Generic selectors
Exact matches only
Search in title
Search in content
Search in posts
Search in pages

The Perfect Roommate by Minka Kent Read Online (FREE)

“You worry too much,” she tells him, tapping her pointer finger against his broad chest. “It’s cute, but let’s dial it back, okay? Like we talked about before?”

He says nothing.

I’ve wasted my time.

It’s going to take a lot more than this for him to see the light. He needs concrete evidence. Emails. Pictures.

Damn it. Why didn’t I take a picture earlier?

“How was work?” Lauren asks, taking the spot next to me on the couch. I breathe her in, searching for a hint of Bristowe, but all she smells like is cold air.

“Fine,” I lie. “How was class?”

She sinks back, drawing her knees to her chest. “Mid-terms. That’s all I’m going to say.”

Thayer is still quiet, though he’s watching her. I can only hope the wheels in his head are still spinning, that he’s smart enough to see through her sweet little shtick.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you at all lately,” she says. “I miss you.”

She misses me?

“We should do lunch tomorrow. There’s this new café downtown I’ve been wanting to try,” Lauren says.

She’s up to something.

“Sure,” I say. If I say ‘no’ in front of Thayer, after playing the part of the dutiful, concerned friend, it’ll be a huge red flag.

“You sticking around?” she asks Thayer as she rises from her seat. “I’m just doing more studying tonight. Pretty boring.”

He stands. “Yeah. For a little bit.”

She slips her hand in his, leading him to her room. I bet it’s the very same hand she used to grip Bristowe’s cock just hours ago. No shame. No shame at all.

I wait for them to disappear before returning to my room, locking the door—on principle, not because I have to—and lying on my bed, hands clasped on my stomach and gaze stuck on the motionless ceiling fan.

Tonight was a massive failure, but I’m not deterred.

I’m just getting started.



There are a lot of things that have no business being together.

Lauren and Thayer and Lauren and Bristowe, for example.

And then there’s the bizarre excuse for an entrée sitting before me. Fennel roasted chicken. Jicama. Farro. Dried cranberry. What the fuck is this shit?

I pick out the weird bits and slice into my organic, grass fed chicken breast. It’s okay.

Lauren inhales her roasted kale and Portobello salad like it’s her last meal on earth, and she’s already talking dessert. Squash pie with a graham cracker crust.

Hard pass.

I swear this place has a bunch of monkeys in the kitchen, throwing shit together and charging an arm and a leg for it. And idiots like Lauren eat it up because they’re certain eating something besides steak or a burger or a plain old chicken sandwich makes them special.

“You’re extra quiet today.” Lauren laughs, stabbing her kale. “What’re you thinking about?”

I shrug. “The future.”

Her eyes widen and she nods. “It’s scary, isn’t it? Not knowing what comes after this … if everything’s going to work out exactly the way we planned …”