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The Perfect Roommate by Minka Kent Read Online (FREE)

“I won’t say anything.” She messes with her hair for the tenth time, making it worse with each brush of her hand. Her posture deflates and she looks like she wants to be anywhere but here.

“Let’s do a shot,” I say. “On me. And then we’ll dance. If I have to show the DJ a little nip so he’ll play your favorite song, I will.”

She cracks a half-smile before linking her arm in mine. And I smile too. Because I’ve got her exactly where I want her.

Tonight she’s going to see that I’m the fun friend. I’m the good, true friend.

And she’s never going to look at Lauren the same again.

I may not have been able to steal her boyfriend, but her closest friend is kind of the next best thing.

For now, I’ll take it.

 

Twenty-Five

“Feeling better this week, Meadow?” Elisabeth Bristowe answers the door with a pale pink mug of steamy brown liquid and a twinkle in her eye. “Made you a tea.”

I lug my caddy and vacuum into her foyer. “Thank you.”

“I missed you last week. Was worried when they sent someone else,” she says as we head to the kitchen. She places my drink on the island. “I swear, no one cleans this place the way you do. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I graduate in May …” I say.

“Don’t remind me.” She takes a seat at the table, next to her closed laptop. A notebook lies beside it, open to a page scribbled with notes. She must be planning her next book. Rubbing her hand on her belly, I swear she’s gotten bigger since two weeks ago. “Did I tell you Reed’s aunt is throwing me a baby shower this weekend?”

I’d heard all about Reed’s aunt before. In fact, I met her once. Sweet as sugar and cute as a button. She raised Reed from the time he was seven, Elisabeth told me. She couldn’t have kids of her own or she never married—I don’t quite remember—but she’s basically his mother. I never did ask what happened to his parents. It doesn’t seem like my place to pry.

“Sounds like fun,” I say, squirting some marble polish on her countertop. “Excited?”

“You should come.”

I freeze, wondering if I misheard her.

“I want you there,” she says. “It would be nice if there were more people there than just family.”

In other words, she doesn’t have many friends. Which I always assumed, but this confirms it. And it’s a shame. She’s the sweetest. The kind of thoughtful soul anyone would be lucky to have in their life.

“It’s at the community center,” she says. “Saturday at noon. And you don’t have to bring anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I already know what I want to get her. I saw it at the mall a couple of weeks ago: a cashmere teddy bear and a silver rattle. Keepsakes. Things Baby Girl Bristowe can have forever. None of this disposable, destructible, grow-out-of-it-after-a-year shit.