Page 2 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

James

Stopped for gas, but I’m about ten minutes out. Looking forward to finally meeting you.

My heart rate skyrockets as I read Morgan’s text.

She wasn’t supposed to get here so soon.

There’s still so much I have to finish before she arrives.

I need to mop the floors again and vacuum her room, and I wanted to bake cookies so she’d feel welcome and at home as she stepped foot in our apartment for the first time.

At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I’m even there to greet her.

This is all Chelsea’s fault.

The small mesh-top table in front of me is covered with the empty appetizer platters Evelyn and I have picked over while we wait.

Our friend was supposed to meet us for lunch half an hour ago, but apparently, there were delays at the airport.

Something to do with customs. I didn’t quite understand it all, but I’ve also never traveled abroad.

I just wish she would have told us before we got to the restaurant.

I’m not even hungry anymore. Between the apps and the anxiety, my stomach is a churning pot of lead.

“I’m back, bitches!”

All eyes in the restaurant’s tiny alleyway patio snap toward the woman making a scene at the entrance.

Chelsea doesn’t falter under the gazes of strangers; she’s used to being gawked at, and I think she relishes the attention.

The girl is gorgeous. Her tall, willowy frame and untamable fiery curls draw attention wherever we go, and she learned long ago to embrace it .

“How were your summers?” she asks as she joins Evelyn and me at our table.

My dog, Grover, lets out a half-assed growl at her approach without bothering to lift his head from where it’s perched on his paws. He isn’t the most sociable of animals, but both of my friends have known him long enough to know he is all bark and no bite.

Evelyn jumps up to greet our friend with a hug while she gushes over her. I should do the same, but my mind is only half present at the table. Intrusive thoughts rattle around my head like a game of pinball, drawing my focus back to the growing pit in my gut, which is steeped in an aura of dread.

“I hope you two didn’t get up to too much trouble without me,” Chelsea adds as both girls sit.

“Who cares about our summers? I want to hear about Paris,” Evelyn says, nearly bouncing in her wire-framed seat.

I can’t find it in me to match her enthusiasm. What if Morgan is already at the apartment? What if she hates the place? What if the key I sent her doesn’t work and she’s stuck outside, waiting for me to get home? What if she thinks I’m rude for not being there and hates me?

No. I can’t think about those things or I’ll spiral, and I refuse to let that happen in public.

Through sheer force of will, I make myself tune in to the conversation.

It’s not like I don’t want to hear about my friend’s summer abroad, but it’s hard to focus when my heart is beating so hard I think it might explode.

“What do you want to know?” Chelsea asks, and Evelyn is quick to respond.

“How was the food? The fashion?”

“The men,” I add with enthusiasm I don’t feel.

“The food was to die for, the fashion was to kill for, and the men…well, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” Chelsea smiles like a cat that got the canary.

“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t a lady,” I tease, ignoring the way my stomach twists, and Evelyn chokes on a snort of laughter .

“Well, excuse me, Ms. Future First Lady. I’m sorry we don’t all meet the level of class you’ve grown accustomed to.”

“Oh, shut up.” I throw my paper napkin at her face with a laugh. “It’s Tanner’s dad who’s running for governor, anyway, not Tanner. That makes me Ms. Future Nothing.”

“How is Tanner?”

That is certainly a question. One that only adds to the churning stew of anxiety.

My boyfriend has been…busy. I didn’t actually get to see him much over the summer.

His new job demanded too much of his time for him to make the trip to Athens, and my class schedule only let me go back home to Savannah every so often.

It wasn’t great. I think we fought more over the past three months than we have in the years we’ve been together.

I hate this distance, and I know he does too. Thank God we only have a few more months until we close the gap for good.

I’m not about to tell them that, though. I haven’t seen Chelsea in months, and I don’t want to kill the mood by moping about missing my boyfriend.

“Nope, we aren’t talking about him. I want to know about the French men whose hearts you broke,” I say, putting on the happy mask I know they expect from me.

“It was just one heart”—her porcelain cheeks grow pink—“but he wasn’t French.”

“Spill,” Evelyn demands.

“His name was Ezio. He was from Italy but was spending the summer in Paris to find himself.”

I look at Evelyn and mime gagging.

“Hey, I didn’t claim he was very bright, but he was pretty. And the things he could do with his fingers…” She pauses and shivers in her seat. “Let’s just say he kept me very satisfied.”

“What happened? ”

“What do you mean what happened? We went on a few dates, had a couple of fun nights together, and then the next thing I knew, he was confessing his love and trying to convince me to go back to Italy with him.”

