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The Perfect Roommate by Minka Kent Read Online (FREE)

“Please. Tell me,” he says, voice almost breaking. I justify what I’m about to do a dozen different ways, assuring myself it’s the right thing. She doesn’t deserve him. He deserves to be happy. But more than that, he deserves the truth.

Biting my lip, I glance away for a second. “Don’t tell her I told you.”

“Of course.”

“It’s Professor Bristowe.” My heart kicks up a notch and I’m lightheaded. Is this a euphoric high or the flood of anxiety-rooted adrenaline coursing my body? Either way, it’s done. There’s no going back now.

“Bristowe?” His eyes flash dark. His teeth and his fists and his entire body clenches. When he drags his hand through his hair and tilts his head back, I feel compelled to stay and be there for him—but I have a presentation in two minutes.

“You going to be okay, Thayer?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns and leaves, disappearing into a pack of baby-faced freshman guys headed toward the IT study lounge.

I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling.

 

Twenty-Seven

Lauren didn’t come home for two days.

At first, I thought something happened to her—that Thayer lost his temper and she was lying lifeless in a ravine somewhere. But she was reading my text messages, which meant she was alive.

He probably told her everything. They probably fucking made up.

And now she’s avoiding me.

The front door opens Friday, sending a shudder through the old house. I stay in bed, listening to the sounds outside my bedroom.

Lauren walking up and down the hall.

The spray of her shower.

The drip of her faucet as she brushes her teeth.

The drone of some annoying NPR podcast which quickly shifts to some dance-happy I Heart Radio station.

The wail of the tea kettle in the kitchen.

The pop of the toaster as she heats her English muffin.

The clink of the silverware drawer as she retrieves a butter knife to spread her strawberry preserves.

It isn’t until the front door opens and slams and her engine purrs to life that I feel it’s safe to come out.

Funny how last month I felt so free here. Now it’s become a makeshift prison. Our happy little home has become a landmine-filled desert and we’re just tiptoeing around one another.

It didn’t have to be this way.

It isn’t my fault Lauren chose to be a home-wrecking whore.

I’m not sure when I’ll see her again. Or the kind of words that will be exchanged. All I know is the nuke has been dropped and shit’s about to get real.

 

Twenty-Eight

Bellisima Pastry and Tart on Hayworth is exactly the quaint and cozy place I’d expect Elisabeth Bristowe to pick, and when I arrive, she’s already nabbed us a corner table by the front window.

“Meadow!” She rises and waves for me to join her, and when I get closer, I see she’s already ordered my tea as well as two raspberry scones.