Page 6 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

James

B y the time the first rays of the morning sun start to peek over the horizon, I’m already drenched in sweat.

Grover trots alongside me as my feet pound into the sidewalk that zigzags across the idyllic fields of North Campus.

We keep pace with the music blaring in my ears; the brain-rattling bass and hardcore riffs clash in comparison to the tranquil scenery around me.

Early mornings are my favorite time to run.

The sweltering summer heat isn’t nearly as unbearable, and, more importantly, it’s one of the few times the campus isn’t swarming with other people.

It’s peaceful, and you don’t find that often in Athens.

Normally, these runs would put me into a meditative state, but I can’t get Morgan out of my head.

Everything would be so much easier if he was an asshole, but instead, he has the gall to be decent.

He’s fun to talk to, he cleans up after himself, and overall, he seems to be respectful and well-mannered. It’s awful.

I think I actually like him.

I expected to have to do a second pass on the kitchen this morning, but I found it spotless and damn near swooned. He would be the perfect roommate if his stupid smile didn’t make my stomach flutter.

Shaking my head, I try to force those traitorous thoughts from my head.

A robotic voice cuts through my music, announcing an incoming call from Tanner Nicholson, causing me to stumble over my feet.

His call is a welcome surprise, especially since he wasn’t able to talk last night.

He had a late night with his team from work; it sucked not hearing from him, but I understand why.

My heart swells as two overexcited voices greet me as soon as the line connects.

“Ophie,” Tanner’s sisters shout into the phone. The twins, Kinsley and Raelyn, are only nine and are the closest things to siblings I have. Tanner’s parents didn’t plan them—they were happy with their picture-perfect family of three—but, as they like to tell everyone, “God had other plans.”

“What are y’all doing up so early?” I ask.

“Tanner took us to breakfast—”

“And now we are going to the mall—”

“He said we can get our nails done—”

“And have ice cream—”

“But we aren’t supposed to tell Mom ’cause we had waffles too.”

The twins talk over each other, butting in to finish each other’s sentences when their excitement overwhelms them. I don’t bother trying to keep track of who’s talking.

“That sounds fun. I bet you could convince him to get his nails done too,” I add with a sly grin.

“But he’s a boy,” one of them says, and they burst into a fit of bright laughter.

“I guess you’re right.” But knowing my boyfriend, he would do it in a heartbeat if they asked. “Do you think I could maybe talk to him too?”

They both grumble but hand the phone over to my boyfriend.

“Hey, Ophie,” Tanner says with a playful drawl.

My lips tighten into a small frown. I hate that stupid fucking nickname.

Tanner has called me that for as long as I’ve known him—he wasn’t able to pronounce Ophelia when we met—and he knows how much I dislike it, but the nickname has persisted despite my protests.

I don’t even bother to correct him anymore.

It’s not like he stopped when I was in tears because kids kept calling me Ophie the Oaf, so why would he now?

I started going by James in middle school to distance myself from that .

“Hi, love.” I push the budding annoyance down and bury it deep. “Special day with the girls?”

“Yeah, I wanted to spend some time with them before they go back to school. Dad said things at the campaign office are about to ramp up, so I know I’m not going to be able to spend as much time with them as I want.”

“That sucks.” And it means he will have less time for me too. “You are still planning on coming up to visit next weekend, though, right?”

“About that, O,” Tanner hedges, and my heart plummets.

This happened all summer too. Any plans that didn’t involve me going to visit him fell through without warning, and the only excuse he offered was that he was too busy with the campaign.

I brace myself for the words I’ve already heard a dozen times.

“I’ve got an important meeting that weekend that was just put on the schedule.

You are still coming down next month for the fundraiser, though, so I’ll see you soon. ”

“Right.” My voice drips with bitter sarcasm.

“Babe, don’t be like that,” he groans. “It’s only a few extra weeks. Tell me about the new roommate. Is she a total bitch?” It’s a sorry attempt at changing the subject, but I let him have it. I don’t have the energy to fight with him this early.

“They seem fine, but there was a bit of a mix-up,” I tell him with a light chuckle. “Morgan is actually a guy.”

He doesn’t say anything; silence so pristine that I could hear a pin drop is the only thing that rings through the line.

“Are you still there?” I let out another chuckle, but this one is twisted by nerves.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” His voice is eerily calm. “Because it sounded like you said your new roommate is a man.”

“He is,” I confirm and then suck my bottom lip between my teeth .

“What the fuck, James,” he growls. I recoil, not only from the tone but also from the use of my preferred name. He only ever calls me James when he’s mad. “And you just expected me to be okay with this?”

“Okay with what?”

“The fact you are living with another man,” he shouts, and I can hear something crash in the background. “Did you plan this?”

“Of course I didn’t fucking plan this. Morgan was just as confused about the whole situation as I was, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“So that’s it, then, you are just going to roll over and accept things?”

“What else do you expect me to do,” I shout, my voice rising to match his.

“Anything but playing fucking house with someone else while I’m stuck at home working to build our future.” His words are a sharpened lance, piercing straight through my heart.

“Tanner, please don’t do this,” I plea as hot tears fill my eyes.

“Do what? Point out just how much you’re cucking me right now? Because you are, James. This Morgan ,” he sneers, “is going to try to fuck you. The only question is when.”

