The No Rules Roommate (Snowbound Secrets #3)

1. Megan

Chapter 1

Megan

This is going to be the best year of my life.

January first. A fresh start. The year that everything will go my way.

Dragging myself away from my pillow, I roll to my back, stretching my body as I pull off my sleep mask and blink myself to life. My bottle of iced water is still cool on the nightstand, and I sit up and take a long slow drink. I will not fail at making rest and hydration a priority this year.

Also by my bedside is my brand new dream journal, ready to capture all my deepest desires. Though frustratingly, I can’t remember any dreams I had last night, so we’re not off to the best start there.

Still, this is my year.

This is my year.

I might not believe it, but I’ll repeat it until I do.

Next on my morning routine is facial massage. I smear a few drops of oil onto my face before smoothing it out with my rose quartz gua sha tool. I’ve watched plenty of tutorials on technique, and I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it soon. After that I’ll read fifty pages of this month’s Sunshine Book Club book, before showering and eating a protein-rich breakfast.

This is how I will wake up from now on. Fresh and focused. And a tiny bit smug.

Rather than spending last night getting drunk at Moonshine night club with my coupled up friends, I saw in the new year alone in fluffy pyjamas, with a lit candle, a fresh notebook, and a peppermint tea. Which means I’m starting the year hangover-free, and with a level of clarity I haven’t had in a long time.

I spent the evening reflecting on last year, which was a mess, to put it bluntly, then working on my vision board and goals for the coming one. It’s not a long list, but it's a good one.

I will get promoted.

I will run a half-marathon.

I will go on adventures with my friends.

I will fall in love.

This is the part I’m most excited about. Finding real love, with a real man, who loves me back.

He’ll be tall and handsome, obviously, and impeccably dressed. He’ll have an excellent job that he thrives in, but he won’t work long hours, and he’ll always be home for us to eat dinner together.

Most importantly, he won’t live in Australia, he won't be called Max Mason, and he won’t have a wife he’s pretending he’s no longer married to. Good riddance to you and your stupid name that sounds like a supervillain.

That really should have been the first red flag, but this year’s Megan doesn’t fall for manipulative tricks, and I won’t waste another second pining or begging for scraps. There is not an ounce of space in my mind or my heart for that fool. I’m looking ahead instead of back.

In an ideal scenario, this dream man will approach me in a used bookstore in London on a rainy afternoon, compliment me on my selection of titles, and insist on paying for them before buying me coffee. Coffee will turn into dinner, dinner will turn into drinks, and when he tells me he’d love to invite me back to his house but he daren’t be so bold, I, yes I, Megan Porter, will be the bold one.

We’ll catch a cab across the city to his townhouse in the West End. He’ll twist his fingers through mine in the back seat, his thumb stroking my skin in a promise of what’s to come.

He’ll be talented and selfless in bed, insisting I have multiple orgasms before lavishing me with excellent aftercare. We’ll never be able to get enough of each other.

By summer, he’ll ask me to move in with him. On weekends he’ll wear reading glasses and do the Sunday Times crossword in pen, with his shirt off. His shirt will be off because I’ll be flouncing around in it, until he snatches me into his lap on the sofa, hands sneaking their way inside. We’ll make love right there in front of floor to ceiling windows overlooking a garden full of hydrangeas.

Perhaps by this time next year there’ll be a sparkly ring on my finger after he gets down on one knee in front of the Christmas tree and tells me I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.

As I slide the gua sha tool along my jaw, I hold my other hand up in front of my face, waggling my fingers and picturing the diamond there. Then I roll my eyes and the image goes with it.

I’m not deluded.

Back in the real world, I’ve reluctantly accepted that the chances of my dream man walking into my life are slim, but I’m done trusting the universe and waiting for things to just work themselves out. This year I’ll take the bull by the horns and actively build the life I want.

Starting next week.

Due to extremely excellent timing, I have four days before the new term begins and I return to my job teaching English at Swanham Hall High. I've worked at the prestigious private school for almost a decade, but Mrs Malcolm, our Head of English, is planning to retire this summer, and I'm determined to be the prime candidate to take over her position.

For now though, my time belongs to me, and I'm going to start the year on a high by deep cleaning my flat, organising my life, figuring out a capsule wardrobe, and filling my metaphorical cup with only good things that serve me well.

I even had the forethought to book a spa day with my best friends, Hattie and Kara, who I’ve barely seen over Christmas break. They’re so preoccupied with their men these days.

My phone buzzes twice in quick succession, but the new Megan charges her devices on the other side of the room so she doesn’t stay awake until two in the morning, bouncing around the same three apps getting lost in other people's lives. My stomach lurches when I unplug it to read my new messages.

Slumping onto the foot of my bed, I blink hard and read them again, not convinced my eyes aren't playing tricks on me. I lock my phone and open it back up, but no. Still there.

