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The Roommate Problem
by Mariah Ankenman

Copyright © 2020 by Mariah Ankenman. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

“You’re not a guy.”

Moira Rossi stared at the very tall, very confused-looking man in her doorway. He was huge. And she wasn’t just saying that because she barely grazed five foot one and a quarter inch—the quarter inch was very important.

She grinned, tilting her head back to stare into a pair of puzzled but beautiful hazel eyes. It wasn’t fair for a man to have eyes that dreamy. It made a woman forget what he was saying. Oh right, he’d accused her of not being a dude.

“And you’re not my deep-dish pizza, but I’ll forgive you if you brought food.”

He frowned, confusion turning his lips down into a grumpy scowl she found absolutely adorable on a man so large and seemingly intimidating. Not many people intimidated Mo. She was raised with four brothers who loved to wrestle and cared not one iota that their little sister was half their size. Despite her appearance, she could handle herself.

“I’m sorry.” He leaned back, glancing up and down the complex’s hallway. “I must have the wrong apartment.”

Poor guy. This building had identical floors right down to every doorknob. She’d gotten mixed up a time or two herself living here the past decade. This wasn’t the first time someone had come knocking only to have the wrong place. Pity. Tall, Perplexed, and Handsome would have made a great addition to her wind down night. She had been planning on chowing down on some greasy pizza and bingeing the latest season of Lucifer on Netflix. But she’d be happy to change her plans to Netflix and Chill if the gentleman at her door was so inclined.

Sadly, it appeared she’d have to settle for fantasies of Tom Ellis tonight. Mr. Wrong Door did not appear to be in a company-type mood.

“What apartment number are you looking for? Maybe I can help?”

He blew out a breath, running a large hand over the short copper-colored hair on the top of his head. A smattering of dark freckles covered his face. Like a bunch of connect the dots she had the strangest urge to trace with her tongue. She’d always had a thing for redheads. And oh boy, did she need to get laid if some rando at her front door was getting her all hot and bothered. It had been a while since her last hookup. Six months at least.

Geez. No wonder she was so hard up.

“I’m looking for apartment 118.”

He had the right place, but—

“Mo Rossi.”

Right name, too. She would think, lucky her, but based on the uncertainty marring his handsome features, she didn’t think he was a stripper gram sent by her friends. Pity.

“I’m Mo.” She stuck out her hand. “Moira Rossi, but everyone just calls me Mo.”

He stared at her offered hand but made no attempt to shake it. She watched with fascination as his expression went from confusion, to shock, to realization, and finally to frustration.

“You’re Mo. Of course you are.” His jaw clenched, and he muttered softly, “Grandma is in so much trouble. I can’t believe she pulled this on me.”

Grandma? Oh! Mo had her own crystalizing moment as everything began to click into place. The strange man at her front door, the mention of a grandma, it all made sense now. This must be August Porter, grandson of Agatha Porter, the flower supplier her wedding planning company worked with and—sadly for all hot and dirty daydreams—her new roommate. Mo might be willing to do a lot of things, but hopping in bed with someone she lived with was a no-no. Unless they were in a relationship. Which she and August weren’t. So she’d just tuck all that delicious sex appeal the man was sporting into her spank bank and move on. She’d never want to make a mess of her living situation, and she would hate doing anything that might upset Agatha.

Mo dealt mostly with the vendors at Mile High Happiness, the wedding planning company she ran with her friends, so she had a great rapport with lots of different people, but she had a special connection to Agatha. The kind old lady reminded her of her nonna, sweet and caring but not above giving you a stern talking-to when necessary. Fitting, considering the two women had been the best of friends until Nonna’s passing a few years ago.

Agatha had kind of adopted Mo as her pseudo granddaughter since Nonna’s death. She taught Mo how to crochet and press flowers for keepsakes. Agatha had even gifted Mo her own personal collection of romance novels when the print became too small for her eyes to read. Extremely grateful for a box full of happily ever afters, Mo had bought Agatha an e-reader and loaded it up with books, adjusting the letter size so her old eyes could see without straining.

Yup. Mo loved Agatha and would do just about anything for her. The sweet old woman had been having some health issues lately. The shop had just become too much for her to take care of in her advancing age, but Agatha didn’t want to sell, and Mo could respect that, but the woman needed some kind of help.

Then, out of the blue, a month ago, Mrs. Porter said she called her grandson to see if he would come out to Denver to help with her flower shop. Lucky for everyone, he agreed. The only problem had been the poor guy didn’t have a place to stay. Property went fast in the city, and rent was a nightmare. Agatha lamented she couldn’t let her grandson stay with her, but her building was a fifty-five and over complex. The man standing before Mo didn’t look a day over thirty.

