The Room Mate

Part 2

Paige

At twenty-eight, a woman began to question things. Big, complex things like destiny, fate, and what I was supposed to be doing with my life. I was fairly certain my grand purpose didn't include working fifty hours a week and never experiencing anything more exciting than splurging on spicy Thai takeout every Friday night. Surely there had to be more to life than that.

But lately life had been like a cheap pair of underwear—sneaking up, surprising you with discomfort at all the worst times.

Little did I know that destiny was about to smack me in the face with her irony.

My phone rang, and I grabbed it from the counter. "Hello?"

"I need your help, Paige," my best friend said as soon as I answered.

Abandoning the stack of junk mail I'd been flipping through, I leaned against the dining table. Enchilada was snoring underneath it, dreaming about whatever tiny dogs dream about.

"Sure, Allie. What's going on?"

She hesitated, making me wonder what kind of favor she had in mind. Allie was like a sister to me; she had to know there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her.

"Cannon needs a place to stay," she finally said.

Except for that.

Suppressing a sudden twitch in my jaw, I slipped off my heels and took a sip from my water bottle. Cannon? Share my tiny place with her geeky little brother who I hadn't seen or spoken to in years? Awkward much?

I was a private person, and I valued my alone time. It was why I chose to have no roommates and no drama. This was not the news I wanted on a Thursday evening after a hectic day at work. Allie, Cannon, and I had been pretty much inseparable growing up, but after we'd moved on and left for college, I hadn't kept in touch with him at all.

"I don't know, Allie. My place is pretty tight as it is." I lived in a six-hundred-square-foot duplex, and while I did technically have a spare room, its only furnishings were a lumpy futon and a writing desk. Just thinking about sharing this sardine can with another person made me feel stuffy, so I wandered into the living room to open the window. "Why can't he stay with you and James?"

Allie hesitated for a beat, and I knew I wouldn't like her answer. "James doesn't think that's a good idea. He and I have only just started living together. It's a big step, you know?"

Funny how your decisions as a couple seem to line up with his wants more often than yours. It was just another reason on the growing list of why I didn't like her new fiancé. But I didn't want to get back into that swamp of a conversation again, so I merely offered a noncommittal grunt.

As she kept trying to persuade me, I idly watched a man approach along the sidewalk leading to my house. I lived in half of an old Victorian house a few blocks from the University of Michigan campus, so I was sure his destination wasn't actually my house, but a girl could dream. Dressed in a black V-neck sweater, dark jeans, and boots, he was tall and muscular. His messy hair was cropped neatly on the sides, but long enough on top to grab during rough sex and hang onto for what would surely be the ride of my life.

I shook my head, shocked at my suddenly dirty mind. What the hell? Where had that thought come from? Lack of sex and being overworked, most likely. I pushed the thought away and tried to pay attention.

"His apartment was ransacked, and he's basically homeless," Allie was explaining, her tone pleading.

"I'll think about it," I said, trying to stand my ground.