Page 43 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

MAKENA

M y neck has opinions about Charlotte’s couch.

Strong ones.

The kind that shoot down my spine when I try to turn my head, making me wonder if thirty-three is too young to need a chiropractor or too old to be crashing on furniture designed by someone who clearly hates the human body.

The living room smells like wet drywall, drifting in from the kitchen restoration in progress.

Charlotte’s dehumidifier wheezes in the room behind me, fighting a losing battle against Louisiana in June.

Through the French doors leading into her narrow backyard, the morning light is still pale and new.

It’s early.

Too early to think about anything other than coffee, I warn my brain as it tries to start fretting about my phone.

And the messages on my phone. And how I’m avoiding the messages on my phone because I’m a coward who, by the time I touched down in New Orleans after a gnarly flight through a thunderstorm yesterday, couldn’t handle any more conflict.

I can’t handle it this morning yet, either.

Not until I’ve achieved maximum caffeination.

I peel myself vertical, my right hip complaining. Next time I crash at Charlotte’s, I’m definitely taking her up on the offer to sleep in her big king-size bed with her.

I pad into her kitchen—or what’s left of it—knowing she wouldn’t still be living here if she hadn’t figured out a way to make coffee.

I scan the space and sure enough, next to a pile of drawers she’s determined to save and a stack of boxes labeled “KITCHEN SHIT” in aggressive Sharpie, sits a coffee maker on a small folding table.

And of course, Charlotte splurges on the good stuff, even when her kitchen looks like a demilitarized zone. In just a few minutes, the air smells like nutty French roast.

While I wait for my liquid courage to brew, I wander over to the kitchen table, nose wrinkling as I spot the wedding invitation Charlotte left there last night.

Heavyweight cardstock in a tasteful champagne requests the pleasure of her company at Theodore James Delacorte’s marriage to Madison Elise Carlisle.

Madison. Charlotte’s former assistant.

Twenty-five years old with the kind of aggressive perkiness that makes even me feel tired. Up until about a year ago, Maddie still chipped in at catering events when we were short-staffed. She always seemed to have the energy of three people.

Now, she’s putting that energy to use boinking Charlotte’s ex…

“Stop looking at it.” Charlotte’s voice comes from behind me, making me jump. “Don’t give it attention. That’s what it wants.”

I turn to find her in yesterday’s green silk pajamas, eyes still puffy but chin lifted like she’s ready to fight the forces of evil. Or at least Theodore James Delacorte and his appalling lack of good taste.

“I could set it on fire,” I offer. “There have to be some matches around here somewhere.”

“No, I need more aggressive vengeance.” She pours coffee into a mug that says “Horny for Normalcy” in gold letters and extends it my way. “I could hire a mariachi band to play outside the church during the ceremony.”

“Creative.” I accept the mug with gratitude, inhaling the delicious aroma as I suggest, “But a jackhammer might be more effective. And annoying. Or you could release bees in the reception tent. Isn’t Teddy allergic?”

Charlotte’s eyes narrow. “Yes, but so is his mother, and I actually like her. I could bribe the caterer to put coconut in everything. He hates coconut.”

“Then sign him up for every multilevel marketing scheme in existence.”

“And all the gay porn magazines,” she agrees. “They still deliver magazines, right?”

“If not, I’ll deliver them to his mailbox for you, free of charge.”

She smiles. “You’re the best.”

“Thank you. So are you. I’m sorry this happened. You deserve way better from men in general, and Theodore in particular.”

She nods, her smile fading as her fingertips whiten on her mug.

“Thanks, though, to be honest, it’s the Maddie part that hurts the most. I gave her a job straight out of college, taught her everything I know, even helped her launch her own party planning business when she was ready to go out on her own.

Then she turns around and does this? I mean, he’s literally the only man in New Orleans I would care about a friend of mine dating.

She could have had any of my other exes, no harm, no foul, and with my blessing. ”

“Yeah, she knew how you felt about him,” I agree.

“Everyone did.” Charlotte sags into one of the chairs with a sigh. “I was pathetic.”

“No, you weren’t. You were keeping your options open. There’s a difference. And it’s not like Teddy made it easy for you to move on. He’s such a dirty, rotten breadcrumber.”

“He is,” she says, her tone heating again.

“It’s like he had some kind of sixth sense about it, too.

Every time I was ready to move on, there he’d come with a present for my birthday or an invitation to meet for happy hour and catch up.

Meanwhile, he was busy ‘catching up’ with Madison’s vagina.

” She growls beneath her breath. “We had coffee two months ago, Makena, and he didn’t say a word about her!

Not a single fucking word. And I’m assuming they didn’t meet, get engaged, and get invitations engraved all in the past six weeks. ”

I shake my head. “Doubtful.”

“I hate him,” she says, her jaw clenching. “I wish there were something I could do to get back at him. At both of them.”

“Well, I mean, you have a plus one, right?” I ask, settling into the chair across from hers. “At the very least, you can bring someone foxy, who will make Teddy feel sad and crusty in comparison.”

She snorts. “Like who?”

“What about Nix?” I suggest, hurrying on before she can speak, “I know you said you didn’t want to give him your number, but hear me out.

He’s a gorgeous professional athlete with muscles in places Teddy’s never had muscles, not even in his college basketball days.

