Just Roommates Read online

  Just Roommates

  Charity Ferrell

  Contents

  1. Sierra

  2. Sierra

  3. Sierra

  4. Sierra

  5. Sierra

  6. Sierra

  7. Sierra

  8. Maliki

  9. Sierra

  10. Maliki

  11. Sierra

  12. Maliki

  13. Sierra

  14. Maliki

  15. Sierra

  16. Sierra

  17. Maliki

  18. Sierra

  19. Maliki

  20. Sierra

  21. Maliki

  22. Maliki

  23. Maliki

  24. Sierra

  25. Maliki

  26. Sierra

  27. Maliki

  28. Sierra

  29. Maliki

  30. Sierra

  31. Maliki

  32. Sierra

  33. Sierra

  34. Maliki

  35. Sierra

  36. Maliki

  37. Sierra

  38. Maliki

  39. Maliki

  40. Sierra

  41. Sierra

  Also by Charity Ferrell

  Acknowledgments

  Connect

  Copyright © 2019 by Charity Ferrell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at www.charityferrell.com

  Cover Designer: Charity Ferrell

  Cover Photo Photographer: Lindee Robinson Photography

  Cover Photo Model: AC Parker

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  One

  Sierra

  Age Eighteen

  “Show me your ID.”

  I’m startled by the edgy voice, and my path is blocked when a powerful body stands in front of me.

  Oh shit.

  On my What Could Go Wrong list, this is at the top.

  I shift to the right, planning to make a run for it, but he cuts me off.

  Please don’t be him.

  If it’s him, I’ll die of embarrassment right here at his feet. At least the last person I’ll see before meeting death is good eye candy.

  My heartbeat rages out of control while I nervously lift my gaze. I gulp when my eyes set on a face darkened with frustration.

  If this is a dream, it’s not how I imagined one starring him would go.

  It was more along the lines of me seducing him. Kissing. Us naked.

  We’ve never crossed paths, but I know who he is.

  Maliki Bridges, the owner of the Down Home Pub, the bar my eighteen-year-old ass snuck into.

  A wave of light-headedness hits me—not from the liquor, but his presence.

  I’m going to kill Ellie.

  This was all her genius idea.

  “We’ll totally be fine, chicken,” she insisted while we sipped wine coolers in her parents’ basement. “Leo said as long as we stay in the corner with his friends, we’re as good as gold.”

  There wasn’t much else to do in our small town of Blue Beech, Iowa, so I stupidly changed clothes, tugged on a black baseball cap, and put on a fresh coat of red lipstick—all attempts at looking old enough to hang out in a bar.

  Our plan was running smoothly. The guys ordered our drinks from the bar and carried them to us. It was all fun and games until I needed a restroom break.

  And that’s what brought me here—scrunched in a narrow, dimly lit hallway with a hot and very pissed off man.

  Maliki crosses his arms and taps his foot. “I’m waiting.”

  I start to respond but shut my mouth at the realization that I’m holding a drink.

  “Shit,” I hiss under my breath—although it comes out louder than what I intended.

  I shove the glass behind my back, and his glare hardens, as if I were a child.

  Okay, or the teenager I am.

  The clamor of other bar patrons fades away, and my heart races as I give myself an internal pep talk. I blow out a long breath and give him my signature I’m innocent smile—my get out of jail smirk, as Ellie calls it. It carries a high success rate of my parents’ cluelessness to me doing shit like this.

  I dramatically gasp, my open hand flying to my chest. “Oh my God! I must’ve forgotten it. I swear, with the four kiddos at home, I always forget something.”

  The irritation on his face doesn’t falter.

  I’m a terrible fucking liar.

  Four kids? Really?

  I should’ve gone with one … one and a half.

  “ID,” he demands again, his tone destroying any playfulness in mine.

  Get out of jail smirk crashed and burned.

  I reluctantly unzip my bag and retrieve what he wants, knowing damn well it’ll make my circumstances worse. If I don’t give him something, I’m definitely getting thrown out. My smile stays intact when I hand it to him.

  “You could’ve at least given me a fake, Princess,” he says, unimpressed.

  Yeah, well, I don’t own one, jackass. Otherwise, I would’ve.

  I hold back the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m …” I stutter for the right words. “I’m waiting for my of age ID to arrive in the mail. You see, there was an error with this one. They mailed out a new one, but my postman broke his leg … and his knee was reconstructed … so he can’t walk and deliver anything to our mailbox.”

  Dear God.

  I’m rambling.

  A rambler is always guilty.

  Maliki cuts me off, “Spare me the lies. Everyone in this town knows who you are.” He jerks his head toward the same door I strolled through earlier, huddled between Leo’s friends. “Now, let’s get you back to your pink bedroom covered with posters of boy-band heartthrobs.” He moves his hand in a shooing motion as if I were a bug.

