Bloodlust

Roommates

— VENICE —

"You pig."

Isaiah looked up at me in horror, mouth parted in aghast. "Don't call me a pig. I'm the sweetest damn cousin you'll ever have."

"You're the only cousin I'll ever have," I corrected. "And don't look innocent. You ate my special cookie."

"It really wasn't that special."

I smacked his arm. "Then why would you eat it?"

"Because you eat that shit like crack. I thought it would taste better."

"It's a protein cookie, ding dong."

"See, that's the problem. Why the hell is that a thing?"

Huffing, I spun on my heel and marched back into the kitchen. "One day of living together and I already want to strangle you."

"That's not very nice," he pouted.

"Eating my cookie wasn't nice either, punk. I'm going to my room to grieve now."

He sighed in defeat as I padded down the long carpeted hallway to my new bedroom. We'd rock-paper-scissored for the master suite, of which the little turdling won.

I truly didn't care, though. I was just happy to have my own bathroom and not have to live like a child anymore. While I loved my parents very dearly, I was too old to have a curfew and be required to report back to them on any and every little thing.

I officially moved out yesterday but Isaiah and I had been planning this for a few months now. We were raised like brother and sister throughout childhood, always going back and forth between each other's houses, so getting a place together after he graduated college felt natural. He needed a roommate and knew I'd been itching to get out of our hometown for ages.

It wasn't that I had never tried, either. My parents always fought me tooth and nail about it. My mom, especially.

She thought it was best for me to live with her until I got married. However, each time I started dating a guy (which was rare), she found some flaw in him that couldn't be reconciled with. She was impossible to please.

If I followed her rules, I would never find a guy who tolerated me much less wanted to marry me. And anyway, I thought her logic was stupid.

I wasn't interested in pursuing a serious relationship when I had no idea what I was doing with my life. Moving out would help me grow up and figure it out. Or so I hoped.

As I plopped onto the floor in front of my bed, I unpacked the last few boxes. There hadn't been much to move to begin with, honestly. I didn't bring any furniture with me. Just a shit ton of books and clothes.

After an hour or so of organizing and admiring the final touches, Isaiah knocked on my door. I stood up from where I'd been fanned out across the floor and popped the door open.

"Dying of starvation?" I assumed, arching a brow. This was usually the reason he pestered me.

"No . . . well, yes." He rolled his eyes. "But the neighbor's here. He brought over a welcome basket and wanted to introduce himself. Your turn. He's in the kitchen."

I scoffed but he merely shrugged and walked off. Well, I guess the neighbor was just trying to be nice. This was what it meant to be adults, right? Being nice to your neighbors.

Sighing, I plucked at my baggy t-shirt, made a face, and then headed to the kitchen. A tall, muscular faced me. He had short, coppery-brown hair that looked soft and bouncy. I assumed he was young by his causal tee and jeans.