Lucky for Agatha, and August, Mo was in desperate need of a roommate. Lilly moved out a few weeks ago with six months still on the lease but with Mo’s blessing. She figured finding a new roomie would be easy, but after interviewing three people who had cats—they were a no-pet building—seven different college kids who wanted to throw keggers every weekend, four creepos who asked if benefits came with the room, and one woman who claimed she was a vampire and needed absolute darkness in the apartment at all times, Mo was ready to sell an organ to cover the rent herself.

Thankfully for her organs, she didn’t need to. Agatha claimed August was quiet, polite, neat, and easy to live with. Apparently, the guy used to spend some time in the summers with her when he was a kid. It could just be the grandmother in Agatha talking up how great August was, but Mo was past beggars being choosers at this point. She needed a roomie to help with the rent, and it was either August or Elvira.

So she told Agatha to offer him the last six months of Lilly’s lease. If things worked out, hopefully he would sign up for another year with her. It was a perfect solution. She’d get help on the rent, and he’d have a roof over his head. Win-win.

Only, judging by the scowl currently marring his handsome face, August Porter did not see anything about this situation as a win. Was it because she was a woman? Seemed odd. If anyone in this position should be wary of two strangers of the opposite sex living together, it should be her. And she wasn’t. She trusted Agatha, and if the kind, elderly florist said her grandson was a stand-up guy, that was good enough for Mo. Plus she had a lock on her bedroom door and knew seven different ways to make a man cry like a baby with nothing but her knee and elbow.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re August Porter.”

He shifted, hefting the strap holding up his large duffle bag higher onto his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m August.”

“But I thought you weren’t coming until Sunday?”

He stared at her like she was the one having the most confusing night ever. “It is Sunday.”

It was? Dang. They’d had a small wedding this morning, and she was still a bit out of sorts. Normally, weddings were a Saturday affair, but some couples preferred to pick the later day of the weekend because prices tended to be a bit more affordable. It always messed with her internal clock just a bit.

“Right, of course it’s Sunday.”

August rocked back on his heels, gaze shifting left and right once again, as if he couldn’t believe the situation he found himself in. Poor man looked all out of sorts, and she had no idea why, but it tickled her. Giving him her most welcoming smile, she stepped back and motioned to the inside of the apartment.

“Welcome home, roomie. I’ve got pizza on the way, but fair warning. It’s pineapple.”

Chapter Two

Pineapple pizza? August didn’t know what was worse, his grandmother conveniently leaving out the fact that his new roommate was a woman or the woman in question having terrible taste in pizza. If you were going to eat junk food, at least go whole hog: pepperoni, sausage, extra cheese, all the artery-clogging toppings. Not fruit.

His stomach turned over, unease eating a hole in his gut. His duffle felt like a thousand-pound weight on his arm. Or maybe it was just the thought of dumping said bag inside, where he’d be living with this woman for the next six months, that was weighing on him.

How could Gran do this to him? It wasn’t that he was opposed to living with a woman, but fair warning would have been nice. And what kind of name was Mo for a woman anyway? He was expecting to be greeted at the door by a guy in his sixties with a beer gut and pants up to his nipples. Not a tiny, curvy blonde with streaks of—was that neon pink in her hair? Different strokes, he supposed, but oh boy.

He tugged his bag tighter to his side and stepped over the threshold to find his own personal hell. The apartment was nice, adequate space, but also a cluttered mess of books, clothing, and old takeout boxes. The air held a distinct pungent aroma that wasn’t bad, necessarily, but also wasn’t pleasant. His nose wrinkled as the smell of sugary cake and laundry detergent assailed his nostrils. Two very different odors that did not mix well together. Having worked for years on various produce and flower farms, he knew his scents, and this one stunk.

Mo winced. “Oh, sorry. I kind of mixed up my days and thought you were coming tomorrow.” She gestured around the living room. “I swear I was going to have all this cleaned up. I’ve just been swamped with work lately.”

Lately? This place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a solid three weeks. His gut pitched, apprehension eating him at the sight before him. He knew he could be a bit obsessive with his cleaning, but how did people live like this? Just staring at all this mess was making his whole body twitch and his anxiety skyrocket.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, but she must have heard him, because she graced him with another one of those wide smiles. One that made his heart pump faster and suspicion fill his brain. He didn’t trust people who were happy all the damn time. Life was hard, and anyone who didn’t see that was either on something or extremely sheltered. Her eyes were a clear golden brown, so he didn’t think she was high on anything but her sunny outlook on life.

Joy. Yippee for him.

“Oh, come on. You don’t know that.”

She laughed, the sound making his heart pound even faster, but damn if he knew why. Discomfort. He was going to blame it on this mess of an apartment and this mess of a situation.

“We’ve only just met,” Mo continued. “We haven’t even gotten to know each other, so you can’t say it won’t work. Unless you’re psychic.”

