Chapter 2
When the broker first told me a woman was moving in, my internal alarm bells went off.
We’re adults here. I didn’t have any delusions about some rom-com scenario where we’d fall in love after a cute meet-cute in the hallway. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life.
A roommate meant trouble. It meant zero privacy. It meant dealing with somebody else’s drama.
So why did I agree?
Two text messages.
First, the Venmo notification from the broker telling me the rent was now split fifty-fifty.
Second, a photo he sent me.
A photo of Chloe.
Yeah, she was hot. Like, genuinely gorgeous. I tried to resist. I really did—for about a nanosecond. Then my lizard brain won.
Having a beautiful roommate around couldn’t be that bad, right?
On move-in day, I tried to be a gentleman and offered to grab her bags.
“I’ll get your suitcase.”
“Did you wash your hands?”
My hand froze in midair like a thief caught reaching for a cop’s wallet. I didn’t know whether to grab the handle or pull back.
So I awkwardly stepped aside and watched this tiny woman drag a massive suitcase up six flights of stairs by herself.
I forgot to introduce myself. She didn’t bother introducing herself either.
She walked into the apartment, frowned immediately, and I knew exactly why. The place smelled like decay and failed dreams. It had taken me a month to go nose-blind to it.
“Do you have a key?” she asked.
“I’m going out,” I said.
She made a dismissive little sound through her nose.
I didn’t have the energy to deal with her attitude, so I just left. I grabbed a beer with a buddy and didn’t get back until after ten.
When I stumbled into my room, I froze.
Was this my room?
The floor was spotless. My piles of research papers were stacked neatly. Aside from the bed, which still looked like a crime scene, everything had been organized.
Okay. Maybe having a clean-freak roommate wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
That night, I slept like a baby.