Page 29 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

James

T he aroma of bleach permeates the bathroom, stinging my eyes while I scrub down the grout in the shower.

I welcome the burn, though; it means the chemicals are working.

The world around me is silenced by the chaotic music blaring through my headphones, leaving me to get lost in my own little bubble.

I wipe the tile in time to the aggressive beats, and my hips sway to match.

I’m dancing more than I’m cleaning as the song builds to the breakdown, my quest for cleanliness all but forgotten. The beat drops, and I twirl but freeze when I find Morgan watching me from the doorway.

“What the fuck, Morgan. You scared the shit out of me,” I snap, jerking my headphones out of my ears.

He doesn’t flinch at my tone—hell, the only indication that he’s heard me is that his eyes lose a bit of their glassy sheen. I guess maybe he wasn’t watching me after all.

He looks awful.

There’s no trace of the perfectly put-together Morgan Hall in the man standing in front of me.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, but he looks like he just rolled out of bed the morning after going on a bender.

His hair is a wild rat’s nest of uncontrolled curls, and the bags under his eyes have bags.

More unsettling than the fatigue on his face is his choice of clothing.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dressed down—even his pajamas are always a perfectly coordinated set.

This impostor in front of me, though, is wearing ratty sweats that are too short, ending in the middle of his calves, and a white T-shirt with a large stain across the front.

He has been… off since everything that went down at the beach.

We’ve still hung out and had a couple of pizza nights over the past few weeks, but he hasn’t been himself.

He’s been more withdrawn, barely giving me a reaction when I talk shit to poke his buttons, and he never asks me questions anymore.

It’s like he’s there physically, but his mind is somewhere else.

Even then, his behavior has been nothing like this .

Something is very wrong.

“Jesus, are you okay?” I climb out of the tub and reach out, needing to hug him.

“I’m fine,” he says, rearing back to sidestep my touch. His voice is empty of emotion, and his eyes reflect the same hollowness. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I knocked. I just need to use the restroom, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Seriously, you look like shit.” I move to fully block his path. He has made me talk through my issues more times than I’d like to admit, so there is no way I’m going to let him get away with keeping his own bottled up now that the situation is reversed. “What’s wrong?”

He stiffens and narrows his eyes at my blatant disregard. It’s the first time I’ve seen a glimpse of the man I know buried beneath this hollow shell since he walked in here.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “I just really need to pee.”

“Don’t lie to me.” My hand falls to my hip, and I meet his hardened stare with one of my own. If he thinks he can lie to me, he’s got another thing coming. “Tell me what’s wrong with you, and the bathroom is all yours, or we can both just stand here. Choice is yours.”

“James, I’m not in the mood to play games,” he snaps, then looks to the ceiling and takes a deep breath in. “Please just let me use the restroom. ”

“You have about thirty seconds before I turn the water on. So make this easy on both of us and tell me.”

It’s childish, I know, but it’s the only thing I can think of to convince him to tell me what the fuck is going on.

“James…” he says with a frustrated growl, his whole body growing stiff with his rising frustration.

“Time’s up.” I whip my hand toward the sink handle to make good on my threat. He catches my wrist before I can turn the knob. Despite the rigid tension in his fingers, his grip is soft against my skin, almost tender.

“Fine, you win.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s my birthday. Are you satisfied? Now will you please let me pee in peace?”

“It’s your birthday?” I stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. How could he not tell me that? Why is it such a bad thing?

A steely glare is the only response he gives me.

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” I concede, maneuvering around him toward his bedroom door. “But we aren’t done with this conversation.”

I pull the door shut behind me as I slip into his room. My focus roams around the space that has mostly remained a mystery to me, and my face falls into a frown.

His room is practically barren. Almost nothing has changed since the first time I stepped foot in here; the boxes have been unpacked since then, leaving the floor clear of clutter, but it doesn’t feel like anything actually came out of them.

There is nothing here that gives me the impression that this is Morgan’s space, no personal touches that make this anything more than a place for him to sleep.

The shower turns on in the next room, and I roll my eyes. Morgan is stalling. He can take as long as he wants, but he isn’t getting out of this conversation; I don’t care if I have to camp out in here all day.

Why didn’t he tell me it was his birthday? And why does it seem like such a bad thing ? If I had known, I could have made today better for him .

Fuck it, the day isn’t over yet. I still can.

It doesn’t take long for the seed of an idea to take root and grow in my head.

It’s the perfect mix of cheese and camp that I know he will love.

Excitement pumps through my veins as I pull out my phone and purchase tickets for later tonight.

It’s not like he gets a choice in the matter; he is coming with me whether he wants to or not, and he is going to have a good birthday, goddamnit.

Satisfied with my plans, I settle in to wait for him.

There isn’t anywhere for me to sit, though.

The air mattress on the floor is the only real furniture, and that is a loose interpretation of the word.

I could sit there, but it feels wrong, like I would be crossing a line by invading one of his most vulnerable and intimate places, so I pace around the small room instead.

The minutes crawl by agonizingly slowly. We might miss our plans if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up.

Finally, the door opens.

“So—” I freeze when my gaze lands on the half-naked, soaking-wet Morgan standing in the doorway. The only thing keeping him decent is the old towel precariously wrapped around his hips.

My breath catches at the sight, and my heart speeds up, bouncing around erratically in my chest. He freezes too, his eyes growing wide as he notices me.

