Page 53 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

I n the nearly empty apartment, the songs blaring from James’s speaker warp and echo to an almost unrecognizable state.

She doesn’t seem to mind—as long as it’s loud and bassy, she’s content—but the unnatural sounds add to the festering sense of wrongness that bubbles under my skin.

With each frame I stow away into the filling boxes, that churning grows.

My feelings aren’t mirrored in my girlfriend.

She dances around the kitchen without a care, individually cocooning each mug in a layer of bubble wrap before placing it in a labeled box.

It’s all so different from the day I moved in.

My shabby boxes weren’t labeled, and there was no method to the madness in which I shoved them into my car.

They just had to fit. Looking at the neat stacks of boxes, it’s clear there’s no way everything would fit in that old hatchback now.

I remember seeing that picture of James—not knowing who she was—and thinking that her boyfriend was the luckiest man in the world.

I was wrong, though; I am. That photo was replaced with one from the first time we went to the Renaissance Festival together, and over the past two and a half years, our walls became packed with photos of our adventures.

I hate that they’re getting packed away. Each time I put a photo in a box, my gut churns with unease. I know the fear is unfounded—we are moving across town, not putting them away forever—but the act feels wrong.

The biggest difference from the day I moved in is my relationship with my roommate.

I never would have guessed the she-devil who stood in the doorway and told me where to stick it would be the love of my life, but she is.

I knew within that first week of us being together officially that I was going to marry her.

After everything that happened with Tanner, I’ve been careful not to push her too quickly.

I also wanted to finish school first. That didn’t stop me from asking my mom for Nana’s ring the first time I took her up to Michigan to meet my parents.

I asked Reed for his blessing a few months later, but I’ve been holding on to the ring, waiting for the right time.

Joining her in the kitchen, I wrap my arms around her waist. She melts into my touch, pressing her entire body against mine with a content sigh. Even now, my heart still flutters with her causal affection. I nuzzle my face into the side of her neck and squeeze her tighter.

“I’m done in the living room,” I murmur into her hair. “Where do you want me next?”

“Where I want you will only slow us down,” she says with a laugh as she grinds her ass against me. She twists to face me and places her arms around my neck. “Where I need you is a different story. Do you think you could start on our clothes?”

“Of course, pretty girl.” I can’t resist the urge to pull her in for a kiss.

I mean for it to be chaste, but she isn’t having that.

She threads her fingers through my hair and deepens it, licking and biting at my lips until I grant her the access she desires.

This woman is a siren. It only takes one hit of her addictive touch, and I’m painfully hard.

Wrapping my hands under her ass, I lift her and place her on the counter.

She hooks her feet around my legs and pulls me in closer, grinding her hot core against my throbbing erection.

This is not where I meant for this to go, but it’s not surprising. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of her. As much as I’d love to bend her over this counter one last time and fill her until we’re both seeing stars, we don’t have time for that.

I should be a saint for having the willpower to pull away. Our breaths mingle in the space between us as I try to fully regain my self-control .

“If we don’t stop now, there’s no way we’ll get everything packed by morning.” Those words are painful to say.

“Fine, go,” she says with an adorable pout. “We can pick this back up later.”

“I’m counting on it.”

I shoot a wink in her direction before I disappear down the hallway.

The task in front of me is more daunting when I’m looking it in the face.

I’ll start in the closet. The bulk of the clothes are in there, and hangers should be easier than digging through the drawers.

There isn’t any method to my madness as I pile the eclectic mix of cloth and colors onto the bed.

Once the closest is empty, I tackle the dresser, packing the items into boxes on the floor.

Something hard and decidedly not a sock catches my attention in the back of a drawer.

I fish it out and find a small box wrapped in tattered paper.

Wait, I know this box .

It’s the same one I planned to give James that first Christmas before everything got…complicated. I can’t believe she still has it—unopened, too. I grab it and rejoin her in the kitchen.

“Look what I found,” I tell her as I hold up the small package. Her eyes flare and her mouth gapes.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, and her bottom lip starts to quaver. “I can’t believe I forgot about that. I’m so sorry.”

She grabs the package from my hands and tears into it. My now-empty fingers take a pass through my hair as a grimace forms on my lips.

“I doubt it’s even worth it at this point,” I tell her with a shrug.

“Why,” she asks and pulls the lid off the top. Her gaze drops to its contents: two tickets to a pop-up art exhibit that has long since passed through. “Oh.” She pulls them out and studies them for a moment before her face falls. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? We weren’t even talking at that point. I figured you either threw them away or went with someone else. It’s not a big deal. ”

“Not a big deal,” she repeats, her voice rising with exasperation. “I know how much tickets to these things cost. Fuck, Morgan, you could have visited your parents with that.”

Sure, I could have, but she and I both know that never would have happened.

Money was never what was holding me back; fear was.

I was never going to take that step without a firm push, and she gave me that.

She showed me that the gap between me and my parents wasn’t as big as I thought.

I’ll never be able to thank her enough for that.

“I wanted you to have them,” I tell her with a shrug.

“But I wasted them,” she protests, and her eyes shine with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s enough of that,” I tell her and wrap her in a gentle embrace. “I’m not upset, pretty girl. It was years ago. There’s no point in dwelling on it. I wouldn’t have even brought it up if I knew it would upset you.”

She hugs me tighter, nuzzling her head into my chest.

“I love you, Morgan,” she says with a sigh.

“I love you too, James.”

We spend the rest of the day packing our things and breaking down the bulky furniture into maneuverable pieces.

It’s well into the night by the time we finish and drag ourselves to bed, far too tired to make good on the promises we made earlier in the day.

Even with my love in my arms, sleep is elusive in a way it hasn’t been in years.

My body grows more and more weary the later it gets, but I can’t force myself to relax. Anxious thoughts swarm through my head like angry bees, and my gut roils with the same energy.

Tonight is the last night I’ll fall asleep in this apartment.

Tonight is the last night I get to call this place home.

We fell in love between these walls. Every important milestone in our relationship has happened here, and leaving it feels like we are leaving part of us behind .

What if things aren’t the same in the new place? What if we fall apart without these walls holding us together?

I know my fears are irrational, but they’re the same fears that kept us from moving out sooner.

James has been talking about finding a house to rent near her job since the last time our lease needed to be renewed.

The fear that idea inspired turned my center to ice.

It took almost a full year for me to get comfortable with the idea, and now that I have no reason to be this close to campus, there isn’t an argument for us to stay.

Not when the alternative is the logical choice.

Knowing that the choice is right doesn’t make the anxiety go away.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I whisper, testing to see if she’s still awake.

“Hmm,” she answers with a sleepy hum.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?”

She rouses a bit more and turns to look at me in the darkness of our room. The moonlight that filters in through the blinds is enough to bathe her in an ethereal glow.

“Not in the slightest,” she tells me.

“How? This place is our home.”

“No, this is an apartment. You are my home. How could I be nervous when you are with me?”

Her words act as a balm, soothing all my worries easier than I thought possible. I kiss the top of her head, and she snuggles back into my chest. It only takes a few minutes for her to succumb to sleep, taking the last of my worries with her and leaving nothing but love in its place.