Page 25 of Roommate's Guide to Love

I don’t know much about women, but I know that doesn’t mean fine.

“Bullshit.”

She turns her shocked eyes to me. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not fine.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because I might not’ve seen you much over the past few years, but I can tell when someone is trying to put on a brave face.”

I should know, because that’s what I’ve been doing for the past week since Pops passed away.

She lets out a deep sigh and her shoulders fall a bit. “You’re right. I’m not. But I’ll be okay.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I figured out a while ago that I have the bartender gift of being a good ear for someone who’s crying in their whiskey. And if that someone happens to be the girl I had a crush on back in high school? Then I’m all ears.

“I appreciate the offer, Porter, but it seems pretty selfish of me to complain about my love life when you buried your dad today.”

“Please, I insist.” I swallow the slight amount of jealousy I’m feeling for no good reason. “Between you and me, I need a distraction from everything. This week has been…”

I trail off, because any words that could finish that sentence aren’t strong enough for what I’ve had to go through.

“I can’t imagine having to bury a parent,” Quinn says. “I mean, I know realistically one day I’ll have to. But I selfishly know Maeve will take care of everything. I’ll just have to show up. I’m so sorry you’ve had to do this alone.”

I hang my head, because I think that’s been the hardest part. Yes, my Aunt Peggy has helped a lot. She was his sister and the only other family I’ve still got. God knows my mother couldn’t be bothered to show an ounce of sadness, or God forbid, show up.

“I thought I was ready,” I admit. “Pop hadn’t been doing well. He never really bounced back after his heart attack.”

“Is anyone ever ready?”

“I’m beginning to think not,” I say. “This week has just been so damn hard. I feel like as soon as I get one thing organized or figured out, six more things end up on my lap.”

“Have you had anytime to grieve? Or process it?”

I take a breath and look up at the stars. “Every night I’ve come out here, or sat on my porch, and just looked at the stars. I’m not sure if I believe in heaven, or an afterlife, but…I don’t know…somehow looking at the sky has made me feel like he’s still here. That he’s gone, but not really. Does that make sense?”

I take a second and push back the tears.

“Hey,” she says as she reaches for my hand. “Let it out. I’m the one interrupting your time right now. Don’t hold back because of me.”

I look down to where our hands are connected. What I would’ve given years ago to hold this girl’s hand. Yes, she was a few years younger than me, but she never acted like it. She was funny. Smart. Likes hockey—and what girl likes hockey in Rolling Hills? A little crazy. A whole lot of beautiful.

Exactly my type.

There was just one problem; Quinn wanted nothing to do with me. I asked her out a few times—movies, a high school basketball game, that kind of thing—and she always laughed me off. She said we could go as friends. Or with a group.

After a while, I stopped asking. An eighteen-year-old guy can only be turned down so much, you know? Plus, I realized not too long after that single life was the way to go. No hearts are broken. No one leaves you. No shattered pieces to pick up.

So it’s funny that now, when I’m feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, it’s Quinn Banks to comfort me.

“Have you ever felt completely alone?” I ask.

She huffs out a laugh. “Every day.”

I know it was a rhetorical question, but her answer still surprises me. “Really? Quinn Banks, the most extroverted person I’ve ever met, feels lonely?”

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