  Okay, seriously rude.

  “You suck,” I grumble but then perk up as something hits me. “I’m a paying customer.” Well, Leo’s friends are paying customers. If he knows he’ll make money off me, he might let me stay.

  “Tough shit,” he fires back. “I can’t have teenyboppers sneaking into my bar.”

  I twirl a finger in his direction. “You wait until I’m twenty-one. I’ll be here every day to annoy you.”

  He smirks and pats my head over my hat. “I’ll appreciate the business in the future, little one.” He gestures to the door again. “See your legal ass in a few years. You can exit the same way you snuck in.”

  I’m holding it together but close to losing my shit. Not only am I nervous about getting in trouble, but this is also Maliki Bridges.

  He’s the town’s bartending heartbreaker—a man no woman has tamed, no matter how hard they’ve tried to hold him down. Rumor is, three women have dropped to their knees and proposed to him. A single, attractive man in this town is rare. It’s his choice not to settle down.

  I’ve heard plenty of gossip about him. He’s funny—which so far, I’ve yet to agree with—and he always offers a helping hand to anyone in need.

  “Whoa! Wait!” I shriek. My drink comes into view when I dart my hands out to stop him from leading me to the door. Him seeing my strawberry daiquiri is now the least of my worries. I’m stunned when he pauses and waits for me to explain. “You can’t kick me out yet!”

&nbs
p; “And that’s where you’re wrong, Princess.”

  “I have no ride home.”

  “Isn’t your Barbie Jeep waiting for you outside?”

  I throw him a death stare. “The battery is dead actually.” My attention drifts to Leo’s friends and the empty stool I safely sat in until my bladder turned on me. “I rode with a friend.”

  He takes a quick glance at the guys before looking back at me. “You came with those little assholes?”

  I chew at my bottom lip. “Just a friendly tip: you might not want to refer to your customers as little assholes if you want to stay in business.”

  He yanks the daiquiri from my hand and points to my bag with it. “Call your parents.”

  “Absolutely under no circumstances is that happening. I’d rather you pour that drink over my head.” I lower my tone. “Do you know who my father is?”

  “Sure as fuck do, Sierra Lane.”

  “Then, you know he’ll kill me if I call, asking for a ride home from a bar.” I swallow. “And given he’s the mayor of this town, there’s no doubt he’ll make it his mission to create problems for you. He’ll want this place shut down, so the innocent children of Blue Beech can’t sneak into your big, bad bar.”

  His jaw clenches. He knows I’m right. “Call your brother then.”

  “He’s out of town.”

  He rubs the back of his neck, now appearing stressed. “A friend.”

  I groan. “Fine. I’ll call someone, but it’ll take them time to get here.” I motion toward Leo’s friends. “I’ll hang out over there until they do.”

  Ten minutes ago, Leo received a call, needing to run a quick errand. Ellie joined him, and instead of tagging along, his friends offered to keep me company.

  Maliki shoves my ID into his back pocket and catches my elbow in his fist. “Nice try, Miss Teen Blue Beech. You can wait in my office until they get here. I’ll grab you a coloring book to pass the time.” His grip is firm as he pulls me out of the hallway and to the edge of the crowd, hiding me the same way Leo’s friends did.

  “Won’t you taking me to your office look worse than allowing me to enjoy a few drinks?” I ask behind him, struggling to not stumble in my heels.

  His gaze flashes back to me. “You’re too young to be in a bar, Sierra, not too young to fuck.”

  I slam my mouth shut.

  Fair point.

  I lick my lips, hoping I don’t mess up my lipstick. Unfortunately, he looks as interested in fucking me as he does in serving me drinks.

  He leads me through swinging double doors and down another hallway, and then he pushes me into a cramped office. A black desk with a computer and a tattered chair are the only furniture. The door slamming shut startles me, and Maliki strides around the desk.

  He opens a drawer, drags out a sheet of paper and pen, and slaps them onto the desk. “I promised coloring books, but this is all I have.”

  I study him up close. I’ve admired him from afar—once at the grocery store and another time when he was running shirtless in Town Square before I rear-ended the minivan in front of me, unable to take my eyes off him—but he’s more attractive in person. Captivating. Defined muscles are underneath his black tee that has the bar’s logo on the right side of his chest. Dark stubble shadows his jaw, and his face is hard and handsome. His skin is tan—somewhat natural but also a result of being out in the sun. A backward black baseball cap covers his dark hair.

  Hat twinning.

  He could give any Instagram model a run for their money.

  I wave off his lame offer. “Don’t worry about me being entertained. I plan on snooping through your stuff as soon as you leave.” I shrug with no shame.

  “There are cameras in here, Pageant Queen.”

  “And?”

  “And keep your hands off my shit.”

  We’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and a loud voice follows on the other side. “Ki! Man, we’re slammed! I need you out here!”

