Page 59 of Resisting my Roommate

JUDE

A sliver of soft, golden light filters through the curtains in my darkened bedroom, gradually rousing me from a restful sleep. I’m exhausted, but in the best way possible. I haven’t felt this satisfied in a long time. This rested. This at peace. All because of Abbey.

Desperate to feel her body against mine, I roll over, expecting her to still be next to me. But when I’m met with cold sheets, I snap my eyes open, confused to learn I’m alone.

Normally, I’d be happy to find my bed empty after spending the night with a woman. But I hate that Abbey’s not here. Hate that, despite promising she’d stay, she snuck out anyway.

Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe she needed to use the bathroom.

I slip out of bed and grab a pair of gym shorts from the dresser, tugging them on before heading out of the room. Abbey’s door is open so I peek inside, furrowing my brow when I see her duvet is slightly askew, her sheets wrinkled. It was made when I stopped by to grab something yesterday afternoon. And since Abbey was working all day, the only time she would have been able to sleep in the bed was last night.

When did she leave my room? And why?

Even more unsettling, why do I care?

I continue down the stairs, thinking maybe she’s doing yoga in the living room or sipping on a coffee in the kitchen — something she usually did in the morning before things became strained. Since then, she’s limited the amount of time she’s spent outside of her room, at least whenever I’ve been home.

But she’s not down here, either.

She’s nowhere.

I don’t know why I’m so bothered by her unexpected disappearance. She’s free to come and go as she pleases.

But I hate the way it makes me feel.

Needing to clear my mind, I head back upstairs and toss on some running clothes. While some people hate running, I’ve always enjoyed it. It helps me block out everything else going on in my life and focus solely on putting one foot in front of the other.

But no matter how hard I try to think of anything other than my night with Abbey, she keeps weaseling her way back into my mind. The way she moved, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin against mine — it all floods back, leaving me wanting more of her.

Leaving me wantingallof her.

It’s a selfish thought, considering I’m not sure Icanhave all of her.

I’m not sure Ideserveto have all of her.

A voice that sounds surprisingly like Finn echoes in my head, reminding me that I could have her if I would just get over myself and stop worrying about the past repeating itself.

But am I willing to put myself through that again?

Am Ireadyto put myself through that again when I still struggle with the loss?

Hell, the day I found Abbey in the nursery was the first time I’d peeked inside that room in years. We all mourn in our ownways, I suppose. We all handle our grief differently. Whereas I refused to so much as even look at that room, Krista spent nearly every hour of every day in there, crying herself to sleep until all her tears were gone.

Then, one day, she was gone, too.

I fight to push down the memory as I wind my way back down Main Street, skirting by a few locals who are starting their Saturday morning with breakfast at the diner or a cup of coffee at the local café.

And then I see her.

Abbey’s sitting at a table outside the coffee shop, leisurely sipping on an iced coffee and reading. Her sunglasses hide her eyes and her dark hair is styled in a loose braid cascading over her shoulder, most likely hiding the teeth marks I left on her neck last night.

A rush of possessiveness shoots through me from the memory, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m marching up to her, coming to a stop in front of her table.

Sensing my presence, she darts her head up, inhaling sharply when she sees me.

“Jude.” She removes her sunglasses. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes dance over my frame as I try to catch my breath. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, unsure how to respond. This is why I don’t get attached. Why I avoid anything serious. I’m all twisted up inside and hate it.

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