And he’s hot after you, girl. Why don’t you let me?—”

“No. No way.” She holds up a hand. “That was a one-time thing. And a mistake. If I hadn’t already had two glasses of wine before he showed up, it never would have happened.

” She shudders. “Especially the thing with the zucchini. I don’t know what I was thinking, and I will never forgive him for telling Parker about it.

That should have stayed private, just between us and the vegetables. ”

Inclined to agree with her, but not ready to give up on the Nix angle just yet, I change tacks. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean he’s all bad. He has a degree in philosophy from Boston University. And he’s about to turn thirty-one. That’s not that much younger than you are.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrow. “This from the woman who complained that six years was too much for her to date the man she used to babysit for months and months?”

“Yes.” I shrug. “I was wrong about that.”

“And Parker?” she presses. “Have you listened to his messages yet? Did he grovel?”

My stomach tightens, gurgling around the French roast. “I don’t know yet.”

“Makena.”

“What? I’ve only been awake for twenty minutes, and we’re busy plotting revenge.”

“And last night?” she presses. “What stopped you from checking your messages after I went to bed?”

“I was tired.” I clutch my coffee tighter to my chest. “And overwhelmed. And I couldn’t handle any more bad things in that particular twenty-four-hour period.”

She nods, her gaze softening. “Understandable. But now it’s a new day. Want me to hold your hand for moral support while you get caught up? As much as I hate to admit that my initial opinion of hockey players was wrong, some of them do seem to be decent human beings.”

“Like Nix?” I tease.

Charlotte shakes her head. “Like Grammercy. He and Elly are magical together.” She nudges my foot with hers under the table. “And Parker doesn’t seem too shabby, either. He did risk his life to save yours, feed and shelter you, and deliver many life-affirming orgasms.”

“I didn’t tell you about the orgasms,” I mutter.

“But I’m right?”

I nod, sighing as I whisper, “And they were life-affirming and…I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him. I was about to tell him I was, in fact, the day before he told me to pack my shit and leave.”

“He didn’t say that,” she counters. “I’m sure it felt that way, but honestly, from what you told me last night, it seems like he was just overwhelmed.

I have a fantastic relationship with my parents, but if one of them were fighting with me, while someone else we loved was in the hospital, I doubt I’d be my best self, either. ”

“You wouldn’t be fighting with your parents.

Not like that,” I say. “His dad was just…horrible. It’s like he has no idea who Parker is.

Or who his mother is. It was really sad, actually.

We’d been having this beautiful weekend, so loving and happy and perfect, and Phillip just came in and peed cranky heartless businessman all over it. ”

Charlotte’s lips turn down. “That’s awful.

Poor Parker. And poor you.” She reaches out, giving my wrist a gentle squeeze.

“But that sounds like a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing, Makena. You two won’t be dealing with his father or a family member in the hospital very often, you know?

I mean, God willing. And it sounds like you two were getting along really well on your trip, right? ”

I nod, but my stomach is still in knots. “We were, but…you should have seen his face yesterday. He was over it. Over me .”

“Maybe he was just over the situation, honey. If he were over you, he wouldn’t have called this many times.

” She nods toward my phone. “Listen to the messages, and we can discuss when I get back. I need to put on some real clothes and get out of the house for a while. Up for grabbing some croissants and another coffee at Soul Roasters?”

“Yeah, I’ll get dressed, too.” I lift a hand in surrender as she shoots a glare my way. “After I listen to the messages, I promise.”

After Charlotte heads upstairs, I wander back to the couch from hell and do the damn thing. I pick up my phone, scroll to the first missed message, and hit play.

By the end of it, my chest feels looser than it has since I left Oxford.

By the end of the second, I’m feeling pretty silly for avoiding this, and by the time I listen to the message he left while Char and I were having coffee, I’m pretty certain everything is going to be okay.

But I want it to be better than okay.

I want him to know that I can learn from my mistakes.

Hands trembling, I shoot Parker a text, promising to meet him at the house this afternoon, and telling him to drive safely. Then, I scroll down to a number I’ve been avoiding for far too long.

My father answers on the second ring, sounding worried. “Makena? Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, Dad,” I say, forcing a brighter note into my voice. “I know you have work today, but I was wondering if you would want to grab lunch? I could meet you at that BBQ place by your office that you like.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, but when he speaks, he sounds hopeful, “Sure, that would be nice. Does eleven-thirty work? I usually take an early lunch on Mondays.”

“Sure, that’s great. I’ll see you then,” I say.

“Okay, see you then,” he says. “Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too,” I say, hanging up with an only slightly queasy feeling in my chest. My dad has caused me a lot of pain, but he’s nothing like Parker’s father. For all his faults, he loves me.

Maybe too much. If he loved me less, he wouldn’t still be trying so hard to save me.

But I don’t need to be saved, and it’s past time I did something positive to shift our relationship in a different direction. I’ve tried avoiding and evading and running away.

Now, we’ll see what a grounded, honest, adult conversation can do.

Even if I fail, at least it’s proof that I’m willing to tackle my baggage, and I’m pretty sure Parker will be proud of me.

Hoping I’ll have good news to share by the time he gets home, I head upstairs to ask Charlotte if I can borrow her car after we get croissants, and discreetly leave Nix’s number written in her planner.

What she decides to do with it is up to her, but a little nudge in the direction of a guy who can solve her revenge problems—with a side of multiple O’s—seems like the noble friend thing to do.