The Roommate Agreement

Nobody said it was a glamorous life.

Still, I’d gotten my work done before I’d gone for dinner with Brie and now I was happily under a blanket on the sofa in the living room. My shorts were made of soft fleece and were probably a little on the indecent side, but they had a super-stretchy waist, so they paired exceptionally well with my Oreos and my tank top that, for once, didn’t have a cuss word on it.

And on the screen was a healthy dose of The Big Bang Theory. Namely, Sheldon Cooper and his spot.

I could relate.

I had a spot.

There was a puffy chair in the corner of my bedroom with a little footstool that was my most comfortable writing spot. It’d once been in the living room, but after I’d found men with sixty pounds of muscle on me using it as their seat, I moved it.

The cushion was molded to my ass, thank you very much. I didn’t need someone with some tight-ass buns ruining the squishy mess mine made.

I tore open the second packet of Oreos—no, I had not eaten the entirety of the first one—and lay back on the sofa cushions. My introvert reveled in the silence of the apartment in these moments.

It was just me, my greedy ass with my cookies, and my favorite TV show.

This was the life.

You know, if I didn’t have to pay rent.

Damn being an adult.

I settled in comfortably and watched as the episode rolled onto the next one. There’s something so relaxing about watching a show you’ve seen a hundred times before. That was how I felt right now—relaxed.

I could easily fall asleep right here, but that would be pointless. Jay was the loudest human being known to man and he’d just wake me up when he came in.

I sighed. How was I supposed to sit and broach the subject of him still living here? Not only was he loud and messy, but he had the attention span of a hungry ant. Unless it was football, then he had an uncanny ability to sit still for the entirety of the game, blocking out everything but whatever the Dallas Cowboys were doing wrong in his humble opinion.

It was a weirdly impressive skill.

I pulled another Oreo from the packet and focused on the TV screen. Turning off my brain was hard, mostly because fictional people lived there and liked to tell me what to do, but I was also a chronic over-thinker.

Which was why I could barely focus on what I was watching.

Groaning, I put the cookies on the coffee table and rolled onto my side. I reached for my water and, right as my fingers made contact with the bottle, knocked it off.

Damn it.

I picked it up from where it’d landed just underneath the sofa and returned to my lounging just in time to hear four words from the TV.

“Screw the roommate agreement.”

It came followed by a sharp gasp—and not just the one from Sheldon.

There was one from me.

The roommate agreement.

That was it. That was what I needed with Jay. A roommate agreement that laid out the rules, that worked in both our favors, and that finally drew the line between what was acceptable and what wasn’t.

Hot damn.

I ran to my room, grabbed a pen and a notebook, and got to work.

CHAPTER THREE – SHELBY

The Washer Will Not Kill You

I sat on the stool at the kitchen island and waited for Jay to wake up.

I’d gone to bed before he’d gotten home last night, and since he’d gotten in so late, I’d been able to run to the library to print out the agreement I’d spent half the night working on.

Yes, I had a printer and no, it did not like me. The feeling was completely mutual, it should be noted.

It was a piece of shit, and I’d told it so.

Now, I sat, chewing on a piece of toast, waiting for his ass to get out of bed and read this over. I didn’t know how he’d take it, so I even had pancake batter waiting to make his favorite chocolate chip pancakes.

That’s right. I was that friend. I’ll kick you in the balls, but I’ll cook for you to soften the blow.

It helped that I was a pretty good cook and that Jay could, well. He could just about do a Pop-Tart where breakfast foods were concerned.

I mean, there was nothing like saying, “Good morning! You need to go on the lease so you’re actually liable for rent,” like making pancakes and bacon.

I tapped my nails against the top of the island. The sound of a door opening was shortly followed by the sound of a second one closing. I knew it was two different doors because the bathroom door had a horrible squeak that rang out whenever it moved.