Rm w/a Vu(9)

Rm w/ a Vu

Looking for roommate

to share 3 bdrm house in

Phoenix.

Must be tidy. No pets.

If this is you, please call (480) 555-1367



I don’t know why I do it—habit at this point, maybe?—but I dial the number and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. The fact that it goes on ringing leads me to believe that no one will answer, but just as I am about to remove the phone from my ear, I hear a light click.

“Hello?” The voice shocks me at first, mostly because it belongs to a guy. So far, all the ads I’ve responded to have been females. I’m not sure how a male/female roommate situation is supposed to work, and I’m also not sure I’m entirely comfortable with the idea either.

“Damn it.” The irritation is clear in his voice, and I realize that I haven’t spoken.

Before he can hang up, I jump off my bed and begin to pace the floor before I speak up. “Wait. Sorry… Hi.” I run the fingers of my free hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

There’s a light chuckle from his end of the phone, and there’s something about it that forces me to sit back down on my bed, the hand in my hair dropping into my lap. “Hello. Sorry, I thought you’d hung up.”

The corners of my lips turn up into a smile, and I exhale a relieved half-sigh-half-laugh. “Oh. No…uh, I’m still here.” I can’t help but let the smooth sound of his voice envelope me like a warm blanket. I find myself feeling kind of dazed.

“Can I help you with something, Miss…?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” I say, slapping my hand to my forehead. “My name is Juliette, and I was calling about your ad? For the room? You know, the one with the view?” He laughs again, this time it’s a much heartier sound, and I imagine him as some blue-eyed man with thick hair, sitting on his couch watching some kind of sporting event while he’s listening to me ramble on like an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“No need to be. The room is still available,” he tells me softly, and I’m pulled right back into the velvety sound of his voice. “Would you like to come take a look at it?”

“Uh huh,” I reply before shaking my head clear of the weird fog that rolls in. “I mean, yes. That would be great. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be perfect. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the address and directions, as it’s in one of the newer areas of Phoenix.”

After jotting down the address and directions, I hang up the phone and hold the paper in my hands like it’s my lifeline to…something. I’m not sure what it is, but there was something about his voice—his energy, even over the phone—that appealed to me. I laugh at myself, because it’s clearly ridiculous; for all I know, he could be some sixty-seven-year-old bald dude who walks around in his boxers and a sweat-stained tank top…

“Ewwww,” I groan to myself as the possibility of that being a reality actually sets in. “He could be some sixty-seven-year-old bald dude who walks around in his boxers and a sweat-stained tank top.”

I’m just about to call back and tell him that something came up and I’ll reschedule later if the room is still available, when the front door opens and my dad calls out, “Honey, I’m home for dinner!”

While I hope to God that there’s no sexual innuendo haloing his statement, I’m finding it hard to believe. It’s when I hear my mom’s giggle from the kitchen just beneath my room that I toss my phone back on my mattress and declare aloud, “I’ll take my chances with the old guy.”





Chapter 4



“So, how much is it?” Mom asks as she watches me rifle through the few clothes I had been able to stuff into my bag when leaving the dorm last week.

My hands stop moving over the hangers in my closet. “I kind of forgot to ask, actually.”

Mom laughs. “Shouldn’t that be the first thing you find out?” she teases lightly.

She’s right, of course, and I try to remember why I hadn’t even thought to ask. The sound of his voice suddenly invades my head, and I find myself feeling funny again. I have to tell myself that I’m acting ridiculous, because I’ve never even met the man. I easily chalk it up to a lack of sleep and my excitement over the prospect of moving out. Shockingly, it wasn’t because of my parents’ “carnal interludes” for once.

While I had briefly thought that the man could be an old bald guy, the more I lay in bed thinking about it, the more my mind imagined him the opposite. I like it better that way; it’s way less creepy.

Don’t get me wrong; I still gave my mom the address when telling her about the place because no matter how pretty this guy might be, people are still kind of crazy nowadays. I watch the news and am the daughter of a Phoenix police officer…I know things.