“Tanner—”

“Think about how this looks on me—on my family. With the right spin, this story could ruin Dad’s campaign. I can’t—”

I hang up the phone.

I’m paralyzed for several seconds, with silence ringing in my ears.

That wasn’t the Tanner I know. He’s never spoken to me like that before, and I’m sure as hell not about to let him start.

If he wants to finish this conversation, then he can apologize and talk to me about it like an adult. Not whatever the fuck that was.

The music resumes, kicking my ass back into gear.

I don’t have it in me to finish my run, so I turn toward home.

Angry tears sting my eyes, and I fight to keep them from spilling over.

Attempting to distract myself, I focus on the lyrics blasting in my ears, but even that fails once I make it back to the apartment.

I let Grover off his leash and beeline toward the bathroom.

The floodgates open as soon as I cross the threshold.

I splash a handful of cold water on my face, and when I look up, I realize I’m not alone.

My gaze locks with my roommate’s wide-eyed reflection. He’s standing in the shower with the faucet running, frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

A very naked deer.

I could tell he worked out from his honed back muscles, but that didn’t prepare me for how cut he actually is.

Morgan isn’t an exceptionally large man—his muscles are lean instead of bulky—but every inch of him seems to have been chiseled out of stone.

I didn’t think this was what he was hiding under those stupid Oxford shirts.

My eyes move of their own volition, trailing over every perfectly sculpted line on his tanned torso. They drink in his defined abs, dropping lower to follow the carved V all the way to his pelvis and stop on what lies below.

Maybe he is a large man.

What the fuck, James?

My eyes snap back up to his, and a hot blush spreads over my neck and face. I just checked him out. I just checked him out and liked it. Maybe Tanner was right; we aren’t even two days into this arrangement, and things are spinning out of control.

My boyfriend is the only other person I’ve seen naked, and he stays in shape, but it’s nothing compared to Morgan’s physique.

A wave of guilt crashes through me, turning my stomach to lead.

But an undercurrent of curiosity comes with it.

Part of me wants to look closer, to compare the two even further, but I keep my eyes glued to the reflection of Morgan’s.

He stumbles out of the tub, his lips moving with silent words. I yank the earbud from one ear and catch the last few words of his question.

“—you all right?” He places a gentle hand on my shoulder and looks at me with concern etched on his face. He doesn’t share that same concern for his state of undress .

“Morgan…naked…” I stammer and slam my eyes shut. That’s what I should have done the moment I saw him in here.

He jerks his hand away like it was burned by my touch. “Ope, yeah, no, sorry.”

The damp plodding of footsteps, followed by light rustling from his room, signals his exit, but I don’t hear the door close, so I keep my eyes sealed shut.

“Seriously, James,” Morgan says, sounding closer than before, “are you okay.”

The genuine care in his voice catches me off guard. I risk it and crack my lids open. Morgan is standing in the doorway, thankfully fully clothed in plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. He’s looking at me with a furrowed brow, the worry clear on his face.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice carries the lie an octave higher than normal. “You weren’t what I was expecting to walk into, and I’m still reeling from that shock.”

“You were crying when you ran in here,” he challenges and folds his arms over his chest. “That doesn’t seem all right to me.”

Shit. I was hoping he hadn’t noticed that. I don’t want him to see me weak.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” I throw up my defensive walls, snapping at him with a bitter-cold edge. Anger is safe. It’s an uncomplicated emotion. One I cling to despite knowing it will do more harm in the long term.

Morgan takes a step back and raises his hands in mock surrender. “There’s no need for that, now. I was just checking on you, not trying to pry. Won’t happen again.”

“What the fuck were you doing in here, anyway?”

Morgan flinches at my hostile accusations, and I have to shove down my creeping guilt.

I thought we could be friends, but I was wrong. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy; he seems like someone I could grow to actually like, and that’s the problem. Tanner’s words run on repeat in my head, urging me to burn this bridge once and for all.

It’s better for everyone this way .

“I was about to shower.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“And you just happened to leave the door unlocked? Yeah, right,” I scoff. “You set this up, didn’t you? You wanted me to walk in on you.” I ignore the pain that flashes in his eyes as my baseless accusations hit their target.

“Jesus, James.” He runs a hand through his hair and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Why would you even think that?”

“Why else would you leave it unlocked?”

“Because I forgot,” he says, pushing back against my loaded words. “You barged in on me. You didn’t even knock.”

“Oh, save it for someone who cares. I’m not buying your Mr. Perfect act, and I want nothing to do with it. We aren’t friends, and I don’t want us to be. Stay out of my way, and we won’t have any problems. Got it?”

He lets out a long breath, and the life seems to drain out of him.

“Okay, sounds good to me.” His voice takes on a strange, hollow tone that makes something in my chest ache. It’s almost enough to make me give up this facade and beg for his forgiveness. “You can have the bathroom. I’m done here. I’m sorry for not locking the door. It won’t happen again.”

He steps back into his room, pulling the door closed behind him.

It latches with an almost inaudible click , but that tiny sound stabs into my chest with the force of a dagger.

That felt final; it felt like I shut the door on any chance I had of getting to know the man I’ll be living with.

It was the right thing to do—Morgan Hall is already getting too deep under my skin—but knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.