  Maliki gestures to my phone. “Call every contact in your phone if you have to.”

  I release an exaggerated sigh.

  He opens the door, throws me one last irritated look, and leaves.

  I snatch the pen and write Screw you, asshole across the paper while grinning, and my snooping party starts.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ellie texts, saying she’s in the parking lot. Maliki says nothing as I leave, but when I peek back to the bar on my way out, he’s watching me.

  I add an extra skip to my step and flip him off over my shoulder.

  Two

  Sierra

  Age Twenty

  “ID.”

  Here we go again.

  Like last time, I told Ellie sneaking in was a horrible idea, and also like last time, she persuaded me otherwise.

  “We’re home from college, and there’s jack shit to do,” is what she said, speaking the truth.

  Leo swore on his grandmother’s grave that Maliki was out of town and not playing ID regulator. No longer am I taking Leo’s word on anything. I should’ve known the guy was trouble when he said he wasn’t a dog person.

  Two years have passed since my last attempt to sneak in. Maliki might think I’m old enough to drink now.

  I dramatically sigh and slap the ID into his waiting hand.

  Well, it’s not exactly my ID.

  He snorts while inspecting it. “Oh, your name is Ellie Ross now, huh?” He moves the ID from his view to gain a better look at me. “The strangest thing just happened. Minutes ago, I served a woman at the bar with the same name. That Ellie resembles the photo on the ID way more than you.”

  Ellie celebrated her twenty-first two months ago and got a copy of her ID, which went to yours truly. I normally have no issues using it. At the bars on campus, if you’re cute, you’re in. Not so much at this jackass’s pub.

  I shrug. “I filed a name change. It was no fun, sharing it with a beverage ending in Mist.”

  He holds the ID back up and studies it further, a grin twitching on his lips. “You changed not only your name, but also the color of your hair?”

  “I went through a bad breakup. You can’t get over a man until you change your hair.”

  He nods, eating up my responses. “I’ll escort you out.”

  “I’d prefer you be a gentleman instead and escort me to the bar. Maybe buy me a cocktail?” I don’t bother hiding my drink this time. “If I recall correctly, you told me I could’ve at least given you a fake last time. I followed your exact instructions.”

  “You took that out of context.”

  A flirtatious smile dances on my lips. “Let’s talk compromise, shall we? How about this—we walk away from each other, pretend this chitchat didn’t happen, and that you never saw me? I’ll act invisible and swear not to cause any problems.” I thrust my hand out, bringing up my pinkie, but drop it seconds later when he ignores it.

  Maliki snatches the drink from me. “Did you drive?”

  “No, Ellie did.”

  “Ellie, your friend, or Ellie, your alter ego?”

  “I hate you,” I bite out, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “And I hate annoying teenagers.”

  “I’m not a teenager.”

  “I hate annoying young women. Is that better for your underage ass?”

  “I hate annoying old men.”

  Technically, Maliki isn’t that old. I don’t know his exact age, but I’d guess around thirty. Ten years older than me isn’t ancient, but dude was learning multiplication when I was pulled from the womb.

  He smirks, now looking more humored. “How much have you had to drink to give you enough balls to talk shit to me in my own bar?”

  Crap. I internally forehead-slap myself. Play nice. “Only a few. I’m not planning to get wasted and dance on the bar.” I point to my glass in his hand. “I’ll make this my last. I promise.”

  “And who the fuck served you?”

  “Ellie Ross.”

  I should’ve done a one-eighty and hightailed
it when I spotted Maliki behind the bar. Instead, I made Ellie play waitress and deliver my drinks to our table. Like last time, I sat in the corner. And also like last time, I had to abandon my spot for a restroom break. I shouldn’t be punished for being a few months shy of turning twenty-one. It’s not like I’m asking Sir Checks-ID-a-Lot to fill my sippy cup to the brim with vodka.

  He takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his thick hair. “Jesus. You need to stop thinking you’re a grown-up.”

  “I am a grown-up.” I count down my reasons of argument on my fingers. “I’m legally old enough to play the lottery, buy cigarettes, and hell, even do porn.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Interesting. I’d love to witness your father’s face if the last one ever happens.”

  “So, deal?” I hold my hand out once more, this time for him to shake.

  Again, he ignores it.

  It falls slack to my side.

  “As I explained before, you might be old enough to place bets and fuck, but you’re too young to drink, Pageant Queen.”

  I yank the ID from him. “I’ve changed my mind. You won’t be blessed with my business when I turn twenty-one. My money will be spent elsewhere.”

  “Perfect.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Now, this is the part where you call someone to pick you up. You know the drill.”

  “Kyle motherfucking Lane!”

  I gasp, and my chest tightens at the sound of the name yelled.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Maliki mutters under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his stressed face.