Page 22 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

James

T he heels of my shoes catch in the cracks of the cobblestone streets, making it impossible to walk without stumbling.

I have to hold Tanner’s elbow to stay upright, but he isn’t complaining, as having me cling to his arm only improves our image.

Our love is something straight out of a storybook, and tonight, more than ever, we look the part of a prince escorting his princess to the ball.

“You’re late,” Tanner’s mom chastises as we walk into the historic hotel’s lobby. Despite the biting tone of her words, the warm, welcoming smile never falters. Unless you heard her speak, you wouldn’t be able to tell she was upset; Mrs. Nicholson’s mask is that flawless .

“Sorry, Mom. Time may have gotten away from us a bit.” He pulls her into a hug and places a respectful kiss on her cheek.

Once he lets her go, she grabs both of my hands and gives me an appraising once-over.

“You look lovely, Ophelia.” She would think that; she picked out the dress. Not that I’m complaining. The burgundy trumpet gown is beautiful.

“Thank you, ma’am. My stylist is quite talented,” I tease. Mrs. Nicholson laughs and pulls me in for a quick embrace as well.

“Go mingle while you can. Dinner will be starting soon.” She shoos us into the ballroom.

“You really do look beautiful,” Tanner whispers in my ear.

My heart swells, and I turn my head to give him a chaste kiss.

I could say the same about him, but I’d never hear the end of it if I called him beautiful.

He is beautiful, though, with his perfectly tailored suit and meticulously sculpted golden hair.

The dark cherry lip print is the only thing out of place on him, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

His icy eyes melt into shimmering pools as he smiles down at me with a rare genuine smile.

This right here, this is the man I love.

I smile and try my best to wipe away the mark I left.

“You should wear this for me again and let me paint you.”

“Ophie…” he says, and his face pinches. That fleeting smile fades from his lips, and the glimpse of my best friend goes with it.

“What? You used to always sit for me.” My closet back at Grandma Anne’s is full of paintings I’ve made of him over the years. Even back when they were truly atrocious, I could never get myself to throw them away. It felt wrong, like I was throwing him away.

“When we were kids, sure. I don’t have time to waste while you play artist anymore, and you won’t either once you get a real job.”

Oh.

Right .

I keep my face locked in a faux smile despite the crushing waves of disappointment wreaking havoc in my chest. It was stupid of me to ask.

Over the years, he has made his opinions on my hobby clear—it’s a waste of time.

At some point along the way, it became something we don’t talk about, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping that one of these days, things might be different.

I wonder if Morgan would sit for me.

I’ve painted him more times than I care to admit over the past two months—especially since the night we went to the game—but I can never get the shape of his curls quite right or the shadow of his dimple on his crooked smile.

I shake off those intrusive thoughts.

“Why don’t you introduce me to some of your coworkers,” I suggest.

He nods and leads me toward a group of young guys in suits that are clearly off the rack. They look like children playing dress-up compared to the glitzy elegance of the donors here tonight.

I’d much rather spend the night with the twins, but the Nicholsons didn’t think this was an event they should attend.

Instead, they get to spend the night with Grandma Anne and Grover while I’m stuck listening to Chads and Brads reminisce about the “glory days.” At least Tanner seems to be having fun.

Mr. Nicholson’s voice breaks through the dull hum of chatter, thanking everyone for coming and asking everyone to find their assigned seats for dinner.

These fundraisers are always my favorite of the political events I get dragged to.

The meals are typically to die for—for the price per plate, I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Tanner wraps his arm around my waist and guides me over to our table.

Like always, we are with his parents, which means all eyes will be on us.

The remaining seats at the table are already filled with familiar faces: Joseph Harris—Mr. Nicholson’s old business partner—and his two children, Jacqueline and Owen.

Those three are as much Tanner’s family as his flesh and blood.

The Nicholsons aren’t a large family—no grandparents, no cousins; it’s just him, the girls, and his parents—but the Harrises were always around.

“Uncle Joseph,” he greets, reaching his arm out to shake Mr. Harris’s hand, but the man pulls him in for a hug.

