Rebel Roommate - Jeannine Colette Page 0,2

and a TV hangs only six feet away on the other side of the room.

It’s a three-bedroom apartment that really should be a two-bedroom, but they converted the dining area into a sleeping space, which I learned is typical. Bay Area living should be called shoebox living.

“You’ll take Rodney’s old room.” He points toward the doorway that’s just off the living room. “Only downfall is, it doesn’t have a closet. And there’s only one bathroom, so we all share it.”

“I’ve shared a bathroom with you my entire life. As long as there’s no porn in there, I’m cool.”

“No porn, I swear. Just don’t ask to borrow anyone’s phone. I can’t vouch for their viewing habits.” He points to the bathroom door, which is closed with the light shining from underneath, showing someone is inside. “Bathroom is there, my room is next to it, and Wes’s is at the end of the hall.”

I stare at Wes’s door and notice his room is adjacent to mine. If these walls are as thin as Chad says, I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll have to hear him getting frisky.

“Does Wes have a girlfriend? I’m just wondering if I should invest in noise-canceling headphones.”

“Not that I know of,” Chad answers noncommittally, and my shoulders relax.

It shouldn’t matter to me if Wes is dating anyone or not. I mean, it’s been three years since we’ve seen each other.

While Chad comes home for holidays and summer breaks, Wes stays in Berkeley since his parents sold their home after he graduated high school. I can’t imagine not having my childhood home to come back to.

Chad taps me on the shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. We turn back to my room. I stare at the full-size bed pushed up against the wall that’s painted white with a poster of Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow. The mattress is bare, and there’s a creak in the wood floor next to the bed.

“It’s perfect.” I place my bag on the floor.

Chad goes to put my box on the bed, but I usher him to halt. “Except Scarlett has to go, which makes me wonder what Rodney used to do on this mattress, so let’s not put any of my things on top.”

Chad makes a gagging sound. “I didn’t think of that. Rodney might have moved out to live with his girl, but trust me when I say, they never got busy in here. I would have heard it because these walls are thin. Still, good thinking.” He puts the box on the floor. “You should fumigate that thing.”

“I brought three mattress covers, a pillow top, and two sets of sheets. I think I’ll be protected,” I say.

Chad raises his brow in curiosity.

I laugh. “Explaining the crazy thoughts that run through my brain on a daily basis would probably frighten you. Just know, I planned ahead on this one.”

I’m smiling as we walk out of my room. That smile is instantly wiped away when I hear the deep bellow of a man coming from inside the bathroom.

“Is Squid here?” a man’s baritone calls out from behind the bathroom door.

While the voice throws me off, there’s only one man who calls me that.

Wes.

“Yeah, and your ass had better be covered,” Chad yells back.

“I hate that nickname,” I grunt, which makes my brother shrug.

“Like Wes is ever going to change.” Chad nudges me as he leaves me standing in the living room and walks toward the kitchen.

I give a half-smile as my attention is pulled toward the bathroom door being unlocked.

As the door opens, steam billows out of the room in a thick plume. Wes appears, wrapped in a towel from the waist down. I take a moment to let the guy standing in front of me sink in.

Gone is the lean-cut teenager who used to tease me about my love of knee-high plaid socks. In his place is a man—a dark-haired, light-eyed, steel-chested Adonis of a man. Wide shoulders, bulging biceps, and a ripped torso with a smattering of hair to complete the package.

Wes will never change? Yeah. Right.

My brother has never made a falser statement in his entire life.

Wesley Knight is all grown up.

His dark curls are still dripping wet, droplets streaming down his chest and over the rough planes of his abs, skirting toward the edge of his towel. He runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair, making his biceps curl with the action.

I can feel my jaw dislodging from my face as I gawk. Yes, I’m staring. It’s