2B or Not 2B

By: Stephanie Witter

Book 1 in the Roomies Series.

Chapter One


"You could at least let me believe you'll call me!"

I looked up and saw a leggy brunette leaving an apartment, whining and yelling with a high pitched voice to a guy who looked mildly amused by the scene. I did too, to be honest. The girl's makeup was all ruined from an obviously wild night with the guy. Her shiny brown hair was in knots around her sharp face, and her clothing—a skimpy brown dress—was all wrinkled. With stilettos tight in her hands, she scrambled past me without a look back.

I shook my head and chuckled. I turned around, and my eyes locked on him―or on the number next to his head. 2B. That's the apartment I was looking for. I snickered and waved at the guy. With his buzzed light brown hair, light blue eyes, a thin but visible scar running from his temple down his strong jaw, and complete with a muscular body, he was impressive and could almost intimidate me. Almost. I had yet to find someone able to do such a thing. But his raw edge was smoothed by his long eyelashes—a shade darker than his hair—and thick eyebrows, and his stubble accented the squareness of his jaw. Additionally, his lips—all round and full—were made to smile, not sneer.

One of his thick eyebrows shot upward. He scratched his broad chest over his white tee-shirt smeared with red lipstick on the left shoulder. While watching him bit his nails, I answered his silent question by shooting my own eyebrow upward and held up the newspaper in my hand.

He straightened his back and shook his head, crossing his strong looking arms over his chest. He probably thought I'd coward, but I wasn't one to back down. I mimicked him again and pushed it by leaning against the railing in front of him. His body was guarding his apartment.

"No way. I'm not taking a girl for a roomy," he said, his rich voice calm, but firm.

I couldn't place the slight inflection in his words, but his little accent was boyishly charming which was totally in contrast with his appearance. So, he didn't want a girl in his apartment besides having them there to bang. I forced myself not to look down at myself with my black jeans and equally dark tee-shirt. I didn't like to wear flashy colors because of my weight. I wasn't obese or anything, but I was slightly overweight. I didn't like to be reminded of it when a guy looked at me not because he found me pretty, but because wearing white pants made my legs look like twice their size. So I stuck to the darker shades and rocked them. After all, my fair hair in a pixie cut brought enough color to my face.

"Because you're afraid it'll drive away the girls you shag?" I asked, my voice giving away my amusement at his rejection. I was weird like that. After all, I was sure I could break through him, and I needed to. My parents didn't want me out of the dorms for my second year in college, but I couldn't take one more year with a girl breathing, or snoring, in the same space as me. I could deal with a roommate in a separate bedroom, but I needed my space.

So this apartment, the 2B, was my last chance, or I'd have to live with my parents and suffer through one hour in traffic to go to my classes. No way. I needed my independence like every nineteen year-old girl. Of course, I should have listened to my best friend when he told me countless times this summer that I had to move my wobbly butt and look for a place for the school year. And here I was two days before the beginning of the semester, talking with a womanizer after I visited five apartments with a smelly guy, a girl with a nail fetish, a hypochondriac girl, a guy too lazy to open his mouth and look elsewhere than his World of Warcraft game and, lastly, a girl who banished me because I was blonde. There were too many freaks in this city, and it meant something when I considered myself like one.

His mouth dropped open without a sound. His light blue eyes travelled up and down my body, and I kept myself from fidgeting. He wasn't very tall for a guy, but with my petite height, he easily towered over me.

"You didn't just say that."

I shrugged and waved the newspaper between us. "You're looking for a roommate, and you didn't specify anything besides that you're a student."

"That doesn't mean I can't tell you right now that I won't take a girl to live in my place."

I sighed—losing my patience. It's like kindergarten when boys and girls didn't want to mingle because the opposite sex had cooties. I rolled my eyes. "Don't see me as a girl. See me as a buddy of yours or something."

He cast his eyes downward and didn't look back up to my face. I looked down and groaned. Such a guy. "My buddies don't have boobs, as far as I know."

"Because you felt them up to be sure?" I chuckled, against my better judgement.

Once again, his mouth dropped open. I often did that to people when they didn't know me, and sometimes even the ones who knew me, too. Only my little sister and my best friend were used to my antics and my big mouth. My mouth had no filter, no matter what the situation might be. Early on, I knew I could never try to be in a diplomatic branch of work; I just knew that I'd be able to give enough ammunition for World War III.

He shook his head to get out of his funk, I was sure, and chuckled. He scratched his broad chest again, and this time I heard a low noise—like pieces of metal clinking against each other. Weird. I cocked my head to one side, but the mystery was not solved.