The House Mate (Roommates, #3)

“God, Addison.” He sneered at me. “Don’t be so closed-minded. Fantasies are different from reality. You think just because you dress up as a slutty nurse I feel like you want to bang a doctor?”

“Wait, what?” I ran a hand over my face, still baffled by his logic, but also fighting tears. “No, but . . .” I motioned to the television.

“It’s no different. I would think my girlfriend could understand that.”

I choked on my words, trying to find the right ones, until finally I said, “Okay. Just give me a little time to process this, all right?”

Surely, if I loved him, this should be no issue. I was young. Hip. A cool girlfriend.

After that night, I’d done some googling and discovered that I wasn’t alone. He was right; plenty of guys did watch gay porn and weren’t gay. In a way, that was comforting, and again I threw myself into trying to make him happy. I bought things online and looked up different techniques, and still every time I walked away a little bit more broken than I had been before. A little bit more unsure about myself and my ability to please him.

I glanced at Lara, wondering if she was recalling the whole mess too, but her eyes were practically glued to an illustration of a cartoon man, complete with little arrows to highlight the erogenous zones.

I flicked through the glossy pages filled with fragrance ads and photos of happy women crunching on salads, stopping on a numbered list of ways to “Empower Your Inner Goddess.”

Maybe if I’d done that with Greg, I could have escaped with some of my self-confidence and dignity intact instead of being the last sucker to know.

“Okay, fine, what the hell. I’ll give it a try,” I muttered.

I skimmed through the list, which mainly focused on different ways to think about your underwear throughout the day, then glanced up at Lara. “I think my inner goddess is even more boring than my outer goddess.”

She made a tsking noise. “Stop, would you?”

The next section focused on work-how to tell your boss what you wanted, how to stay sexy on the job, what kind of underwear to wear to the office.

My stomach clenched at the word office.

“Do you think this career advice actually works?” I asked, trying to keep the edge of panic out of my voice. Not only had I lost Greg, but I had been working with him in the café he’d opened a little over two years ago. At the time, I’d told myself that I was sacrificing my dreams to help build his, and then, once his goal was realized, we’d find time for me. That we’d be partners in making our dreams come true.

As it happened, though, I was pretty sure I’d just been the best source of cheap labor.

Even now, I could hardly remember what my dreams were back then. As a teen and young adult, I’d spent every summer working at summer camps, teaching the kids sign language and arts and crafts. During school, I always worked in a day care and volunteered at an after-school center.

I guess that was what had always come naturally to me. I talked to Greg a couple of times about it. I definitely asked him once, when and if we ever got married, whether we might find time for me to go back to college for my teaching certificate. Eventually, it would have been nice to be a speech therapist. But now . . .

Now I was twenty-five and broke. And I didn’t think my underwear-no matter how flashy-was going to make my professional dreams a reality. I was going to have to find a job. Fast.

“What’s the worst breakup you ever had?” I asked Lara.

She blinked, closing her magazine for a moment. “I thought we weren’t talking about-”

“We’re not. I’m asking about you.”

She wrinkled her pert nose, her heart-shaped lips tilting to the side. “Probably Tim Erickson. My first love in high school. He dumped me right before prom.”

“How did you get back on your feet? What did you do?” I asked.

“I ate a lot of Chinese food.”

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“Then I went to prom with someone really hot.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah, my cousin.” She laughed. “But my ex didn’t know that. Oh, and I got a part-time job. Got a new boyfriend out of that too.”

“Hmm.” I placed the magazine in front of me, then sat up cross-legged on the pull-out.

“Will you hand me my computer?” I asked.

“Uh-oh, I see gears turning. What are you up to?”

“Maybe fresh starts have some merit. I’m going to get started. Now, let’s see. I have to-” I opened a new tab on the Internet browser. “Find a new apartment.” I opened another tab. “Get new furniture.” I opened another tab. “Buy food for said apartment.” Another tab. “Find a job.”

Lara snatched the computer away from me. “Maybe let’s focus on one thing at a time. You look like you’re about to hyperventilate.”

I couldn’t deny it. My chest was so tight that it hurt to breathe. “Okay, fine.”

“Now, what kind of job do you want?” Lara asked, her voice therapist-calm.

“Something better than the damn café.” I sniffed. “If I never smell coffee again, it’ll be too soon.”

“The hell you say,” Lara hissed. She was a coffee lover.

“Fine. Okay, for real, though. Maybe something with kids?”

“That’s good. You’re great with kids.” Lara typed furiously and then scanned the entries on the jobs website while I stared at the laptop screen. “Oh my God, I found the perfect one. You’re never going to believe it.”

She swiveled the screen around and I glanced at the listing. It was a full-time nanny position. A single father was hoping someone could become a live-in nanny for his twelve-month-old little girl.

“Live-in?” I read aloud.

“Isn’t it perfect?” Lara asked. “Room and board, and a job to boot. Like all your prayers have been answered. He wants someone nurturing and attentive, loving and patient. That’s you all day.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” I read over the description again, then my eyes widened when I reached the salary. It was more-much more, in fact-than I’d been making at the café. And with none of that money going toward rent . . .

“This is sort of a no-brainer, huh?” I asked.

Lara grinned, and I clicked on the listing’s e-mail address, hoping that this was exactly as perfect as it seemed.

Despite myself, excitement and hope bubbled up inside my chest, and I tapped away at the keyboard with a thrill of newfound energy.

Everything could be different.

All I needed to do was land this job . . .