Rebel Roommate: A Brother's Best Friend Romance by Jeannine Colette & Lauren Runow

Author:Jeannine Colette & Lauren Runow [Colette, Jeannine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

My parents are coming up for the next few days to watch the annual student athlete versus alumni game. I’m excited to not only see my parents, but to watch the guys play, too, since I’m friends with them now.

Well, except one.

I open the door and wrap my arms around both my parents at the same time before they even get the chance to knock. “I’ve missed you guys!”

“There’s my baby girl,” my dad says as he holds me tight, lifting me off the ground slightly before setting me down.

“Come in, come in.” I usher them inside the lobby and up the stairs.

We enter the apartment, and I give them a mini tour, which is really the grand tour because the layout leaves little to navigate. Of course, they’ve been here before to see Chad, but I’m proud to show them how I’ve livened up the place by adding some photos on the wall and adding a new throw pillow and Grandma’s quilt over the back of the couch.

“Oh wow, is that the old Bulldog blanket?” Mom asks as she grabs the blanket that is somehow sitting underneath my grandma’s.

I didn’t notice it until now, and just seeing it makes me stop in my tracks. That’s the blanket I used to curl up in while watching Wes and Chad play on their travel ball team. It’s also the blanket I was wrapped up in the night Wes left for college. I haven’t seen it since that night.

Thankfully, my mom moves on, taking me out of my trance.

“I forgot the extra bedroom was right off the living room. Are you getting enough privacy with your space being so close to the main areas?” she asks. “When you walk from the bathroom, everyone can see you in your towel. Make sure these hornball college friends of your brother’s don’t try to see you naked.”

I could choke on air with how my mother’s comment just summed up my past few weeks. Of course, the first thing I think about is Wes. I’ve been brilliantly giving him the cold shoulder over the last two weeks that I almost tricked myself into thinking those moments with him didn’t happen. How we went from getting along in the laundry room to me being shattered by the sight of him going off to talk to that blonde gives me mental whiplash. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop whatever emotions are starting to run through me after seeing that blanket.

“Well, you guys got here just in time,” I say, changing the subject. “The guys are already at the field, and if we leave now, we’ll get there in time for you to see Chad throw the first pitch.”

When I grab my grandma’s quilt, I see the orange-and-black bulldog blanket more clearly, and I have to take a deep breath to push aside any emotions that come bubbling up with it. If he’s trying to remind me of the past—our past, where he did nothing but torture me—then so be it.

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