The Roommate Rule

Chapter 1

One

do not be swayed by blue eyes and grey sweatpants

Dylan

I am categorically not the kind of person who would spend six weeks living with a man I’ve only met once.

A whole year ago.

For approximately ten minutes.

During which he spent the entirety of our conversation drunkenly giving me The Eyes and calling me Ellen.

And yet, a woman who looks a lot like me is at Paddington Station on this unexpectedly chilly late-August morning, goosebumps pebbling the pale skin of forever-exposed

ankles while she waits for Max Monroe to arrive.

Ava, his twin sister and one of my closest friends, texted to tell me they’re on their way, but from experience, I know this

doesn’t mean much. Ava Monroe seems to have a very different definition of being ‘on the way’ from most people; one that revolves

around being very much not ‘on the way’. Judging by her brother’s inability to answer my texts over the last couple of weeks in any kind of timely manner,

I fear this is a family trait.

This whole thing started a few weeks ago. Ava came to my flat, and my younger sister saw an opportunity to get her on her side in our latest argument.

‘Ava, tell Dyl that she cannot cancel her time off next month,’ Tahlia said, the second Ava walked through the door.

Ava didn’t miss a beat. ‘You booked this annual leave for a reason. Take the break while you can.’

‘The reason being that I was supposed to be going away with Jeremy to celebrate his flashy promotion and five years together.’ I cast

my mind back and added, ‘And my graduation.’

Ava pulled a face at the mention of my ex. ‘No, the reason is that you deserve it. Also, you still graduated. Don’t sell yourself short.’

‘See?’ Tahlia said. ‘Ava agrees. You need to do something. Go somewhere.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. Nothing is arranged, and please don’t even think about suggesting winging it, because that

sounds like my idea of hell.’ I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Besides, it’d be way too expensive to book something so last

minute.’

I’d set aside time to go away, but things kept coming up–Tahlia’s birthday, my final exams, graduation–and I never got around

to planning it. It didn’t feel important. I’d just take on more shifts to save up some money before my accountancy scheme

started in January, and at least that way I’d have some extra cash to put into Tahlia’s uni fund. That was good enough, for

now.

‘Funny you say that,’ Ava said, dropping on to our worn sofa next to me, ‘because I happen to know a travel vlogger whose

plus-one just dropped out of an all-expenses-paid trip, and I bet you could join. You wouldn’t have to pay for or plan it.’

At that, something suspiciously like excitement fluttered in my stomach.

‘It’s a sign,’ said Tahlia, who was in a phase where quite literally everything she encountered was a sign.

She danced around the living room, and I got a glimpse of the kid whose homework I’d help with at our wobbly dining table, and then stopped in her tracks.

‘Just to clarify, the travel vlogger in question is Hot Max, right?’

That would’ve been a great moment for the sofa cushions to swallow me, but alas, I was not so lucky. Ava didn’t need to know

that, fine, when I briefly met her brother at her housewarming party last year, I concluded that he was an objectively handsome, if obnoxious, man, and this may have come up briefly in conversation with Tahlia afterwards, who proceeded to become one of the many hundreds of thousands

of people who followed him on social media.

‘I don’t know any Hot Maxes,’ Ava said flatly. ‘My brother Max, however, was just telling me about it the other day–it’s six weeks at some eco-lodge in Wales. The owners are getting influencers

to create a bunch of content and promote it before they reopen to the public after a refurbishment, I think.’

‘I can’t take six weeks off work,’ I point out.

‘Please,’ Ava scoffed, ‘the coffee shop will take you back. And if they don’t, plenty more places would have you in a heartbeat.’

I ignored her self-satisfied smirk. Instead, I checked my mental calendar and said, ‘Tahlia, I’d miss move-in day. I promised

I’d help settle you in at uni, didn’t I?’

‘Stop looking for excuses. I’ll be fine. Mum or Dad can help me move.’ She stepped in front of me and looked down, a challenge

in her voice. ‘Look, it’s a free trip. You’d be silly not to take it. And I can tell you actually do want to go, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be asking so many questions and trying to figure out logistics. So quit your

job. Cause a ruckus. Have fun.’

If there is a person on Earth less likely to cause a ruckus than me, I am yet to meet them.

‘Hey,’ Ava said, elbowing me lightly in the ribs in an uncharacteristic display of physical contact, ‘don’t let your ex bailing

on you be the reason you don’t do something you’ve always wanted to do, okay? This is the only piece of downtime you’ve got

scheduled for the next decade. Might as well make the most of it.’