“It’s good to see you, son.” He releases him and turns his attention toward me. “Ophelia, you look breathtaking as always.”

Smiling graciously, I thank him and find my seat.

Tanner catches up with Mr. Harris and Jacqueline, talking far too quickly about the technical aspects and financials of a business I’ve had no reason to learn.

The other Harris looks as entertained as I feel, but he has no qualms about sprawling in his seat and playing on his phone.

I wish I could relax and play on mine, but I have a role to play.

I’m “Ophelia James” now, doing my best impression of Jackie O meets Kate Middleton.

The weight of every eye in this room bears down on me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

The pressure is almost unbearable, but no one else at the table seems to feel it.

The waitstaff brings out the first course, and my stomach rumbles as the aroma of tonight’s meal drifts out of the kitchen.

I hadn’t had a chance to eat today; I left Athens before dawn to drive the five hours to Savannah and started getting ready for the evening as soon as I made it to Tanner’s apartment.

Normally, I would have driven down on Friday and spent the night with Grandma Anne or Tanner, but I didn’t want to miss out on nerd night with Morgan.

A sharp elbow digs into my side, pulling my attention back to the conversation. Tanner gives me a pointed look.

“Uncle Joseph asked what your plans are for after graduation,” he says with a tight smile. My face grows hot, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from snapping at him. I take a steadying breath to try to regain my composure.

Come on, James, channel your inner Michelle Obama .

“I’m still figuring that out,” I tell them with an artificial smile. “I’ve still got most of the year to figure out what I want to do. ”

Jacqueline lets out a huff of laughter.

“Do you have a problem with that?” I snap.

“No problem,” she says with a bored expression. “I just think it’s cute you are pretending to look for a job when we all know you’re going to end up either working for the campaign or with me at Niarris.”

Pain shoots through my fist as I clench the fork and imagine stabbing it into her smug face while I fight to control my breathing.

“There’s no shame in that,” she continues like she isn’t aware of the fuse she’s lit and how dangerously close I am to detonating.

Tanner’s worried eyes bounce between us, but he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t jump to my defense or try to shut her up.

He just sits there, bracing for the explosion.

“Tanner and I both work for our parents. I’m sure Owen will, too, once he graduates.

You are set, James. Embrace it. There is no need for you to go through the motions pretending otherwise. ”

I’m fucking speechless.

I think the rest of the table is too.

Jacqueline goes back to eating her salad like nothing happened while the rest of us sit in stunned silence.

The servers come around with the next course, breaking the tension, and Mr. Harris and Mr. Nicholson resume their conversation.

The others follow suit, except for Owen, who hasn’t looked up from his phone once.

The food looks delicious, but my appetite is gone. While the others eat, I move pieces around on my plate, fighting to keep my face pleasant. I can bitch about her to Tanner later—it won’t be the first time.

A Chad and Brad from earlier come over to chat with my date, and he excuses himself to go with them after polishing off his fourth glass of bourbon since we’ve sat down.

Fan-fucking-tastic. I hate these stupid events .

He doesn’t return for another thirty minutes, well after dessert is served. He swaggers back over with a Cheshire grin, slides back into his seat with a slight stumble, and throws his arm over the back of my chair.

“Do you want to get out of here,” he whispers in my ear while pawing at the exposed skin on my shoulder. The sour stench of alcohol coats his breath, making my empty stomach turn. I nod, and he practically drags me out of my seat.

“Mom, Dad, thank you for the wonderful evening, but Ophie and I need to head out.”

I give his parents an apologetic smile as he leads me out of the ballroom.

He is on me as soon as the door closes behind us.

His mouth crashes into mine and his hand seizes my waist. The taste of burnt tobacco and liquor makes my stomach churn, and I stiffen.

His hand roams higher, pawing at my clothed breasts, which snaps me out of the daze.

The last thing I want is to be groped in a hotel lobby.

I shove his chest, and he relents with a chuckle, but his eyes continue to rake over my body with unbridled heat.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, his voice thick with lust.

“I swear to God, if the surprise is your dick, I’m going to kill you.”

He throws his head back and laughs again. It’s a euphoric sound—unrestrained and unlike anything I normally hear pass his lips.