Roommating (Preston's Mill #1) Read Online Free Page A

think of
one.”
    “Sarcasm…nice,” he said with a grin and then stood and
stretched. “Flo stays, but I’ll make you a deal. You can move the rest of this
furniture around any way that you like, as long as she stays right here.”
    “But it’s so ugly!”
    He ran a hand lovingly over the top of the recliner and
leaned down toward it. “Don’t listen to her, baby. She’ll come around.”
    “Christopher,” Heather called out as he turned to walk away.
    He stopped and looked back at her. “Look, I’m not any
happier about this setup than you are,” he began, realizing suddenly that this
was going to be life for the next several months. “It’s six months. If you
don’t like the chair, tough. I’m sure by the time you get your things unpacked
I’m going to find something of yours that I don’t like too. We’ll just have to
deal with it. Okay?”
    He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed off to the bathroom
to take a shower.
    Twenty minutes later, he looked at his reflection.
    Mountain man.
    Yeah, it had been a while since he’d shaved. Or gotten a
haircut. Or given a damn. He was looking pretty rough. At the back of his mind,
he’d always assumed he’d clean himself up some after he got back to Preston, but
if he shaved right now, it would look like he was caving to her and her
mockery. Then again, he was supposed to be getting ready to take over Tom’s
business, and it wouldn’t be right to look so…unkempt and unprofessional.
    So he made a mental note to hit the barber later today and
let someone else help him start to look human again.
    The bathroom wasn’t overly large, but Heather’s stuff was
everywhere—makeup, jars of mysterious creams, and just general clutter. They
were going to have to figure out a better system for this. And fast. Drying
off, he wrapped a towel around his waist, brushed his teeth, scooped up his stuff
and opened the door.
    Heather turned and looked at him, her eyes going a little
wide before she turned away. Okay, so a towel wasn’t much more than the damn
boxers. Note to self: pants! Seriously. Take pants with you everywhere.
    ***
    It was close to six that evening
when Chris was standing at the door to their apartment with a mixture of
apprehension and exhaustion. It had been a long day. He’d spent a large part of
it getting reacquainted with the town and driving by some of the job sites Tom
had told him about. Then he’d gone to get that shave and a haircut. He ran a
hand along his now-smooth jaw and had to admit, it felt pretty damn glorious. He’d
forgotten how freeing it felt to be clean-shaven. So clearly, beards weren’t
for him. Good to know.
    He felt a little bad about not helping Heather with her
unpacking, but he had a feeling she probably preferred it that way. He’d had
the advantage of arriving first, and he didn’t have much with him to unpack. Plus,
he was a guy, and he didn’t overthink the placement of every item he owned. He
had a feeling Heather did.
    No doubt, he was going to find that everything was put in a
specific place, and if he tried to move it, he would get his head bitten off. He
chuckled. “Bring it,” he murmured.
    But he still didn’t open the door.
    But someone did. Down the hall.
    “Young man! What are you doing loitering out here in the
hall?”
    He turned around and saw an elderly woman standing in the
doorway to the apartment down the hall. She was tiny and had a bunch of pink
rollers in her hair—the kind his grandmother used to wear. And she was scowling
at him.
    “Um…excuse me?”
    “You heard me,” she snapped. “What’s the matter, did you
forget your key? Or did that pretty girl throw you out?”
    “Um…I…I was just…”
    “Of course, in my day, we didn’t throw handsome men out of
the house.”
    Oh my God…was she flirting with him?
    “It’s a good thing you shaved. Show her you’re sorry and
that you’re making an attempt to look nice for her.”
    “Who exactly are we talking about?”