Page 21 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“It’s fine. I needed the space from him anyway.”

“Why?” I ask. Those two have always been inseparable unless Jake was studying or working on his thesis. Or if Milo wanted to get laid. Otherwise, they were a solid two peas in a pod.

His expression sours, and he takes a sip of his coffee. He’s probably wondering why we’re having this conversation in the first place. Em and Jake barely said five sentences to each other in the span of months. But Maddie and Jake? Apparently, we’re more chatty.

He sets his cup down and rubs at his temple roughly, muttering, “Because he won’t get off my back about some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

He motions to his hungover face. “This kind of stuff.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “He doesn’t like you partying?”

“He doesn’t like me throwing my future away.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “And why are you throwing away your future?”

Rimming his coffee cup with his index finger again, he avoids my gaze and lets out a sigh. “Because I was in love with his little sister before she moved in here and chose River instead of me.”

Ouch.

River was another roommate of Milo’s. He used to live here too. All of them did.

River, Gibson, Fender, Jake, and Milo.

They were quite the group.

All hot. All different. Yet somehow, their opposite personalities worked.

Then, River wound up being offered a big Hollywood movie role and moved out to film it. And Gibson and Fender wound up traveling with their band,Broken Vows, with my sister, leaving Jake and Milo as the final two original roommates.

However, what doesn’t make sense is why Jake would be throwing his life away for a girl.

“And who, exactly, does it hurt, Jake?” I ask carefully.

He glances over at me with bloodshot eyes. “What?”

“Who does it hurt when you wallow in self-pity and throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for? Does it hurt her? Does it hurt Milo for keeping you two apart? Who does it hurt?”

Dropping his chin to his chest, he sighs. “You don’t get it.”

“Explain it to me.”

“I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of always being the stand-up guy.”

“Being a stand-up guy isn’t a bad thing––”

“I knew you wouldn’t get it,” he reminds me, an exhausted smile tugging at his lips. “I’m tired of working hard and showing up when shit still manages to slip through my fingers. Girls don’t want the nice guy. They want the bad boy who treats them like shit. Employers don’t want the sheltered nerd. They want the guy with charisma who was in the same fraternity as them and has connections.” He reaches for the Liquid IV concoction, lifts the glass to his lips, but sets it back down without taking a sip. “It’s never enough. None of it is. And I was tired of striving for perfection only to realize I’d always fall short like I did with Reese.”

“You didn’t fall––”

“It’s exactly what I did. It’s what I’mdoing. So, why try? Am I right?”

I open my mouth to argue with him but close it quickly.

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