Page 22 of Resisting my Roommate

If I didn’t need my phone as badly as I do, I might hurl it across the room.

Instead, I stare blankly ahead, trying to brush off our conversation like it’s no big deal. I feel like I did all those years I lived under his roof. Like I’m a guest who’s overstayed her welcome.

Closing my eyes, I swallow through the lump in my throat, willing myself not to cry.

Before Carson came into my life with his false promises of love and stability, this was my reality — being on my own, living as an outsider. It’s what I’ve always known.

Just once, I’d like to feel like I belong somewhere.

Like I have a place to call home.

CHAPTER TEN

JUDE

“Table five is still waiting on their IPAs,” Lindsey says in a rushed voice as she brushes past me, grabbing a few glasses and pouring her order.

“Can you take care of them for me? I’m backed up.”

“And I’m not? Maybe you should call in Dylan.”

I steal a glance around the taproom, every table inside taken, as well as most on the patio. The sun streams in through the large windows, bathing the room in light. It seems everyone has decided it’s the perfect afternoon to enjoy a few beers.

“She needs a day off. We’ll handle it. And if people don’t want to wait, they can go somewhere else.”

“We need more staff,” Lindsey reminds me, placing her order onto her tray before returning to pour my forgotten IPAs.

“I’m working on it,” I reply, turning and setting several beers in front of a group of men around my age, all of them dressed in golf attire.

I take their card and swipe it through the register, then move down the line of thirsty customers, a mixture of locals and tourists awaiting their turn to order.

“What can I get you?” I ask the next group.

But their order fades into the background when the door opens and a woman walks in, a wedding dress draped over her arms.

After I left for work, I wasn’t sure if I’d see Abbey again. Part of me didn’t want to, not after the way my body reacted to the feel of her skin on mine as I unbuttoned her dress last night. Or the way I had to practically peel my hands off her hips when she fell into me after I returned from my run this morning.

It’s a sobering realization.

Sure, I’ve been with women over the past few years. Probably more than I care to admit. But they were all meaningless. A way to numb the debilitating pain and soul-crushing loss that’s consumed me for too long now.

That’s not the case with Abbey, and I don’t know how to make sense of these feelings stirring inside me, especially after all this time.

“Did you get all that?”

I snap my attention back to the men in front of me. “Sorry. One more time.”

One of them rolls their eyes in annoyance, but repeats it, and I get to work on pouring a couple of lagers and a brown ale. After setting the glasses on the bar and swiping their card, I turn my focus to the next group.

“Just give me one second, please. I’ll be right with you.”

I don’t miss their aggravated groans, along with snide remarks that they’ve already been waiting over ten minutes. But they don’t leave. They know my beer is the best around.

I duck out from behind the bar and head toward Abbey. She’s wearing the t-shirt and jeans I picked up for her earlier. Her brown hair falls to her mid back in gentle waves, not a single lick of makeup on her face.

She looks almost as good as she did this morning wearing just my t-shirt.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you,” she says, cutting through my thoughts. “I wanted to say goodbye, and to thank you for everything. The clothes. Phone charger. A place to stay. It means a lot.”

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