Page 32 of Roommate
“Here,” Kieran says. He pulls an old business card out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s from a barbershop, but he’s scrawled an address on the back. “It’s the white house right on the Colebury green. You can’t miss it. I’ll leave the side door open. Take the downstairs bedroom. There’s nothing in it, but it’s heated.”
“You can’t leave your door unlocked.”
He rolls his eyes. “Better lock it after you come in, then.”
At that, he walks across the lot, climbs into a pickup that’s almost as old as my car, and drives away.
I let out a shout of frustration that dies quickly in the nighttime void and then get back in my car. There’s snow in my hair now. I sit for a moment, stubborn and shivering.
He probably hopes I won’t actually show up. He did his part, right? He gave me the option, so now he can feel okay about it.
Then again, he drove over here at eleven at night to offer me a room in his house.
I ponder my choices for a little while longer. I can either sit here feeling cold and miserable all night. Or I can go someplace I’m not wanted.
It’s really freaking cold in my car, so in the end, it’s an easy decision. I’m clinging to the bottom rung of my own life, and Kieran Shipley—Lord knows why—just offered me a hand up.
I’d be an idiot not to take it.
* * *
Even so, it takes me another half hour to get up the courage to drive into the center of town and pull into the driveway of a pretty white house right on the town green. I double and then triple check the address before I walk up to the side door and try the knob.
It’s unlocked.
I take a deep breath and then push the door open. “Hello?” I call out, and the sound of my own voice echoes. “This had better be Kieran’s house. Either that, or I’m about to be arrested for trespassing. And I don’t have bail money.”
I hear what may possibly be a distant snort of laughter. And then quiet footsteps begin to pace down the dark stairs.
Kieran comes into view bit by bit. First the plaid pajama pants on long legs. And then those abs and a broad chest covered by a T-shirt that stretches tautly across all those muscles. But the darkness—or maybe it’s the late hour—softens him. “Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey,” I grunt, sounding grumpy in spite of my gratitude. “I, uh, know it’s late. You’re going to be dead in the morning.”
“And you’re not?”
I shake my head. “If I can lie flat for five hours, it will be the best night of sleep I’ve had in a week. But are you sure about this?”
“Of course,” he whispers. “Let me give you the nickel tour.”
I follow him through the darkened rooms, where the streetlights from outside show me enough to get the lay of the land. The kitchen has been recently updated, but everything else is old school—in a good way. The ceilings are high, and there are original moldings and traditional wood floors.
“Nice house,” I say, giving a low whistle.
“I know.” He runs one hand through tousled hair. “It’s a lot nicer than I’d be renting without the insider’s price from Zara. I figured I’d rent out this downstairs bedroom.” He gestures toward the darkened doorway at the back. “That way we’d have separate bathrooms.”
“Good plan,” I agree. Lord knows I’m not strong enough to resist a glimpse of his naked body as he steps out of the shower.
I want a glimpse, of course. Because I’m still breathing.
This is probably a terrible idea, but not terrible enough for me to sleep in my car if I don’t have to.
“Upstairs there’s another two bedrooms and a bathroom. And an attic I haven’t ventured into. So I’d have more space than you. But I also agreed to do some maintenance for Zara. And a few other things.”
“Cool.” I wave a hand to indicate that square footage is not exactly important to me. “How much is the rent?”
“Your part would be six-fifty a month, plus utilities. I have no idea how much heat and electric will cost, though.”
“That’s all?” I’m stunned. “That’s cheap.”
