Wrong Bed, Right Roommate Excerpt

Jessie Santana clenched a fuzzy zebra print pillow in her fists. Deep breaths. In. Out. Wasn’t that supposed to be calming or something?

But there was no way she could make herself relax—not when she still hadn’t heard back from Talia. She tossed the pillow on the couch and picked up her phone.

Did you hear from the subletter? she wrote again. She said she can’t come anymore! What should we do???

She resisted the urge to send yet another barrage of texts to her best friend, along with that screaming emoji that pretty much summed up how she was feeling. Talia was probably in the security line or finding her gate. Or maybe she’d already met up with the rest of the dancers on their way to London for an entire summer of travel and performing with the New York City Ballet. She might not check her phone until she landed.

But Jessie could never sit around doing nothing. She went to work rearranging the mismatched throw pillows on the couch, fluffing the fuzzy zebra victim until it no longer looked quite so squished. Cleaning always made her feel better. When things were neat and organized and in their place, she could feel a little more in control.

Yeah, she knew that was crazy.

But it still kind of helped.

When everything was tidy, she peeked at her phone again. Nothing. Even Kathy, the canceled subletter, hadn’t written any more since her last text, when she said she was “soooooooo sorry” and “absolutely positive” they could find someone else.

Sure, Jessie knew they could find someone. But someone normal? Someone she’d want to live with for two and a half months? Someone who could move in on such short notice and cover their share of the rent?

When her phone vibrated, she dived to pick it up, bumping her shin on the coffee table. Please, have an idea for how to fix this!

But it wasn’t Talia, reassuring Jessie that they’d find someone soon, she could pay for any of the rent that wasn’t covered, Jessie needed to go to sleep, kick ass tomorrow, and not worry so much.

It was her mom.

Have a great first day of work, sweetie!

Her heart deflated.

But she made herself take another deep breath and wrote back a cheerful Thanks, Mom! followed by a whole bunch of hearts, so it wouldn’t look like anything was wrong.

Her parents had been pretty against her moving to New York. Add to that the debt from her master’s degree, plus the months it had taken her to find a full-time offer, and they were champing at the bit for her to move back to Pennsylvania and get a nice, stable job in a nice, stable town. At which point she could get married to someone nice, and, well, stable.

None of that actually sounded so bad. Especially the having a boyfriend part. And the stability. She could come up with a new life plan—one that didn’t involve astronomical rent, a bedroom the size of a toaster oven, and weird subway smells all summer long.

But then she got The Call. The one from Marlene Chen at Honeywell Press, inviting her to be the newest editorial assistant on her team. Maybe now her parents would stop fretting that she’d made a wrong turn, once she got her name out there and started putting a dent in her loans.

Her phone vibrated again. Be sure to impress Ms. Chen with your work, her mom wrote. Jessie groaned out loud.

New York publishing was notoriously cutthroat, and she already knew she wasn’t Marlene’s first choice. The whole office would obviously know it, too. The job had originally been offered to someone with more experience, but he was poached by a competitor right after he started, leaving Marlene scrambling to fill the spot. Did Jessie really need a reminder of how important it was to prove herself right off the bat?

But she was lucky, she told herself sternly. Lucky to have landed a job at her dream publisher, lucky to live with her best friend—at least, most of the time. And lucky to have a mom who texted good night and remembered what a big day tomorrow was for her.

Lucky to have a mom at all.

“I need you to be strong for your brother and sister,” her dad had said when her mom got the news that the lump in her left breast looked bad. Her family had already been through so much. She wasn’t going to give them any reason to doubt that everything was going according to plan.

She texted back good night—with a few more hearts— and turned off the lights, still working on that whole “deep breathing” thing, even if it was obviously bullshit. She didn’t feel calmer at all.

It was dark and quiet without Talia making tea, bustling around the apartment, binge-watching cooking competition shows—which was hilarious, since Talia could make the smoke alarm go off by pouring cereal. Maybe Jessie could leave just one lamp on for the night, so as not to feel lonely…

But that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? She turned the switch decisively and padded down the hall.

At the door to Talia’s room, she paused and poked her head in. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the bed made, or everything so neatly put away. The only sign left of Talia was a picture on the dresser, with her and her brother making funny faces.

Ick.

That was one aspect of her best friend’s life Jessie could live without.

Shawn Lassiter was two years older, so they’d overlapped some in high school. He was so hot, she’d once seen a girl literally smack into a locker after turning her head to check him out as he passed. Too bad having flat abs, nice hair, and the ability to hit a baseball wasn’t enough to make someone a good person.