He wasn’t. He didn’t believe in any of that new age shit. But judging by the flowy tie-dye skirt, the peace sign printed on her tightly fitted yellow tank top, the crystal pendant hanging around her neck, and the massive amount of bracelets she wore around each wrist that clanked like weird little musical chimes with every hand gesture she made, August would venture a pretty good guess she believed in that kind of stuff.

She grasped his hand in hers, tugging him out of the living room that looked like a trash tornado hit it and pulling him down a narrow hallway.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

He followed, because what the hell else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he had any friends in the city. He’d left his job working for a flower farm out past Telluride to come to Denver and help his grandmother with her shop. Gran lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment that was basically one step above a retirement home. He couldn’t stay with her.

A hotel was always an option, except he’d already signed a six-month sublease and sent Mo a deposit and first month’s rent, on Gran’s insistence that she had found the perfect roommate for him—thanks a lot, Gran. If he left now, he’d be out that money and probably on the hook for the rest. Considering his chosen career didn’t lend itself to piles of cash, that was something August couldn’t afford.

“Here it is,” Mo announced with a flourish, dropping his hand and doing a little twirl in the empty bedroom.

He clenched his hand into a fist, trying to get rid of the weird little zing sensation left over from the woman’s touch. What the hell was that about? A quick glance around revealed a tiny bit of positivity for the night. At least this room was clean. Spotless, in fact. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

Mo stepped back as he entered the room. “My friend Lilly used to live here. She has a bit of an anal streak, so she cleaned it from top to bottom before she left, and I haven’t been in here since, under threat of black hair dye in my shampoo.”

He glanced back at her as she clutched her bright blonde locks highlighted with the most ridiculous hair color he’d ever seen. “Black hair dye?”

An odd threat, but everything about tonight had been odd. Why not strange cosmetology intimidation?

“She knew I had a new roommate moving in, and she didn’t want me scaring you off with a dirty bedroom.”

Would have been nice if her former roommate had extended the threat to the communal living areas, but he was at least grateful for the sanitized bedroom.

He continued to take in his surroundings. Seemed doable, for a short time period anyway. If nothing else, he could spend all his time in his room. Better than going out there to brave the land that a dumpster threw up in. August dropped his bag to the floor, a loud thud echoing in the bare space.

“Is that all you brought?”

He turned to face Mo, glancing down at his bag and back up to her. Not way up, because the woman was small. Couldn’t be more than five feet tops. His six one absolutely towered over her. He feared getting too close to the woman. He didn’t want to intimidate her with his size or make her feel uncomfortable. August was uncomfortable enough for the both of them right now.

“No.” He shook his head. “I have a few boxes in my car downstairs and a pod coming tomorrow with my bed and a few other things.”

She beamed. “Great! You can sleep on the couch tonight if you’d like. It’s super comfy, I promise.”

He could also sleep in hell. Which he imagined would be exactly like the clutter-covered couch.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine in here.” Not wanting her to insist, because she seemed like the kind of person who would when it came to creature comforts, he lied. “I have a sleeping bag out in my car, and I’ve camped on much worse surfaces than a carpet-covered floor.”

He had no such thing in his car, but he’d rather use his duffle as a pillow and whatever clothes he had as a blanket than sleep out in that living room. He was grateful for the place to stay, but he was paying his share. They’d have to have a talk about cleanliness if they were going to get through the next six months.

“All right.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if she didn’t quite believe him. “If you’re sure?”

“I am,” he said with a quick nod.

She shrugged. “Okay, then. Why don’t I help you grab the things from your car? I’ll help you unpack, and we can chat. Get to know each other.”

He supposed that was a logical idea. Although he was beat from driving six and a half hours, he should get to know the person he’d be living with for the next six months. At the same time, a get-to-know-you session with his perky, untidy new roommate—who was not a guy, but a very attractive woman he found as engaging as he did exasperating—sounded exhausting. Still, he should try to be polite. After all, the woman had opened up her home to him, even if he was paying his share of the rent.

What in the hell had possessed Gran to think they would be suitable roommates? She was his polar opposite, the extrovert to his introvert, the Oscar to his Felix. You know, if Oscar was a smoking hot bombshell and The Odd Couple had been filled with awkward sexual tension.

“That’s okay.” He tried to get his mouth to curve into a pleasant smile, but he feared all he could achieve after tonight’s surprises was an awkward grimace. “It’s not much stuff. I can grab it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’m a lot stronger than—”

The doorbell interrupted whatever she was saying. Mo’s face lit up with excitement, and August had to suck in a sharp breath at the beautiful way her eyes shone.

“Pizza’s here!” she exclaimed, running out of the room and calling over her shoulder, “You grab your stuff, and I’ll get the food. We can get to know each other over dinner.”

Perfect. Just perfect. A messy apartment, a perky roommate, and pineapple pizza, his very own personal hell.