Hattie: Rob asked me to move in with him.

Hattie: I said yes.

This can’t be happening.

We’re Hattie and Megan.

She’s not just the woman I live with, we’re best friends, soul sisters.

We’ve lived together since we graduated from university. Seen each other at our highest and our lowest. Late nights and early mornings, she’s been there for them all. She makes the best tea. I make the best toast. We borrow each other’s clothes and cheer each other on every step of the way.

She can’t leave me.

Though she already spends most nights with her boyfriend, Rob, and I should have seen this coming. Swallowing hard, I shove the feelings down. This is not about me. For my dear friend, who wouldn’t sleep with the same man twice this time last year, let alone move in with one, this is incredible news. If she’s happy, I can be happy.

In the hallway, I spot her shoes, hastily kicked off. Her bedroom door is closed, which means she must have stayed here last night. I take a deep breath and knock twice.

“Yeah?” I hear her mumble.

“Are you alone?” I don’t want to have this conversation if Rob’s there, too.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

The door swings open and she hauls me into her arms, burying her face into my neck.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and I loosen her grip, stepping back a little so I can breathe.

“Why are you texting me when you know I'm in?” I say, and it comes out like a whine.

“I didn't want to see your face when you found out.”

She stares at the ground between our feet, and I cup her cheeks, tilting her head so she has to look at me.

“Hattie, come on. It's OK. You're in love.”

“I know, and it's disgusting.” She crawls back into bed and pulls a pillow over her face. “I hate myself.”

She has no idea how lucky she is. I hover in the doorway before perching on the edge of her bed. “I'm happy for you. I'll miss you so much, but truly, I am happy.”

Hattie screams into the pillow before throwing it to one side. “I thought it would be you and me for life. Spinsters forever.”

I frown as her words sink in. “You think I'll be single forever?”

She props herself up on her elbows and cocks her head. “No, of course not. I just loved you and me and our girls only vibe. Stupid men ruin everything.”

She thinks I'll be single forever.

“I've probably been holding you back, if anything,” she says. “Now you're free to do whatever you like.”

Truthfully, the only thing that holds me back is my perfection seeking. I’ve been working hard, I save money, and I do yoga most days. I call my parents, I eat my vegetables, and go to bed early. I do all the things I’m supposed to do, and it’s still not enough.

God knows why I’m planning a jam-packed year where I have adventures, get promoted, find a man, move in with said man, and end up engaged. Are all those things even possible?

I’m kidding myself. I am deluded. The same mess I’ve always been, now with the added bonus of being a mess who lives alone.

“Rob proposed,” Hattie says, and I snap my head up.

“He did what? When? Let me see the ring.” I reach for her hand, but she yanks it away.

“Last night. At midnight. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Obviously I said no. But I agreed to move in and I said he can call me his girlfriend.”

This is a lot to process. Hattie has been firm that she hates labels, and insisted she’d never be anyone’s anything , but Rob’s become my friend too now, and I know he’ll be thrilled. “I bet he loved that.”

“He did,” she smiles, her eyes glazing over as she floats off to some happy memory.

My chest tightens, and a burning sensation creeps into my throat. I want that for myself. The butterflies, the zoning out when I think of my man, the sweet, dull ache between my legs after a night together. Why should everyone else get that except me?

I push that feeling down, too. Hattie is the happiest I’ve ever seen her, and I won’t let my jealousy get in the way of it.

“So,” I say, standing up and clapping my hands together. “How shall we celebrate?”

“Rob's coming to get my stuff in a bit,” she yawns.

“You’re leaving today ?”

“Yeah, I mean, I already stay there most nights and it shouldn’t take long to move everything.” She sits up in bed, her arms stretched out above her head. “I can stay longer if you need me to. I just figured with the rent situation you wouldn't need notice? I can cover bills if you need help.”

The rent situation is that my dad bought this place when I graduated as an investment property, so Hattie and I never actually needed to pay rent. We’ve both been working and saving money ever since, but we’ve always agreed that this was too good of a deal to give up, especially when living together was so easy and fun.

“No, it’s fine. There’s plenty in the account. Do you still want to go to the spa tomorrow?”

“Oh my God, of course, babe. I’m moving out, not dying. A massage will be perfect after packing and unpacking all day.”

She throws back her covers and starts digging bags out of her wardrobe, dumping them on the bed and shoving clothes inside. She’s really doing this. Right now.

I have two options. Go out and give her space. Or stay and help. I choose option two, not wanting to put myself through the trauma of seeing her one day, then feeling like she's ceased to exist.

“Do you want my help with packing?”

“That would be amazing, actually. The sooner I can get it done, the better.”

Her words sting. I didn't know she was so desperate to leave me.