Thank God she never had to see him anymore. She closed the door to Talia’s room, not wanting to waste any more time on that history.

In her own bedroom across the hall, everything was neat and organized and carefully put away, as usual. She changed into a pair of comfy shorts and a loose, strappy tank top, throwing her dirty clothes in the hamper where they belonged.

Most people would be thrilled to have an unexpected night alone without a roommate. She could blast music. Have a dance party in her PJs. Stay up all night watchingDoctor Who without Talia hollering at her to keep it down because she had to practice. She could sleep naked, and no one would know.

Yeah, right. She had a routine: pajamas, clothes in the hamper, reading in bed. Lights out at a sensible hour.

But at the last minute, she decided to make just one small change and leave her door open a crack. That way she could hear the sighs of the building settling and the waves of Brooklyn traffic drifting through the open living room windows. It made her feel a little less lonely in the stillness.

And, okay, maybe there was one other thing she could do tonight…

She crawled into bed, opened her bedside drawer, and pulled out the best reason to be fine with not having a boyfriend: her very magical magic wand. It was loud, and it made Jessie extra loud when she used it. Which meant it was best to bring it out when Talia was at a late rehearsal. Or when Jessie unexpectedly had a whole night to herself.

Was there any better way to de-stress than an explosive, toe-curling, body-melting O? She pulled out the red vibrator and slid it under the sheets.

She started over her pajama shorts, getting herself warmed up and used to the sensation. Then she slipped the smooth wand under the elastic. She teased herself, playing with the vibrations, bringing the wand closer to the exact spot that would send her over the edge and have her sleeping like a baby.

But it was hopeless.

No matter how she touched herself, she just couldn’t get in the mood. Her mind was churning, thinking about Talia, the subletter, her new job, her checking account, an article she’d read that called Marlene “the toughest bitch in publishing today.” What if she couldn’t hack it? What if her life plan was…wrong? She’d have to go home a failure. She’d never live it down.

Thanks, brain.

With a sigh, she put the vibrator away and turned out the light. She had to stop thinking and go to sleep. Deep breaths, right?

There was no need to stay up all night obsessing. She didn’t need to check her phone for the fifty-millionth time, only to see the empty inbox and feel stressed out all over again. Talia was probably over the Atlantic by now. There was nothing either of them could do about the roommate problem tonight.

Tomorrow, she told herself firmly. She’d work on fixing it tomorrow.

And she would fix it—there was no question about it. She was not a failure. She was the new editorial assistant for Marlene Chen, the biggest YA fantasy editor in the industry. She lived in New York Fucking City. She was a grown-ass adult—except for when it came to spiders.

Whatever life threw at her, she’d handle it the way she handled everything. First thing in the morning, she’d come up with a plan.

Chapter Two

Shawn checked the address on his phone again, his leg bouncing up and down in the back of the cab. New York always fucking confused him. It was supposed to be a grid, right? But then there were all these places where the streets went haywire, and none of the names made any sense. Even when he followed along with the little blue dot on the map on his phone, he still had no clue which way was up.

He gave up trying to figure out where the cab was heading. He’d never been to Talia’s neighborhood. At midnight, every block looked the same. After months in New Mexico—and before that Texas, Tennessee, Michigan, and Colorado—it was fucking weird to look out the window and not see any stars.

You sure you’re okay with this? he texted his sister.

Seriously? You’re saving my butt here, she wrote back. We should have made the subletter sign something. UGH.

Lucky for me, he typed. I couldn’t take another second on Brandon’s couch.

As long as you pay up on time!

You know I’m good for it. :)

Yeeeah, you say that…and I get worried.

C’mon, I’m employed and everything!

She sent back a string of laughing emojis.

His leg started bouncing faster. I am!

Whatever. Just don’t fuck up my room and DON’T SNOOP.

He sent back a bunch of eye rolls. Like I’m even interested. I’m just going to sleep, go to work, come home, and sleep some more.

LOL, Talia wrote back right away. You forget that I’ve met you before.

Ha ha. But he wasn’t laughing.

Why wouldn’t anyone believe that he was really trying this time?

All week he’d been telling Brandon that his first day of a huge new job was tomorrow, so he really needed a quiet night. No beer, no video games, no drunk guys hanging out in the living room being dickheads and horsing around.

But four roommates crammed into one tiny-ass apartment meant that someone was always making noise. And sure enough, just as he was settling in for a night of tossing and turning on the fucked-up living room couch, three of the four roommates showed up with their significant others in tow, going on about, “Just one more drink,” and, “What’s in the fridge?” and, “Hey, Shawn! Scoot over, you’re hogging the couch.”

