The Roommate (Roommates, #1)

A knock at the door surprised me. For a split second, I held out hope that maybe it was Cannon. Then I remembered he never knocked, aside from his first time. He had a key, not that he had used it in over a week.

When I opened the door, I was surprised to find a meek college-aged girl with soft blond curls and sad honey-colored eyes. She was petite, dressed in leggings and an oversized University of Michigan sweatshirt that hung from her frame and made her look even smaller.

She met my stare, seemingly just as curious about who I was. Then her gaze darted behind me and into the living room.Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Is C-Cannon here?” she stuttered.

“Not right now.”

“But he does live here?”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy, not to mention I was totally unsure about how to answer her question. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her expression changed, and she offered a shy smile. “Sorry. I’m Michelle. Cannon’s girlfriend.”

My eyes about fell out of my head. “His what?”

Her smile fell. “I mean, I was. Now, I don’t know what I am. I haven’t talked to him.”

Several things clicked into place at once. She was the reason he suddenly needed a place to stay. He broke up with his girlfriend and needed a hideout. I’d been an easy escape from his reality. My throat tightened, and I gripped the doorway for support.

“He didn’t mention you,” I said.

Her smile fell away. “I’m not surprised. That’s Cannon for you. Our history is . . . complicated.”

He’d told me some of his complicated past with women, but now I wondered if he’d told me everything. Apparently not, because I had no idea who this woman standing on my porch was. He’d never mentioned the name Michelle.

“And you’re his . . .” Michelle paused, clearly fishing for information.

“I’m his older sister’s friend.” God, that sounded so lame.

“Ah. That makes sense. I mean, I didn’t think . . . never mind.” She grinned at me, an almost giddy smile that revealed her age.

“The next time I see him, I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

She nodded. “Please do. And ask him to call me.”

“I will.”

Michelle retreated to the curb where her little red sedan was parked, and I watched as she climbed inside, took one last wistful look toward me, and then drove away.

Still rattled from Michelle’s visit, I headed into my small kitchen to a depressing dinner for one.