Page 8 of Five Minute Man
Not that there was anything wrong with either, but her family, especially her mother, was convinced that a woman could only be truly happy if she had a husband and children of her own.
At the moment, she was neither a spinster nor a proud member of the LGBT community. Despite the lack of malehumancompanionship, Holly was still a twig and berries kind of girl. Though, if things kept going the way they were, spinsterhood was looking increasingly likely.
However, she did have Max, who was her saving grace. Old maids had cats or parakeets, not dogs. She reminded herself of this known and scientifically proven fact daily.
It wasn’t always easy, but Holly loved her fixer-upper cottage, one of the last remaining outbuildings on what had once been a palatial estate belonging to William Penn, for whom the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania was named.
She loved having the freedom to stay in her PJs all day long if she wanted to. And she loved the fact that what little she had was hers and hers alone, and she didn’t have to share with bitchy older siblings, annoying younger ones, or—the worst of all possible creatures—roommates.
She’d had enough ofthemto last a lifetime. First at home, sharing a room with her sisters. Then at the state university, where she had been paired with a girl whose biggest college achievement was being selected as a little sister in one of the nastiest frats on campus. Really, if you were into that whole “brotherhood/sisterhood” thing, why not at least go for a sorority? And, of course the coup de grace—her disappointing attempts to find a compatible, mature young adult to share an apartment in town.
If there was one thing Holly had learned about herself over the years, it was that she didn’t like having roommates. There was no faster way to dislike a person and ruin what might have been a good friendship than by moving in with someone.
In Holly’s experience, the quiet, shy ones turned out to be noisy and annoying, especially when she was trying to do something that required peace and quiet, like reading or writing, the two things Holly loved to do most. The perfectly coiffed Debs were actually pigs behind closed doors, and the steadfast and loyal types often proved untrustworthy in the end, stiffing her for rent and horking her food.
The absolute worst thing about roommates? It wasn’t sharing a kitchen or microscopic living room, but a communal bathroom. Holly had yet to find anyone aware of, much less a devout practitioner of, the ass-tag convention. Her last cohabiter actually had the nerve to look at her like she was crazy for having even brought it up. As if getting out of the shower and wanting to know that you could dry your face without having to worry if the same towel had just dried someone’s ass was a bad thing!
Honestly. And they thoughtshewas the weird one.
Holly sat back and re-read the last few paragraphs, her face flushing and her body heating from the latest in a series of really hot scenes. She decided her alpha muse would just have to remain in her deepest, darkest fantasies, only coming to life on the pages of her stories and her dreams.
Who needed the real thing when she had a writer’s imagination and Vinny?