“I take it you dipped,” I ask, swallowing back the judgment threatening to coat the words.

That’s her typical MO once feelings get involved. I’ve known Chelsea for years, and in that time, she has left a trail of broken-hearted men in her wake. She isn’t cruel—she gives them closure—but she also doesn’t stick around once she knows it won’t work.

I don’t get it; I could never be so callous with my heart, but I also met my soulmate when I was seven. Most people don’t get that. It’s been me and Tanner since we were kids. Our relationship is the storybook romance people write about. We are endgame.

“I had a new hotel booked on the other side of the city that night,” she confirms.

“Chels, that’s awful,” Evelyn chastises.

“That’s life, babe. He was fun for the moment, but he had no long-term potential. He was an artist, for fuck’s sake. He might as well have had a sign around his neck that said ‘I’m unemployed.’”

I grit my teeth and keep smiling despite her words. It’s not like I haven’t heard similar sentiments my whole life, but it still hurts, even if it wasn’t directed at me.

“You really didn’t see him again?”

“Oh, I saw him plenty, he just didn’t see me. I had to find a new café because he kept showing up at my favorite one like a sad, lost puppy. It was kind of pathetic. Enough about me, though. I want to hear about you two. How were your summers?”

“I spent most of mine volunteering with the Labre Mission like I always do.” She tucks a lock of thick, dark hair behind her ear .

“Were you able to convince Jamie to join you this time?” Chelsea gives me a pointed look, and my eyes fall to the table.

It’s not that I don’t want to go with her to volunteer; the timing has never worked out. Between classes, finding a new roommate, and trying to arrange visits with my boyfriend, my summer was booked, and things only get crazier during the full-term semesters.

“No,” Evelyn admits, but the cheery smile never leaves her face. “But maybe you both can come with me before the semester starts.”

“Sure,” Chelsea lies. She’s never gone with Evelyn either. “What about you, Jamie? Did you get up to any wild adventures with that man of yours?”

This time, I’m unable to keep the pain off my face. I get that he’s busy with his new job with his dad’s campaign office, I really do, but each canceled plan was a blow to my heart. Is it really that hard to prioritize your girlfriend every once in a while?

“Nothing too crazy,” I tell her with a forced laugh. “He is coming to visit next weekend, though.”

“Did you ever get the new roommate figured out?”

“Yeah, I did. Her name is Morgan Hall.” The frayed ends of my nerves spark to life again.

I found her online, but her social media presence is abysmal, and we never got to meet in person due to her being out of the country.

It’s a recipe for disaster, but from the few messages we exchanged, she seemed to be the best option out of the candidates.

She’s older and about to start grad school, so I’m hoping she’ll bring less drama with her than past roommates have.

“Do we like Morgan?” Chelsea asks.

“Undecided, but we should give her a chance. She doesn’t know anyone else here.”

“We can invite her to go downtown with us.” Evelyn sits up a bit straighter, and from the look in her eyes, I know she’s already planning all the ways we will include my new roommate this year—like roping her into watching those trashy reality shows with her.

Lord knows, Chelsea and I don’t have the patience for it.

Maybe she’ll be the one to actually enjoy them.

“Let’s hold off on that until I’ve at least met her. She could be a psychopath or something.”

“Fine,” Evelyn huffs. “When is she moving in?”

I glance at the time and curse. “Right about now, actually. Shit, I should go. I wanted to be home when she got here. It will take her forever to move all her stuff in on her own.”

I also wanted to do another pass over the apartment to make sure it was in perfect condition. First impressions are the most important, and I’ll be damned if she thinks I wasn’t serious about keeping the apartment spotless.

“But I just got here. I missed you guys,” Chelsea says with a small pout.

“I know, I missed you too. Catch up with Evelyn today, and we can all go out for drinks tomorrow night. Want to meet at Magnolia’s at ten?”

“Fine, go meet your new roommate,” she relents with a playful smirk while rolling her eyes. “Call me if she’s awful.”

“She won’t be awful,” I tell her, but I have no way of knowing if my words are true.

I grab Grover’s leash and hug them both before starting the walk back to my apartment.

Each step closer fans the smoldering bundle of nerves in my gut, stoking my anxiety into a raging inferno.

Morgan could be terrible. She could hate me and try to make my life a living hell for the next year.

She could also end up becoming one of my best friends.

I won’t know until I meet her, but that doesn’t stop the worst-case scenarios from playing out in my head like flashes of a nightmare the entire way.