with that.

However, rationality doesn’t stop my heart from racing when I see her or my dick from hardening with every one of her carefree touches.

Each moment I get to spend with her, I feel like I’m learning more, peeling back layers, and getting to know the real her, and I really like the person I’m meeting.

The sky is washed red with the glowing lights from the stadium, and the streets are flooded with fans celebrating the win.

It’s not the peaceful atmosphere I imagined when I grabbed the leash and fled.

This walk was supposed to clear my head, but all it’s done is muddy it further.

I glance at the time and mutter a silent curse as I realize I’ve already spent way too long trying to figure it out.

Steeling myself, I walk back into the apartment and find James already waiting on the couch.

She’s changed into her pajamas, wiped off her makeup, and thrown her hair up into a messy bun on the top of her head.

There are two tumblers and a bottle of nice-looking whiskey sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

“Want a drink? This feels like a more acceptable hour.” She watches me with her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed .

“Sure. Thanks.” I slip off my shoes and join her.

“So I was thinking we could play a game.” Her voice quavers, and she drops her nervous stare to her hands, which fidget in her lap.

“I don’t know you that well and was thinking we could play truths.

It’s like truth or dare, but we can only ask each other questions.

If you don’t want to answer, then you have to drink. ”

It sounds like a terrible idea.

I shouldn’t agree to it—I know where games like this lead—but James looks up at me from under her lashes and catches her lower lip between her teeth, and I find myself agreeing against my better judgment.

“Sure, you go first.” I need her to set the tone of how personal this is going to get.

“So what’s with the nerd shows? Why do you like Merlin so much?”

A breath of relief passes my lips. This is an easy one.

“It’s not just Merlin . I love anything having to do with Arthurian legends and Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table. They are stories of people going off and fighting evil and defending the innocent. That’s all I’ve ever wanted—to be someone who fights for justice and is moral and good.”

“Is that why you chose law school?”

“I think it’s my turn to ask a question,” I tease, but the question sends a ripple of dread through my chest. She pouts a little but doesn’t argue.

“What’s your major,” I ask her. It’s a little crazy to me that I’ve lived with her this long and don’t know that, but we didn’t get off to the best start.

“Finance, but I feel like I tried them all. I wasn’t passionate about any of them, but I had to settle on something. That’s why I need this fifth year to finish it up. So is that why you want to be a lawyer?” She jumps straight into her question without taking a breath.

I pick up my drink and down half of it in one go, ignoring the burn as it travels down my throat.

Her face drops; she probably thinks I’m drinking to avoid the question.

That isn’t it. I’m going to answer her, I just need to build up the courage to do it.

Several silent seconds pass while I try to figure out exactly how I want to tell her this story.

With a heavy sigh, I break the silence. “Maybe a little bit, but not really.” My voice comes out too even, too hollow.

She sits up straighter at the shift in tone.

“My sister was seven years older than me. I’m pretty sure my parents meant for her to be the only child, and I was an accidental kid.

I have no proof of that besides the age gap, as my parents never made me feel like I was a mistake.

Her name was Laura, and I absolutely idolized her.

Never once did she make me feel like I was the annoying little brother.

She always let me tag along with her and her friends.

She was the best big sister a kid could ask for. ”

I pause and finish off the rest of the whiskey in my glass. She fills it again without speaking. Her gaze drills into me, burning a hole in the side of my face, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. I can’t bear to see the pity in her eyes that everyone has when they learn about Laura.

“Was?” Her small voice cracks on the lone word.

I nod as my eyes start to burn. “Yeah, was.” I bring the warm liquid to my lips once again.

“I was twelve when she died. Laura was nineteen and about to finish her first semester of college at Wayne State. My parents were so proud of her. I was so proud of her. She had gotten an academic scholarship and was the first person in our family to go to college. She thrived there. Really, truly thrived. That night, she had stayed at the library to study. It was late and it was dark, but her dorm was only a few blocks away, so she decided to walk. On the way back, she was struck and killed by a car while crossing the street. She did nothing wrong. She was using the crosswalk, and she had the walk signal. The driver ran a red light and didn’t see her until it was too late. ”

“Morgan, I am so, so sorry.”

I risk a glance at my roommate and find tears flowing down her cheeks. My eyes dart back to my hands; the thin thread of control I have on my emotions will snap if I keep watching her cry .

“The driver was rich and connected.” The floodgates have opened, and the story pours from my lips, but my voice is a hollow reflection compared to the feelings raging inside me.

“His BAC was over 1.0, but he got a plea deal. A fucking plea deal, James.” I drop my hand, slamming the whiskey down on the coffee table harder than I meant to, startling both of us.

Grover lets out a low growl at the sound.

My hands twist together in my lap, and I take a deep breath to try to get my anger back in check.

“At the end of it all, he only got a slap on the wrist. The judge ruled that he had to pay my family one hundred thousand dollars and be on house arrest for six months while attending weekly AA meetings. Laura’s life was only worth one hundred thousand dollars to the court, and the man who killed her got to spend six months in his multimillion-dollar mansion doing whatever it is rich people do.

That’s why I decided to go to law school.

I want to become a judge so I can make sure men like him get actual justice when they ruin good people’s lives. ”

My voice cracks, and the tears I’ve been trying to contain spill over.

James reaches over and grabs my hand, and her warm fingers trace patterns along my knuckles.

The gentle motion soothes the festering edges of the old wound.

Silence hangs between us, only broken by the occasional sound of the choked sobs I try to repress as I regain my composure.

The sobs soften to sniffles, and I wipe the remaining tears from my face. Over a decade later, the grief still hits as hard as it did the night I learned she died. The only thing that’s changed is that the periods of still water between each crushing wave increase as time goes on.

I’m sure this isn’t how she saw this game of hers going. Of course I’ve gotta kill the mood before we had the chance to actually get to know each other. I should have taken the drink and been done with it, but I wanted her to know. I just hope I didn’t ruin things.

“What do you think you would be doing if you found your passion?” I ask, my voice still raw .

“You don’t have to—”

“No,” I interrupt her, “I want to keep playing, and it’s my turn to ask a question.”

She mulls it over for a moment, her teeth biting into her bottom lip while she thinks.

“I’d be an artist,” she finally says. “My first major was graphic design, but I struggled with digital art. Painting is my favorite medium, but my dad wouldn’t let me switch to fine arts.

He said that as long as his benefits were paying for my school, I wasn’t going to waste them on a useless degree.

So I switched to education, then biology, and then journalism.

Before I knew it, I was a junior with no direction.

I made one last switch and decided to apply to the Terry School of Business, and I got in.

I don’t love finance, but I’m good enough with the numbers, and I will have lots of opportunities when it comes time to look for a job. ”

“Are you any good?” My brow raises in a challenge.

“I think it’s my turn to ask a question.

” She mirrors my words from earlier with a tentative laugh.

“What’s your favorite pizza? Don’t tell me you are one of those boring people who only likes cheese or pepperoni.

” She tries to keep her tone light, but there is a hesitancy to it that wasn’t there before.

The abrupt change in tone leaves me dumbfounded for several seconds, and I burst into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it.

“Probably Hawaiian,” I tell her between chuckles. “What about you?”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, making her face scrunch in a way that is strangely adorable.

“Pineapple on pizza? That’s disgusting. Putting a point in the red-flag column for that one. If you had made a Hawaiian pizza the last time we did this, I would have turned around and left. I’m easy: mushroom, pepperoni, and olive for me. ”

She joins me in carefree laughter, and all the looming tension is banished. Her radiance burns through the gloom, and it looks like my demons have finally met their match.