“Just be careful, okay?” Mom says. “I worry about you, Char.”
“You’re such a worrier, Mom. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Chapter 2
Charlotte
I gather all the info I can about the place and think through whether or not living as one girl with three guys would be a wise move for my senior year of college. It turns out they’re pretty desperate to have a fourth roommate move in ASAP who can share the rent with them.
He gives me the address and I drive my trusty old Toyota Corolla to their house on First Street a little after two p.m. on Sunday. After I crashed our brand-new Saturn Ion back in high school, my mom bought me this gem with the insurance payout, which has a radio and a CD player, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I find the house. It’s colored a shade of light gray, and on a slight hill that faces out toward the street. It’s flanked by two beautiful, thick-trunked trees on either side, the closest we get to Greek columns in the Midwest. Pretty decent curb appeal for a college rental, which surprises me.
I text Baker and tell him I’m here, then get out of the car and assess the area.
I look out at the soccer field across the road and watch a couple of female students kicking a ball back and forth. It’s as close to campus as you can get without being ‘on campus’ housing.
There’s no doubt in my mind. Unless something is deathly wrong with this room, I’m taking it—based on location alone.
The door opens and a voice calls to me.
“Hey there, Charlotte.” It’s Baker.
I turn around and lock eyes with him. He’s big and has a chin that juts out, almost like he’s the human equivalent of Johnny Bravo.
“Hey, Baker!”
“Come on in,” he says.
Baker holds the door open for me, and I head up the stairs and onto the porch. He’s handsome in the typical football player way, and probably has a pretty defined build under his t-shirt, I assume.
Probably because he is a football player for GSU.
“So, you’re looking for a last-minute room?” he asks.
“I was supposed to live with my boyfriend, and then we broke up. So, yeah, definitely in need of a last-minute room.”
“Oh.”
The porch floor is unfinished, and there’s a shelf full of books on one side. The rest of the screened-in area is filled out with a few chairs and a rose-patterned loveseat.
“Did you guys furnish this place?” I ask.
He nods. “Colin picked that one up.”
My stomach tumbles just at the name Colin.
The fact that the guy I went to high school with still gives me the urge to run for the hills just upon hearing the syllables of his name really is a testament to how deeply my distaste for the man runs.
Colin attended Saint Simeon College, our archrival school in sports and academics, not Greene State. Everyone at Galesburg High School knew where he went.
The fact that he’s a year older than the rest of us has me wondering why Colin is living here as a fifth-year senior. Plus, I doubt Colin would pick up a rose-patterned loveseat at the Salvation Army. That’s most definitely not his style.
Baker opens the door to the main house and I follow him inside.
“Built in 1881,” he says.
The foyer is roomy, and in the front side room they’ve set up a couple of desks for a study area. The place seems relatively clean, which was my number-one worry about moving in with three male species. In the “dining” room area, they have a small table for eating, but also an L-shaped couch and a wall-mounted TV.
“Wow, this place is really nice. I guess I just don’t understand why the rent is so affordable? It’s only two-hundred-fifty dollars a month?”
Baker shrugs. “Some bestselling author who went to Greene actually purchased it to write a few books while living out here, then he moved away and now he rents the place out. It’s a grand, divided between four roommates total, that’s two-fifty. I don’t ask questions when the rent is this low.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I suppose if you’re looking for a catch, there is only one bathroom on the second floor.”
I grimace slightly. Three guys and one girl in a bathroom. I would obviously have to lay down the law and a lot of ground rules.
He takes me through the kitchen—which is very modern and nice—and around back through another porch and to the outside where I smell steaks grilling.
There is another student with a mop of shaggy hair standing shirtless in flip flops next to the grill, who I immediately recognize as being another senior on the football team.
“Greg, this is Charlotte. She’s here about the room.”
“Hi, Greg,” I say. “I think I’ve seen you around campus some. Nice to meet you.”
Greg turns toward me with a smirk. “Oh? Damn. You didn’t tell me she was hot.”
“Dude. Come on,” Baker scoffs. “She’s going to live here, you know. Maybe. If we don’t scare her off.”
“Yeah, well, if she’s going to live here, we need to acknowledge the fact that she’s hot. There’s no point tap dancing around that lil’ fact, right?”
“I’m standing right here, you know,” I say. “You don’t have to speak about me in the third person.”
Greg laughs and slides his tongue on the inside of his cheek. With his shirt off, I can tell he’s definitely flexing his abs right now. He’s clearly one of those ‘thinks he’s hot shit’ types.
I squint past Greg and the grill. “Oh my God. Is that…a hot tub? You guys have a hot tub?”
Baker nods. “We’re really looking forward to using that in the winter.”
“Or tonight,” Greg adds with an eyebrow waggle.
I glance around the backyard. It’s huge, and there’s a huge maple tree in the back that provides tons of cover. I could see myself coming out here to read in the shade in the fall and spring.
I turn back to Baker, doing my best to ignore the fact that Greg has been gawking at me.
Yes, I’m definitely going to have to lay down the law and make sure there’s a lock on the bathroom door with that one under the same roof.
“I guess I better see the room,” I add.
“Right, the room,” Baker replies.
We head back inside, walk through the kitchen, and he leads me up the stairs and down the hall.
The Beach Boys are blasting from the shower in the bathroom, with someone singing “Surfin’ U.S.A.” at the top of his lungs in a mildly decent falsetto.
Is that who I think it is?
No, it couldn’t be him.
“So, your room is the closest to the bathroom, and actually, one of the doors has direct bathroom access,” Baker informs me.
There are two doors to what would be my room. It’s on the smaller side, but it’s not tiny. There’s a closet, and a window that looks out at the cobblestone street in front. It’s not huge, but not small either.
“Not bad. So, seriously, why isn’t anyone already living here?” I ask Baker, folding my arms, needing an explanation. This seems too good to be true.
He shrugs. “Well, we had a guy living here on the team who had to drop out of college completely due to financial issues. Then we had a townie live here, but turned out she was dealing meth and we had to give her the boot. Now, there’s you.”