Page 4 of Dear Roomie
“She won’t be awful,” I tell her, but I have no way of knowing if my words are true.
I grab Grover’s leash and hug them both before starting the walk back to my apartment. Each step closer fans the smoldering bundle of nerves in my gut, stoking my anxiety into a raging inferno. Morgan could be terrible. She could hate me and try to make my life a living hell for the next year. She could also end up becoming one of my best friends. I won’t know until I meet her, but that doesn’t stop the worst-case scenarios from playing out in my head like flashes of a nightmare the entire way.
Chapter 3
Morgan
The front door slams, the jarring sound snapping my spine straight.
James must be back.
All too easily, I got lost in the mindless repetition of unloading and unpacking, but the idea of finally meeting my new roommate brings my reality back into sharp focus. My shoulders heave with heavy breaths as I take in the piles of boxes scattered around my room. It was too much to hope that he came back after I got everything cleaned up.
Beads of sweat roll down my back, gluing damp cotton to my skin. It’s the slick, sticky type that comes from an afternoon of manual labor in the humidity. My whole body is drenched in it. Even my hair clings to my forehead in wet clumps. This isn’t the state I’d prefer to be in to make a first impression. You never get a second chance there, and I dress with that in mind. At some point during the seemingly endless trips, the heat won out, and I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and undid a few of the top buttons, leaving me in a disheveled state of half dress.
There might be time for me to freshen up.
Both options battle in my head while my eyes dart between the door to the bathroom and the hallway. The choice shouldn’t be this hard. With a resigned sigh, I move toward the hall. We might as well get introductions out of the way now, and it’s not like he won’t see me in a variety of states over the next year—some probably worse than this.
The wind is yanked from my sails as I step into the living room, and I stumble to a stop. It isn’t James who’s entered; it’sher.
She’s even more beautiful in person.
I don’t think she’s noticed me yet. A huge German shepherd has all of her attention. Her face glows with a radiant smile as she unhooks him from the leash and scratches behind his ears. My stomach flutters like I’m a schoolgirl with a crush. That thought pushes the feeling away in an instant. Catching feelings for my roommate’s girlfriend is the absolute last thing I need. Still, I mentally curse myself for not choosing the shower.
The dog, on the other hand, definitely notices me. Its hackles raise as it positions itself between me and the woman. I swear it looked smaller in the photos. It snarls at me, and confusion replaces the beautiful smile on the woman’s face.
“Grover, wh—” James’s girlfriend freezes when she sees me standing in the hallway, her eyes widening in fear. She takes a slow step toward the door and pulls her phone out of her pocket.
Well, crap. He must not have told her I was moving in today.
Before I can get a word out to introduce myself, all of the emotion drains from her face. She stands taller, and an icy mask freezes over the warmth she came in with.
“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?” she all but spits at me. Her words are laced with venom, but the hint of a southern accent peeking through softens their impact.
“I’m Morgan Hall,” I tell her and raise my hands where she can see them. The rapid pounding in my chest nearly drowns out my steady words. “James’s new roommate.”
“No you aren’t. Try again.” Her glare is murderous.
My jaw falls slack at the absurdity of her demand.
“Try what again, saying my name?” An edge of sarcasm laces my words, not helping the situation. I take a breath and try again, deliberately keeping my voice even. “I can prove it if you need me to. I’ve got my ID in my pocket, or I couldcall James and clear this whole thing up.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and click on James’s contact without giving her a chance to protest.
The dial tone plays in my ear, and the woman’s face drops in absolute horror as her phone begins to ring. The cheerful, melodic tone hangs in the air, mocking us. She doesn’t make any move to answer the phone, and I am too stunned to hang up. The ringing stops, and an awkward tension remains in its place. After another beat, she confirms what I already suspected.
“I’m James.”
Her dog, Grover, growls again and stalks toward me. My gaze jumps between the dog and its owner, but she doesn’t make any move to stop him. Despite being several inches shorter than me, she looks at me from down her nose, her face twisted with loathing.
“Can you get your dog?” I resort to pleading as my unease grows. “Please.”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a sharp, two-toned whistle. Grover relaxes and slinks off to lie on a cushion near the couch.
“Thank you,” I tell her, but she only glares.
“Okay, you are Morgan Hall,” the woman—my new roommate—says after several minutes of tense silence. “How are we going to fix this?”
“Fix it?” My face scrunches in confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
