The Perfect Roommate by Minka Kent Read Online (FREE)
“How are you feeling?” she asks, taking a seat at the table. Her plate rests on a woven rattan placemat, her silverware on a cloth napkin. I wonder if being this formal all the time ever gets exhausting or if it’s simply second nature at this point. And then I wonder if she’s ever known what it’s like to shovel cold cereal into her mouth while sitting in a living room watching Green Acres and I Love Lucy reruns on public television because she doesn’t have cable or satellite.
“Just a little headache,” I lie. More like a massive fucking freight train plowing through the center of my brain. I overdid it last night and I don’t feel like looking like the novice that I am.
“There’s aspirin in the cupboard by the sink,” she tells me. “Help yourself. Help yourself to anything you need, always.”
“Thank you.” I pour my store-brand milk and grab a thin metal spoon from my drawer and take a seat across from her. “How did we get home last night?”
Lauren glances up from her plate. “You don’t remember?”
I blink. Twice. Obviously I don’t remember or I wouldn’t be asking. “Everything’s a little fuzzy still.”
“You were talking to this guy,” she says. “And then you left with him. Heard you stumble in around three AM.”
Jesus. Who just lets their friend go home with a stranger? What if I’d been sexually assaulted or killed last night?
“I did?” I drop my spoon into my tasteless cereal.
“You two were all over each other, making out, getting handsy.” Lauren laughs, stabbing her eggs with her fork. “We told you to get a room. Guess you took it literally.”
I don’t believe her.
I haven’t made out with anyone since high school, and it was the geeky foreign exchange student from Holland who couldn’t kiss worth shit and whose breath tasted like fish and Wrigley’s gum—the kind in the white package.
But what reason would she have to lie?
I try not to act like it bothered me that my safety wasn’t a concern of hers or that I’m questioning her interpretation of events. I’ll know now for next time to contain myself a little more. Scary how easy it was for me to get caught up in the moment last night.
A couple of strong drinks and I’d left my insecurities and awkwardness at the door, embracing the attention guys were giving me, the free drinks that kept coming my way, the ridiculous selfies Tessa kept wanting us to take together. In fact, my face still hurts from laughing so much.
On some ordinary Friday night in February, I was one of them.
But for the life of me, I can’t remember kissing or leaving with anyone. It’s going to bother me all day, I can tell already. But this isn’t the craziest part. The most insane thing about last night was that I enjoyed myself.
“Eli tried to get your number from me,” she says. “You kept refusing to give it to him, so I told him no.”