Resisting the Roommate

Chapter 1

one

Shea

A water droplet plops onto the crown of my head.

That’s…weird. Why is it raining in my living room?

Pausing my fifth re-watch of Secretary this week, I frown up at the ceiling.

“Uh oh.” A dark spot is gathering directly above my head. “Emma,” I call to my roommate, who is in the kitchen making ramen. “I think there’s a leak.”

“Huh?” She slogs into view in her pink bunny slippers and a spoon in her hand, peering up at the ceiling. “Oh shit. That doesn’t look good.”

“Should we call the landlord?” I get off the couch, so I’m no longer sitting directly below the drip. “Or maybe go knock on the door of the guy upstairs?”

“Both of those options suck. They’re both creeps.”

“I know, right?” I murmur, chewing my lip.

Emma groans, retrieving her phone from the pocket of her robe. “I’ll call my dad.”

“All the way back in Seattle? What is he going to do from there?”

My roommate shakes her head. “You’re thinking of my stepdad. My real dad only lives in the next town.”

I absorb that new information, flinching farther away from the leak when the ceiling starts to form a giant bubble. I’m no scientist, but I know bubbles eventually burst and this one already looks on the verge of doing exactly that.

“Hey, Dad…” Emma says into her phone. “We have a bit of a problem.”

Yes, we do. And as two college freshmen living off campus, we are totally ill-equipped to deal with it.

We couldn’t even rack up the courage to kill the spider we saw in the bathroom.

He’s still in there somewhere, living footloose and fancy free.

Now a leak? I have a paper to complete tonight about color fundamentals in modern design—and I haven’t even started it yet, thanks to my weird fascination with the movie Secretary.

A loud crash in the back of our apartment interrupts my train of thought.

After trading a wide-eyed look with Emma, I jog down the hallway toward the rear bedrooms, gaping at the water pouring in through the ceiling onto the IKEA bed I spent six hours assembling only a month ago.

“Oh my God.” I look up at the ceiling of the hallway and notice a dark spot spreading directly overhead.

“Emma, the apartment above us must be flooded. We need to get out of here. Like, now.”

We barely make it out the front door when the living room ceiling caves in.

“Uh, Dad?” Emma gulps into her phone. “Remember how you said I could come stay with you any time I want? I might be taking you up on that sooner than later.”

It turns out, our neighbor upstairs died. While running a bath.

I mean, I never liked the lecherous old dude, but I can’t shake my sense of melancholy during our Uber ride to Emma’s father’s house.

“Imagine. One second, you’re drawing a nice bubble bath and then, bam, sayonara.

” I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, given to us by one of the police officers who arrived on the scene back at our apartment building.

“The grim reaper wouldn’t even let him take one final bubble bath. ”

“Bro, who cares about that old pervert? What about our stuff?”

My roommate, Emma, is a stone-cold bitch. We’ve only been living together for a month, but I really like her. A ton. We’re just very different personality types.

I have no idea how we matched on Roommate Finder, but there must have been some special sauce in the algorithm that day, because I adore her, despite our differences.

She’s mean, street smart and loves to party, which has opened me up to a lot of new experiences.

Or…she will open me up to new experiences.

Someday.

Once I take her up on a single one of her generous offers to go out.

To drink, to dance, to potentially hook up with boys.

Gulp.

Some of the stories she’s told me have caused my introverted nerves to shrivel up into prunes.

I’m fun. I’m adventurous. Just in more of a lets-try-the-seasonal-coffee-flavor kind of way.

But I am curious about what goes on at those dorm parties.

Do people just have sex out in the open?

How does one request an alcoholic beverage?

Yo, beer me! Something like that? When the time comes, I’m going to be so lost.

The Uber stops in front of a Cape Cod style house.

It’s the most appealing shade of blue with a big oak tree in the front yard.

There’s a wide wrap-around porch that runs around the entire house.

Big lanterns light the garden. Even with all of those homey touches, somehow the house manages to be an ode to security and masculinity.

No rounded corners anywhere. It’s precise.

Knows exactly what it is. No whimsy, just classic lines and quality.

My aspiring interior designer heart is already dying to know what it looks like on the inside.

Emma makes no move to leave the cab, so I nudge her. “Are you nervous or something?”

“Eh, kind of.” She sighs. “My mom and dad divorced when I was little. I was a mama’s girl.

Still am. Jason—my real dad—tried so hard to make our weekend visits fun, but I cried and pouted the whole time, until they decided it was best if I just live with my mother.

I always feel a little guilty when I see him. ”

I pat her leg. “You were just a kid.”

