Page 6 of The Roommate Game

“It’s afternoon,” she corrected. “And you can tell me why you still haven’t forwarded your résumé to me. I want to help you, and I can’t do that if I don’t have the information required.”

“Mom, I don’t need help getting a job. I’ll do it myself.”

“Will you? Or will you succumb to the unfortunate habit of living off your inheritance? I know you’ve withdrawn money from the account your grandfather set up.”

“For tuition,” I snapped, manhandling the cart to the cereal aisle. “That’s what the money is for.”

“True, but you could have had a law degree by now. Derek Collinsworth is hiring, darlin’. He’s a dear friend of the family, and you really can’t go wrong. You could intern for his firm this summer in Charleston and…”

Oh, my fucking God.

I picked a box of Wheaties off the shelf and read the ingredients in my head to drown out my mom’s harping. It was the same ol’ theme.You should have done this, you could have been that.According to my mom, I was so far behind the curve, I was in danger of becoming a big fat nothing. Those weren’t herexact words, but the gist was…Get your shit together and be a fucking lawyer already.

Except I didn’t want to be a lawyer. And I didn’t aspire to manage hedge funds or go to med school like my brothers, either.

My mother didn’t know I’d technically graduated and was working toward a master’s degree in English. No one knew, and I had my reasons for that. Mom would hate it. In fact, she’d lose her mind and ask what I was going to do with a useless degree. Maybe teach? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t ready to go to war over it yet.

That day would come, but it wasn’t today…in the middle of the cereal aisle with a cart full of shit I was buying for my roommate, who probably thought I was as big of a loser as my mom did.

Fuck my life.

I could literally feel my nerves fraying at the seams as I read the nutritional information on the side of the box. Calories, fats, carbohydrates, proteins.

I wished I were high, numb, floating in a subspace where the weight of expectation and disappointment didn’t feel quite so heavy.

After a few minutes of placating uh-huhs and yes, ma’ams, I redirected the conversation to a hugely exaggerated retelling of my goal against Granville two nights ago. In actuality, I’d scored three minutes into the first period in a game that we’d ended up winning five to one and not at the last possible moment of a nail-biter that had rivaled a few Stanley Cup classics. But my version was funnier.

My mom was a sucker for a good story, and she’d always said I was good at spinnin’ a yarn and tellin’ tall tales, so she no doubt knew half the shit coming out of my mouth was nonsense. But she’d made her point, gotten in her digs, and was happy toplay along, allowing me to reset the balance between us. It was exhausting and not gonna lie, a little soul-crushing.

Note to self: Do not take calls from Mom at Bear Market ever fucking again. Especially while talking to a hot guy.

Second note: Apply the Gus rule ASAP—an effective coping mechanism to be adhered to whenever life felt bleak and oppressive.

I typed the text without thinking twice and blasted it to my teammates.

Party at my place tonight. Tell everyone.

CHAPTER 3

GUS

Rafe was pissed.

It was a bummer too, ’cause it spoiled his initial reaction to the oodles of groceries I’d bought with him in mind. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about the cute skater guy I’d bumped into at the market. I’d gone from hero to zero in seconds flat. Rafe hadn’t given me a chance to defend myself, either. He’d grabbed his backpack and huffed something about finding someplace else to hang out tonight.

“Wait up. This is your house, too. Of course, you’re invited.”

“Gee, that’s big of you. Thanks, Gus,” he’d growled.

Yeah, I caught the sarcasm. I wished I could claim ignorance, but I’d gotten the message. Rafe didn’t like to party, and I should have asked if it was cool rather than springing a houseful of guests on him. I had to do better, be better.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, I could hardly see straight.

I was numb, exactly the way I wanted to be. Loud music vied with competing conversations and manic laughter. We had a strict no-smoking-in-the-house rule, but somehow the air had a hazy glow. I chose to believe the side door was open in the kitchen. I didn’t want to have to get cranky with my teammates.Although, to be honest, I didn’t recognize some of these people. Like that couple sucking face under the stairwell.

“Who’re they?” I yelled, clinking my beer bottle to Ty’s and angling my chin meaningfully.