Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Jamie regards me with twisted lips and expectant eyes.
“Fitz was homeschooled. I’ve always assumed that’s why he’s socially awkward.” Will retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. “But now I must develop a new theory, since you’re perfectly normal, Jamie.” He slides on a black hoodie and grabs his keys. “Be good, kids.”
“Bye,” Jamie says, because she doesn’t know that acknowledging Will on any level only encourages his obnoxious behavior. Her attention returns to me while I dump the last few sips of my coffee into the sink and rinse my mug.
“You’re a fixer?” I ask.
“What?”
I peer over my shoulder. “Will suggested you could fix me, even though I’m not broken.”
“Oh.” She nods, climbing onto a barstool. “I’m a nurse. I took a temporary job here at a psychiatric clinic. The doctors fix people. I just help keep people alive, comfortable, and medicated. And working with psych patients is extra rewarding. So many of them have been abandoned by friends and loved ones. I feel like I’m their advocate, the one person who sees them regularly and cares for them.”
“I see.” I dry the mug and hang the towel over the dishwasher handle. “Well, I have to run to the store—”
Shit. I can’t walk that back. Now she knows I’m a liar.
Jamie hops off the barstool and eyes me with a tiny grin while fiddling with her gold pendant necklace. “I get it. You like alone time. Grocery shopping isn’t exactly a team sport. I’m not a social butterfly either. What’s your sign?”
“Sign?”
“Zodiac sign.”
Is she serious? Do I seem like the kind of guy who knows my sign?
“Smoke jumper. Loner. Grouchy.” Her finger taps her bottom lip.
Grouchy? What the fuck?
“Capricorn?”
“Again, I’m standing here not knowing what you’re talking about. And I feel like a dick after the grocery store comment. So help me not be a dick by just getting to the point.”
Her eyes widen. “Total Capricorn. Did you just have a birthday? Or is your birthday coming up in the next week or so?”
What is she? A psychic?
“December 28.”
She doesn’t even act surprised that she made a lucky guess. “I’m a Virgo, so I respect solitude too. Later, Calvin.”
“If you want to go to the store with me—”
“Nope.” She putters to the sliding door and lobs a grin in my direction. “I don’t want to go with you. Maybe because I don’t want you judging me for my food choices, or maybe you are a dick. It’s too soon to say.”
Chapter Three
JAYMES
“Estrogen!”
My head snaps to attention at the piercing squeal when I enter the house with two bags of groceries and catch an immediate whiff of buttery popcorn.
A long-haired blonde, several inches taller than me, surges in my direction with gregarious energy, a glint in her blue eyes, and her arms spread like an eagle approaching its prey. “I’m Maren.” She hugs me. “Do you love my old room? I already miss it.” Holding me at arm’s length, she gives me a slow assessment. “You’re cute as a button. And so tan. Damn, I need to get to the beach more often.”
“Down, girl,” Will calls from the floor behind the sofa with a foam roller at his back.
“Jamie.” I return a nervous smile. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
She carries my bags to the kitchen while I remove my coat and boots.
“Oh, that bag is—”
Too late.
Maren has my box of tampons on the counter next to my toothpaste and deodorant.
“That goes to my room.” I clear my throat and conceal my embarrassment with an overkill smile.
“I’ll put them in our bathroom. There’s no need to haul your toiletries in and out of the house. If you don’t like my shed, just let me know. We can swap rooms. Traditionally, the shed is for the newbie—the house rookie. But I remodeled it when I moved here, and honestly, it’s the best room in the house because it’s not in the house with these disgusting men.” Maren disappears upstairs with my toiletries.
“Told you she’s a lot.” Will lumbers to standing in his gray low-hanging sweatpants and black T-shirt and joins me in the kitchen to unpack my non-tampon bag of groceries.
I have two bonus roommates and more help than I need.
“This one’s yours.” He organizes my nonperishable items in the empty, faded oak cabinet below the beige-and-green granite counter. And I use the word “organize” lightly.
I’ll redo it later.
“Your shelf in the fridge is the empty one, and we share condiments. If you use the last of something shared, you have eight hours to replace it.”
I laugh.
“I’m not joking.” Will tips his chin toward the stairs. “Fitz will lose his shit if we run out of Dijon. He’s such a mustard snob—puts it on everything.”
“You only have to put up with us for a few months,” Maren notes, popping around the corner while tucking the front of her red-and-white flannel shirt into her black skinny jeans. “When fire season starts, Fitz and I will be nonexistent. And Will spends his days off trying to impregnate half of Montana.”