I groan out loud.
There is no way this isn’t going to be a disaster. The guy hasn’t even shown his face yet and he’s already living rent-free in my head, leaving the toilet seat up and protein powder on every surface.
Apparently so.
Accidental Moose cohabitation.
I pause to glance toward the staircase, half-expecting some mystery lumber-beast to appear holding a towel and a bad attitude.
I’m sorry, butthat’sa rom-com title.
Also?? I’m a little impressed. This is chaotic even for you.
I flop back against the couch with a dramatic sigh and stare at the ceiling before I send her a simple response.
Thanks. I hate it.
Another beat. Then:
Send pics when he inevitably walks out of the shower innothing but trauma and a towel.
I let out an actual laugh at that.
Congratulations. You’re blocked.
I toss the phone beside me and drag both hands down my face. My palms are cold as my nerves buzz, my brain officially on fire.
Okay. Deep breath.Again.
I’m not in danger. There are no bloodstains, no broken windows, and no ominous chanting, either. The place is clean, though it’s certainly not the chaotic clutter of a squatter or a forgetful tenant. It’s neat and organized, and I know in my soul that this isn’t someone who forgot to move out. This is someone who stillhas a toothbrush in the upstairs bathroom and potentially thinks he lives here alone.
Maybe there’s been a mix-up with the rental agency. Maybe he doesn’t know I’m coming, or maybe this is the part in the horror movie where the girl rationalizes everything right before getting bludgeoned to death with a novelty moose figurine.
I stand slowly and scan the room again, making a point ofreallylooking this time as I try and figure out who the hell this alpha is.
A knot tightens low in my stomach as I realize he’ll be coming back at some point—maybe soon—and that I am apparently going to be living with a man. A full-grown, probably sweaty, mystery-meat-consuming chaos gremlin of an alpha with too many gym bags and not enough self-awareness.
I’ve worked with enough of them to know that’s already too much: sharing a house is a new circle of hell.
I haven’t even been in Iron Lake for two hours and I’m already knee-deep in a housing disaster, apparently sharing a roof with some mystery gym-bro who probably thinks coconut oil cures trauma.
I don’t know why I thought moving to a small town would be simple. Nothing in my life has ever gone to plan—why would this be the exception?
I sit back down with athud, stare up at the ceiling, and mutter to no one:
“What’s one more disaster?”
Chapter Five
Emery
The bedroom is smaller than I remember, but maybe that’s just because of the overstuffed bags I’ve hauled in from the car which are now collapsed in the middle of the floor. One has split half-open somewhere between the front steps and the top stair, its guts spilling out dramatically: tangled cords, mismatched socks, a couple of sports bras, and a rogue slipper I don’t even remember packing.
I stand in the doorway, my boots soaked and my coat still clinging to my shoulders. My fingers are frozen and my spine is screaming, and there’s still more to carry up.
Ugh.If there’s going to be a giant, protein-fueled man living here too, then the least he can do is materialize in time to carry my luggage. Big guy like that, he’s probably good for something, right?
Except it’s pushing nine p.m. and he’s still a no-show.