“I know.” Her phone buzzes as we’re climbing out of the car, causing her to stop short on the sidewalk. “Ooh. There’s a party tonight at one of the frats. The guy I’ve been talking to is one of the hosts. We have to go.”

My stomach gurgles. “Maybe?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Come on, Shea. Live a little.”

I might actually have to go to this party. What else would I do? Stay here and hang out with her dad? Hello, awkward. “Don’t you want to spend time with your father?”

“We will! The party isn’t until much later.

” She links arms with me and drags my reluctant body up the paving stone path to the front door.

After taking a deep breath, she rings the bell.

“By the way, try not to be alarmed by his size. He’s not just tall, he works in construction, so he’s sort of on the brawny side. My mom calls him Paul Bunyan.”

“What do you mmm…”

The door opens to reveal a man who takes up the entire entryway.

He’s easily six foot six. Broad as a barn.

Thick chested. Thighs that could hold up the roof of a Roman temples.

Ink black hair threaded with gray. A weathered but quietly handsome face that needs a shave.

Neck tattoos that continue all the way down his forearms, stopping at his knuckles.

To top it all off, he’s young for a father of a college student.

Maybe this is a much older brother?

Yup. I’m staring.

I…can’t stop staring. Not only at his face, but his enormous hands.

They could rip my economics textbook in half.

“Hey, dad,” Emma says, a little hesitantly, going in for a hug. “Thanks for letting us crash for a little while. What a disaster.”

As he hugs Emma, his eyes meet mine over her shoulder and my tummy hollows.

Blue eyes. Same color as the house.

“Nothing my team can’t fix up,” Jason says, patting Emma on the back and pulling away. Though…is he still looking at me? “I do a lot of work in your area. I already put a call into your landlord. My company is going to do the repairs.”

“Really?” Emma sags in relief. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Well, I want it done right.”

“So do we. No more falling ceilings, please!” Emma ushers me forward. “Dad, this is my roommate, Shea. She’s an interior design student, like me.” My friend hip-checks me. “We clicked, even though she’s kind of a prude.”

“No, I’m not,” I mumble, reaching out to shake his offered hand. “I’m cautious.”

“Cautious is good,” Jason rumbles, squeezing my hand. “Nice to meet you, Shea.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ruston.”

“You can call me Jason.” Letting go of my hand with a reluctance I have to be imagining, he steps back. “Come on in. I’ve got the guest room ready.”

Good gracious, my entire arm is tingling. What is wrong with me?

I slide back into position behind Emma, but not before his eyes run down the front of my snug cotton sleep shorts. The ones I was wearing when the ceiling fell. Normally, I would never wear something so intimate out in public, but desperate times and all that.

For some reason, my body is on hyper alert, hair follicles standing on end as I follow Emma and Jason into the house.

“Why is your dad so young?” I whisper in Emma’s ear.

“Young? He’s like forty!”

“Yeah? My dad is fifty-two!”

“I can hear you,” Jason drawls while guiding us down a short hallway, his wide shoulders taking up the entire space. “And I’m only thirty-six, Emma. Your mother and I got ahead of ourselves when we were seventeen, remember?”

“That’s right. They were teen parents.” Emma smirked. “You guys are both so old, sometimes I forget you were ever young.”

“Makes sense,” Jason responds, dryly.

We enter a vast living space where a fire roars in the hearth. Tan, leather couches, rich plums and royal blues make up the color palette. The lighting is discreet and golden. The furniture looks handmade. Enduring.

My goodness, I would never leave this living room.

Somehow, it’s cozy and upscale at the same time.

“Wow,” I breathe, slowing down to drink it all in. “This place belongs on a billionaire’s ranch in Montana. It’s stunning. You need some white accents to brighten this corner…”

I trail off when I realize they’ve both stopped to stare at me.

“Sorry, Dad. Shea redecorates everywhere we go.”

“Guilty.” My face is hot, but the humor kindling in his gaze stops my embarrassment in its tracks. “It’s an annoying impulse I should probably keep to myself.”

“I can relate, Shea. I remodel every room I walk into.”

“I’m not alone, then,” I say breathily, his undivided attention making me feel warm.

For the second time since we arrived, his attention carries downward to the apex of my thighs and the strangest thing happens. I feel that flesh turn kind of swollen…and puffy.

Am I having an allergic reaction to something?

Is it visible through my sleep shorts?

I clasp my hands together in front of the spot, just in case.

Mr. Ruston quickly averts his gaze, coughing into a fist. “Guest room is this way.”