A drop of water falls from his hair onto his neck, and I watch it, entranced, as it glides along the hardened angles of his body.

It catches on his collarbone, hanging for a moment before rolling onto his chest. I swallow and bite the inside of my lip as it continues to move lower, hugging every defined line of his abs before disappearing into the band of fabric around his hips.

My body feels like it’s stuffed full of fireworks, both hot and tingly all at the same time. I knew Morgan was hot, hell I’ve seen him naked, but he’s never affected me quite like this. My mouth waters at the sight of the carved V poking out from the top of the towel .

“Um, James…?” he questions, his face an alarming shade of pink. His voice snaps me out of my lust-addled haze, and I turn my back to him, my own blush rising.

“I…Uh…Sorry…” I trip over my words, trying to find a way to apologize for molesting him with my eyes.

“Just stay there, I’ll change real quick,” he says, followed by the rustling of him moving around the room. Despite the temptation, I keep my eyes locked on the blank wall.

“Okay, I’m decent.”

I turn back around but can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. What do you even say in a situation like this? Sorry I saw you naked again? Next time lose the towel? Get a grip, James . This is about helping your friend, not your hormones.

“So, yeah. Happy birthday,” I tell him, my words sounding as uncentered as I feel. “Do you want to tell me why that has you in such a foul mood?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and flops down onto the air mattress, burying his face deep into the pillow.

“Not particularly,” he mumbles into the fabric.

I sit on the edge of the bed beside him, so close I can feel the heat coming off him in waves.

“Hey…” My voice is thick with concern as I place a hand on his back and rub my thumb in small figure eights. The tension in his shoulders eases at my touch, but he still doesn’t answer me. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I hate my birthday,” he says with a sigh. “And Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and any other holiday that falls in between. My birthday is the start of the worst forty-three days of the year.”

“Why?” I’ve always loved the holidays; it’s hard for me to see how they could be the source of his distress.

“It’s complicated.”

I let out a small hum but don’t push him any further. He will open up if he wants to .

“Do you have plans tonight,” I ask, only as a courtesy. Even if he did have other plans tonight, they have been overruled.

“No,” he grunts out.

“Good, because you do now,” I tell him with exaggerated cheer. “You have forty-five minutes before we need to leave. I would say dress casually, but you’re you.”

I stand and flee into the hallway before he has a chance to argue. Forty-five minutes isn’t much, but it should give me enough time to go to the store to get the rest of what I need for tonight.

***

As I pull into a spot in the parking lot, the car fills with my boyfriend’s ringtone.

I don’t hold back my groan; it feels like I’ve been hearing that sound nonstop since the blowup at the beach.

Tanner has been more attentive in the past three weeks than he had been combined in the three years prior.

He calls me anytime he gets a chance, even if it’s only for a few minutes, to check in or update me about his day.

From what I can tell, he has been true to his word and has stayed sober; time will tell if he keeps that up.

I could let this one go to voicemail—it’s not like I didn’t talk to him this morning. Ignoring him will only start a fight I don’t have the time or energy for, so I answer the phone with a sigh.

“Hey, Tanner.” With a tight jaw, I wedge the phone between my cheek and my shoulder and grab a shopping cart.

“Ophie.” He says my name like a prayer. “I’ve missed your voice. What are you up to?”

“Yeah, missed you too.” The hollow reply falls from my lips as I walk into the store. “I’m just grocery shopping.”

It’s close enough to the truth that I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying. He has apologized more times than I can count for everything that went down that weekend, except for attacking Morgan. It isn’t as if he’s been claiming that he was in the right, he just hasn’t acknowledged it at all.

“So close to the break?” he questions. “Speaking of, I had a thought. I could come pick you up if you want. I may drive up to Athens on Monday, and then we can ride back down together on Tuesday after your classes. It would give us some extra quality time together, and then I can drive you back up next weekend and maybe spend another night at your place.”

“I don’t think that’s the best plan.” My face scrunches in disgust at the idea, but I’m able to keep the feeling from leaking into my voice.

I’ve gotten more “quality time” than I needed the past few weeks.

We’ve talked multiple times a day, and he’s even asked to start doing video calls at night until we fall asleep.

It’s just like freshman year when we first became long-distance, only it was romantic then.

Now it feels like a hassle and is a bit cringey.

“You would have to take off work, plus that’s almost nine hours of extra drive time for you. It isn’t practical.”

“You’re right,” he concedes, “I just miss you.”

“I know, but it’s only three more days.”

“I can’t wait,” Tanner says. “Did you want to do a date night tonight in the meantime?”

“I can’t, I have plans with Chelsea tonight and won’t be home until late.” Another lie easily slips past my lips, leaving no trace of guilt.

“Oh,” he says, sounding crestfallen. “Well, I hope you have a good time.”

“Mhm,” I hum into the phone, only half listening while grabbing what I need from the shelves.

Tanner could talk forever if I let him. He only needs the occasional sound of acknowledgment and he will continue to ramble on, relishing in the sound of his own voice.

I stay on the phone and let him prattle on while I finish my shopping.

I don’t actually hear a thing he says, too focused on my roommate and making sure tonight is perfect for him .

“Hey,” I interrupt him, “I’m at the register. I’ve got to go. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course. I love you, baby.”

“Mhm, love you too.”