He knew he was just the guy crashing for a little while. He’d ponied up for beer and pizza all week, and he’d promised to chip in on rent once he got his first paycheck— at which point, he’d be out of there as soon as he could manage it. But he’d really been hoping for a night of quiet so he didn’t show up looking like a zombie on his very first day.

Jean, the head of Thunder Brewing’s east coast branch, wouldn’t believe he knew what he was doing. He didn’tknow what he was doing. But he was trying not to make it so obvious.

Jean and Kevin had started the brewery together in New Mexico. Then Jean moved to New York to open a new location. The same recipes, the same vibe, but greater access to east coast distribution and major urban markets.

But this was no easy business. The more things grew, the more help Jean needed. Stat.

Shawn didn’t have as much experience as the other employees Kevin could have sent to New York. But who else was willing to relocate on such short notice and promise to work day and night—whatever it took?

It was a major step up. He had to get it right. Or else Thunder would tank, Kevin wouldn’t dream of hooking him up somewhere else, and what the hell kind of job did he think he could get after that?

When Talia texted him freaking out about whether he knew anyone who’d want to sublet her room last-minute, the answer was hell yes. When could he start? Immediately, he begged her. Just get him out of Brandon’s apartment. He didn’t care what it cost.

So it was a little impulsive to pack up his duffel bag and head out at this hour. For better or worse—and he could admit it was usually for worse—impulsive was kind of his middle name.

Your roommate won’t be freaked if I just show up? he asked Talia.

She’ll be SO glad to have the subletter thing sorted out.

Glad to be of service!

I just texted her to let her know you’re coming. I’ll send you her number, too.

K, cool.

I haven’t heard back yet, though. She might have gone to sleep.

Name? Age? Details I should know?

It’s Jessie!!!

Shawn racked his brain. Did he know any Jessies? When he didn’t respond fast enough, Talia sent back an eye-roll emoji.

Have I met her before? he asked.

You’re kidding, right???

I meet a lot of people!

Omg, you’re an idiot. YES, you know Jessie. She practically lived at our house in high school—remember?

Crap.

Was she part of the nightmare he’d gotten himself wrapped up in when he banged two of Talia’s friends?

No, he didn’t think Jessie was one of them. Those girls had stopped speaking to Talia—which he knew because he had to hear for over a year about how awful it was. Jessie must have been the one who spent the night all the time when her mom was sick.

He kind of remembered her now. The image that came to his mind was of someone shorter than Talia, with a mass of dark curly hair, big glasses, and a mouth full of braces. Quiet, read more books than any of the Lassiters combined, and other than that, perfectly forgettable. Unlike the other girls who’d hung out at their house, back when he’d let things get out of hand.

Sure, he typed. I guess.

She’s starting a new job tomorrow, too, so she’ll be busy. You guys will barely see each other, Talia wrote.

That worked just fine for him. He wasn’t quite sure why his sister was such good friends with someone as quiet and, frankly, nondescript as Jessie. Not that Talia was cool, of course. She was still his kid sister. But quiet and nondescript was exactly what he needed after a week with four unofficial roommates and no room of his own—not to mention the whirlwind of getting not-quite dumped by his not-quite- girlfriend, convincing Kevin to trust him with a major promotion, hopping on a plane with all his belongings, and hoping he wasn’t making yet another mistake with his life.No pressure or anything.

His phone buzzed again. Thank God, we’re FINALLY taking off. Gtg! Talk to you from across the pond!

Wait—did you hear back from Jessie?

Oh, and the buzzer doesn’t work!

He wrote back to ask how he was supposed to get inside. But he didn’t get a response.

The driver slammed on his brakes so hard Shawn snapped forward against the seat belt. He started cursing out the guy for nearly hitting a grandma or a stroller or a puppy or something, until he looked out the window and saw that nothing was there. The guy had stopped in front of Talia’s apartment like it was perfectly normal to go from fifty to zero on a narrow side street in Brooklyn in the middle of the night. Welcome to New York. Buckle up for the ride.

Two minutes later, he was standing in the middle of the empty street with his backpack, a duffel bag, no answer from Jessie, and no idea what to do.

He tried to think of what someone who definitely, totally had his shit together would do. Someone who could successfully meet production requirements and help a small business grow. Probably not say “fuck it” and camp out on the sidewalk. Probably not go back to Brandon’s, either. Just the thought of that couch made his back hurt.

He buzzed a few other units in the building, in case the intercom worked for them. He was surprised when the outer door actually buzzed, letting him in. Convenient but disconcerting. Who had ordered Chinese food or a Tinder date at midnight and was expecting to have their doorbell rung? What if he was an ax murderer?

