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The Perfect Roommate by Minka Kent Read Online (FREE)

“You’re sure?” he asks. And he has a right to ask. My track record with assuming things isn’t the greatest.

I nod. “Positive. I mean, it’s not like she admitted to anything, but I think the police should check into this.”

Thayer steps out of the doorway, glancing at Lauren. They exchange a look that I can’t read.

“What did you hear, exactly?” he asks, one hand cocked on his left hip as he studies me. Already, I can tell he doesn’t want to believe me. That or he simply doesn’t want anything to do with me.

“She was on the phone,” I begin, “and she said something like ‘we haven’t even buried him yet and already you’re asking for this? Don’t call me again until I say you can.’”

Thayer drags a hand across his face before glancing toward the distance. “That could mean anything.”

“I know.” My hand clasps over my heart. “I know it could mean anything. But what if it doesn’t? Shouldn’t we at least tell the police?”

Lauren’s gaze darts between us. I’m not used to her being so quiet and reserved around either of us, but then again, she’s been through the ringer this week. The man she loved was brutally murdered. That’d be enough to send anyone into a silent tailspin.

“Lauren?” Thayer turns his attention to her.

“We should go to the police,” she says. Her lips press into a straight line as she pauses. “All of us.”

His jaw flexes as he contemplates, and a moment later he says, “Just … give me a minute to shower.”

“Really?” I lift a brow. He looks fine to me. Maybe his clothes are a little wrinkled and his mussed hair could use a comb, but last I checked, the police station didn’t have a dress code.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. “And then we’ll go.”



I follow Lauren into Thayer’s apartment, and we take a seat in the living room on a saggy, beer-stained sofa positioned across from a seventy-inch TV with at least three different gaming consoles arranged beneath it. A Rocky IV poster hangs behind me and the curtains are drawn tight.

I’m not sure why, but I was always under the impression that Thayer came from money … like Lauren.

This place is a dump—aside from his vast collection of electronics.

The carpet is stained and matted. The furniture looks like it was found on someone’s curb and loaded into the back of his buddy’s pickup truck. And it smells like pot ash and weed. All this time, and I never knew Thayer smoked up. Makes me wonder what else I don’t know about him.

Or Lauren.

I mean, do we ever truly know anyone or are we only seeing what they want us to see?

Crossing her legs, Lauren’s ankle bounces and she nibbles her thumbnail. This isn’t like her. Then again, with everything that’s transpired in the past week, none of us are really ourselves. Checking her phone, she taps out a text and we sit in palpable silence until the whoosh and hiss of Thayer’s shower fills the small apartment.