Page 1 of Resisting my Roommate

CHAPTER ONE

JUDE

“Want another?” the bartender asks as I sit at the counter of a darkened bar.

Just like I do on this day every year.

I wish it could be like any other day.

Iwantit to be like any other day.

It’s not. I doubt it ever will be.

I give the bartender a curt nod, and he takes my empty rocks glass, replacing it with a fresh one. Raising the amber liquid to my lips, I allow the familiar burn to course through me, trying to drown the grief that still plagues me.

Especially today.

The sound of excited voices interrupts the memories playing in my mind like a bad movie, and I glance behind me as a group of women file inside, all of them dressed for a night out on the town. The sashes and tacky necklaces they wear make it clear it’s a bachelorette party.

Great.

Facing forward, I do my best to tune them out as they order shots and toast the bride-to-be’s future happiness. I can’t help but scoff at the naïve notion that happiness is all you need for a marriage to work. They have no idea how fleeting happiness is.

As I tip back my glass so I can down my drink and make a hasty exit, I sense someone approach beside me. Glancing to my right, I rake my gaze down the tall brunette wearing a fitted white dress, a makeshift veil askew on her head, along with a sash that reads “Bride-to-Be”. Based on the giant stone sparkling on her left hand, her future husband must do well for himself.

“Nice rock,” I say.

She darts her head toward me. “What’s that?”

I nod at her hand. “Your ring. It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” she answers with what seems like forced enthusiasm. Which intrigues me.

“When’s the big day?” I ask after the bartender takes her order for an ice water with lemon. Another surprise, since the rest of her friends seem to be on a mission to get as drunk as possible. Not her, though. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be celebrating at all.

“Saturday.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

As the owner of a brewery and taproom a short distance from here, I’ve dealt with my fair share of bachelorette parties. Usually, the bride is gushing over the idea of walking down the aisle and saying “I do”.

Not this woman.

“You don’t seem too excited,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“What makes you say that?” she challenges, facing me.

I shrug, taking another sip of my whiskey. “Most brides are practically glowing, babbling about floral arrangements or how their fiancé is the most perfect man on the planet.”

I study her for a beat, noticing how she fidgets with her engagement ring. Like it’s more of a burden than a symbol of a man’s undying love.

Or maybe I just want to see it that way.

“You seem more… reserved.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like babbling,” she replies, her tone dry. “I’m excited about getting married.”

A humorless laugh escapes my throat. “Why’s that?”

“I found someone who makes me happy. Why wouldn’t I want to marry him?”

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