She had a point. I’d always wanted to see more of the world, the country, anywhere that wasn’t my own front yard, and the trip with Jeremy was supposed to do that. If nothing else, this could take me somewhere new, just for a short time.

I wanted to say yes, but there was one final hurdle. ‘You haven’t even asked your brother if it’s okay yet.’

‘Let’s find out, then,’ Ava pulled her phone out to send a text, and moments later, a reply came through. She turned her screen

to me with a raised eyebrow.

Max: Works for me, send me her info

All I remember thinking is: That is not normal behaviour, because who agrees to spend six weeks living with a stranger after thinking it over for approximately three seconds?

But the answer to that is me, apparently, because here I am, waiting by a pillar on the station concourse with a giant suitcase, simultaneously keeping

an eye out for Ava and her brother, and refusing to meet the gaze of anyone who so much as glances my way.

Because while Tahlia dreams of having all eyes on her, my efforts to be a wallflower are decidedly less effective than I’d

like. I get the classics, of course. Wow, how tall are you? (Six feet, on a short day.) You must be a model. (You must be joking.) Do you play basketball? (Netball, actually, and only until I found out how many extra shifts my mum was taking to pay for it.)

So when my phone buzzes with rapidly concurrent texts that can only be from my sister, I’m grateful for the excuse to look

down and hide my face behind a dark-blonde curtain of hair.

Tahlia: have the best time!!!

Tahlia: is hot max? there yet

Tahlia: send me pics of him

Dylan: Thank you, and no

Dylan: And . . . also no, I will not be doing that

Dylan: That’s weird

I should never have done a deep dive into Max’s content with her. Because yes, he does have a face that is well suited to

being in front of a camera; something almost five hundred thousand people seem to agree on. But he also has an arrogance that

tells me he’s never been told ‘no’ in his life, and it probably comes from having that sort of face.

His earliest work was cinematic: combinations of tiny details and vast, sweeping shots, and an impressive ability to mimic

a place’s atmosphere through the screen. It’s no wonder those videos caught people’s attention back then; they were works

of art.

But there was a point, maybe seven or eight years ago, when he changed his style. Since then, he’s included himself in videos

more, with snappy vlogs that move so quickly you need to watch them twice to get every detail (probably some engagement tactic),

usually with flashes of incredible views, some quippy joke, and a few ‘candid’ shots of him. If the likes he now gets and

the frequency of his sponsored posts are anything to go by, the switch-up was a good business move.

Tahlia: what if he posts you

Dylan: That’s what I’m worried about

Tahlia: i’ll show my uni friends and say i know a famous person

Tahlia: just went to his profile and turned his post notifications on

Dylan: Once again, bit weird

Tahlia: you love it

Dylan: I do ??

Tahlia: speaking of i do

Tahlia: can i be maid of honour at your wedding?

Dylan: You’re so lucky I like you

My fingers find their way to the fraying threads of the friendship bracelet we both got at a sleepy seaside town on the south

coast a few years ago. Tahlia’s my favourite person in the world, and even just thinking about how I’m going to come home

to a flat she doesn’t live in anymore is making my nerves skyrocket. It’s always been us against the world.

Tahlia: i look best in green btw

Tahlia: i’ll add some ideas to your pinterest board

There’s no point denying the existence of a Pinterest board; she’s definitely seen it. Seen me meticulously, if a little soullessly,

add things to a range of boards over the years. Career, wedding, house, life.

I catch a flash of blonde in my periphery and look up, half expecting to see my ex, as if I might’ve conjured him up just

by thinking about that wedding board. That was where I thought we were headed. Four and a half years of laying foundations

and making picture-perfect plans.

But the blonde guy who passes by isn’t Jeremy; it’s just another clean-shaven man in a well-cut suit and a walk that makes

it seem like he has somewhere important to be.

What Tahlia doesn’t know is that I have another board, one I only look at when I’m feeling a little wistful. A cosy café. The seaside. Sunrise. A life so different from

the one I’m in. One I’ve never even tried.

Maybe that’s why I committed to this trip in the end. It wasn’t just Ava’s and Tahlia’s persistence. I want a taste of that life before I’m pulled back to the one I’ve worked so hard for, with clear goalposts and plans and stability.

I glance up from my phone at the sound of a familiar laugh. There’s Ava, whose scowl tells me she’d rather be anywhere but