He pushed open the door and climbed the steps. If anyone stopped him, he’d explain that he was moving in but had gotten locked out.

Unless it was a hot, single woman who’d been expecting a delivery or a booty call. In which case, all bets were off.

“Don’t even go there,” he muttered to himself. That was what the old Shawn would do—find someone new to take up with and not worry about anything except having a good time. Until the good times turned sour, but who cared? It was easy to move on.

But he wasn’t going to let himself get distracted by all that anymore. He was here to show he could do this. Be a real brewer—not just the guy who mopped floors, poured kegs, and hauled grain bags sometimes. If Thunder did well under his watch, he wouldn’t just have a career under his belt. He’d be able to save up some money, find a decent roommate, get an actual life. It was time to start feeling like he was doing something right for a change.

At least Talia had left a key for the subletter under the welcome mat—because of course his sister had a welcome mat and a key already waiting. He didn’t have to bang down the door trying to get Jessie to wake up. This wasn’t like crashing with a bunch of guys who thought Lucky Charms constituted a balanced meal as long as they added a splash of OJ, since the milk had already gone bad. He needed to not be an ass on day one.

He was as quiet as possible when he pushed open the door. He slid off his boots and left them next to a pair of plain black flats, along with his duffel bag. He’d worry about his stuff later. It was late, and he needed to get to Thunder early tomorrow to get the lay of the land before his official shift started. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Quietly he tiptoed through the apartment, moonlight showing him the way. He recognized Talia’s crazy zebra pillows and the thrift store polka-dot blanket she’d had for years, all neatly organized on the couch. Jessie must be the clean freak—his sister probably hadn’t folded a blanket in her life.

All the more reason for him to lay low, focus on the brewery, and not get in the way.

At the end of the darkened hallway, he paused. There were four doors clustered together. One was open—the bathroom. One was narrower than the others—a closet, he guessed, based on the size. One was shut firmly. And the other was slightly ajar.

The closed door had to be Jessie’s, with her sleeping soundly inside. The open one was Talia’s, inviting him in.

He nudged it open wider with his toe, pulling off his shirt and dropping it on the floor as he entered. It was dark in there with the blinds closed, and his eyes weren’t used to the change. He couldn’t tell where the bed was.

All he could see was a large shape to the side that he guessed was Talia’s dresser, and across from it, her desk. As long as he kept a clear line to where her bed must have been up against the wall, he could collapse into it and sleep for hours without bothering to turn on a light.

He unzipped his jeans and yanked off his pants, leaving them on the floor as well. This was so much better than Brandon’s shitty couch. Quiet, darkness, a door that closed, an actual bed, and no need to worry about leaving his stuff all over the floor.

By the time he’d stripped down to his boxers, he didn’t even want to brush his teeth. Tomorrow. He’d deal with everything then. He pulled back the covers, ready to collapse into bed.

All of a sudden, somebody screamed.

He fell onto something that was warm and wriggling wildly against him. “Get the fuck away from me!” the voice cried, pushing him off.

He tumbled to the side, tangled in sheets, heart pounding as he tried to keep from falling off the bed. What the ever-loving fuck?

He was turning over, trying to keep his boxers up and his sensitive parts protected as a leg kicked at him, when a light came on, blinding him instantly. In bed—in his bed, the bed he’d been about to crawl into—was a very startled, very beautiful, nearly-naked woman.

She snatched up the sheet to cover the gorgeous curve of her breasts filling out a thin tank top, the straps falling partway off her shoulders. But it was too late, he’d already gotten an eyeful. Thank fucking everything he hadn’t taken off his boxers, or it would be even more obvious what he thought of the view.

Talia must have had a second roommate she hadn’t mentioned, or else he was in the wrong apartment altogether. Nothing about this woman matched the high school girl in his memory—except for the mane of dark curls. Dark, wild, luscious curls that tumbled over her bare shoulders and that flimsy nothing of her tank top strap, which seemed to make her even more exposed than if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

“You must be Jessie,” he finally said, barely able to get the words out.

She stared like it was taking her a minute to place him, too. He could feel her taking everything in—his bare chest, his boxers, the swirl of tattoos that ran around his left shoulder and tapered out across his pecs. She definitely wouldn’t have seen that ink before, or the three days of sandy stubble on his jaw. Or the pecs, for that matter—he’d been leaner, smaller, in his baseball-playing days.

But she blinked in recognition, and her eyes widened.

“It can’t be,” she said, still staring. Then she scrunched up her face like something smelled. “Shawn?”