Page 22 of The Roommate Lie

Welcome to the neighborhood.

Chapter Twelve

CHARLIE

I’m avoiding Alice Kilpatrick. And it’s not going well.

Roommates are pretty hard to stay away from in general. Cute roommates with freckles and warm brown eyes are impossible. They’re basically magnets.

I wake up before dawn and hurry downstairs, hoping to get out of here before she starts her day. But it’s too late. It’s barely six o’clock, yet everyone is already in the kitchen—including my new favorite magnet.

My gaze pulls toward her instantly. Alice gives me a shy smile as she grabs a few of the pancakes Lydia made. She looks apologetic, as if she feels bad about staying here. As if Alice is convinced I don’t want her around.

I wish.

In return, I give her a tight smile. I don’t trust myself to do anything else. Getting caught in those warm brown eyes again and going all primal like I did at The BookSlinger isn’t an option.

Not today, ginger temptress.

I don’t even trust myself to say hello. I’m too afraid I’ll slip and call her Carrots, and I like using that nickname way too much. That nickname is Not Allowed.

Lydia picks up on my weirdness right away, jumping to all the right conclusions. That woman sees the world through romance-colored glasses, even when I wish she wouldn’t. Her other bad habit is comparing real life to tropes, and I can feel a storm brewing.

Her dog, Cookie, is by her feet in the kitchen, chewing on his beloved stuffed bumble bee, and she pauses her pancake making to scratch behind his ears. Then she gives me a knowing smile before glancing away. In less than two seconds, my phone buzzes with a text.

Lydia:Uh-oh. He falls first?

She follows that with an emoji, the one with the face surrounded by hearts, and I want to throw my phone across the room. But I also want to unpack all Alice’s things and burn her bus ticket home—though only if she wants me to.

My gut instinct, my very first thought, is to text back “he falls first, she falls harder.” That’s how long I’ve been in the romance book club—I can speak in tropes. But I don’t type that. It’s wishful thinking, the very definition of an impossible dream.

I’ve seen Alice’s ex, and Jason isn’t an outlier. When you pair him with the heroes in her books, the ones I’ve read for book club anyway, that woman has a type. Alice likes rich grumps, and I can’t compete. As much as I have a weakness for her, she doesn’t have a weakness for guys like me.

Instead of responding to Lydia’s text, I give her a look. She’s been trying to play matchmaker since she moved in, and I pretend this is another failed attempt, another Lydia-setup gonewrong. Not that she cares. She just wags her eyebrows at me from the stove. Undeterred.

Her twin brother, Tyler, has been oblivious at the dining table until now. He’s my old college roommate and my best friend, but his eyes narrow when he sees the look I’m giving his sister and the one she’s giving me. Although, he’s mostly kidding.

Glancing at me, he says the one thing I wish he wouldn’t. Making the same joke he always does. “Hold up, Romeo. We’ve got one rule.”

Normally, I don’t mind this joke, but it feels different with Alice here. Tyler doesn’t notice. His focus is on me, not her, and he grins like the teasing jerk he is, my favorite jerk.

“What’s our rule, Roscoe?”

I just want to get this over with. So I roll my eyes like I always do. “Sisters are off-limits.”

He nods, satisfied, and goes back to his breakfast. But something stings in my chest that usually doesn’t.

Lydia and I are only friends. We feel more like siblings than anything, and we’re on the same page. But Tyler’s joke makes me sound like a creep. As if I’d pounce in a second if he wasn’t keeping an eye on me.

And it also makes it sound like I’m not good enough for his sister. Like I’m the one person he wouldn’t trust.

Lydia can see it too, everything I’m feeling, this new take on our old joke. She changes the subject, reaching for a paper on the kitchen counter and waving it like a prize. “Guess who got a mention in our favorite publication? Good news travels fast.”

The Victorian.

She hands that paper to Alice, and her brown eyes widen with delight as she glances at me. “This town has a scandal sheet?”

I don’t want to find her excitement adorable, but I’m only human. A few of Alice’s Regency romances contain a scandal sheet plot line, and her eyes sparkle like her dreams are coming true.

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