The Roommate Arrangement Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  OTHER BOOKS BY JAE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT JAE

  OTHER BOOKS FROM YLVA PUBLISHING

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  www.ylva-publishing.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY JAE

  Happily Ever After

  Standalone Romances:

  Paper Love

  Just for Show

  Falling Hard

  Heart Trouble

  Under a Falling Star

  Something in the Wine

  Shaken to the Core

  Fair Oaks Series:

  Perfect Rhythm

  Not the Marrying Kind

  The Hollywood Series:

  Departure from the Script

  Damage Control

  Just Physical

  The Hollywood Collection (box set)

  Portland Police Bureau Series:

  Conflict of Interest

  Next of Kin

  The Vampire Diet Series:

  Good Enough to Eat

  The Oregon Series:

  Backwards to Oregon

  Beyond the Trail

  Hidden Truths

  The Complete Oregon series (box set)

  The Shape-Shifter Series:

  Second Nature

  Natural Family Disasters

  Manhattan Moon

  True Nature

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I’d like to thank my awesome beta readers. They were my cheering section and my guinea pigs who provided feedback on the first draft of this book and made the writing process less lonely and more fun! A big thank-you to Anne-France, Claire, Danielle, Erin, Laure, Louisa, Melanie, and Trish.

  I’m also sending a shout-out to my editor, Robin J. Samuels, and to my fellow lesbian fiction authors Chris Zett and Catherine Lane, who took time from their own writing to join my team of beta readers.

  Last but never least, thank you to my loyal readers for letting me keep them up at night because they need to read just one more chapter. I hope you stay up late for The Roommate Arrangement too.

  CHAPTER 1

  This evening wasn’t going to end well. Steph knew it the moment Marissa, the comic opening for her, pulled the microphone out of the stand and accidentally whacked herself in the nose.

  The rest of her set didn’t go any better.

  The local country bar didn’t have a greenroom, where comedians could wait before going up on stage, so Steph sat at the bar and had a front-row seat to the disaster that was her opening act.

  Marissa clamped both hands around the mic as if about to recite a poem. “Has anyone here done a juice cleanse lately?”

  Steph stifled a groan. A juice cleanse? Really? That was the material she had chosen for rural Idaho?

  The people in the audience looked at Marissa as if she’d asked if anyone owned a pet dinosaur.

  Marissa didn’t seem to notice and prattled on. “All my friends swear by them. They say it gives them bright skin and a flat belly. But all I got was one hell of a headache when I woke up. How was I supposed to know that mimosas don’t count?”

  That got her a sympathy chuckle from a woman in the front row. Two of the men in the back got up and returned to the pool tables, and the noise level in the bar rose as people went back to their conversations.

  Not even the skin-tight top Marissa wore could keep the audience’s attention, despite its plunging neckline. Sweat gleamed on Marissa’s brow, and she started to speak faster, rushing through her set and making things worse.

  Wonderful. Steph didn’t look forward to going up after her. She’d been happy when she had found out her opener would be a fellow female comic. Stand-up comedy was still such a male-dominated field that Steph was often the only woman—and the only queer person—in the lineup. But now that Marissa was bombing, Steph would have to work harder to show them that women could be funny. Male comedians never have to deal with that. No one judged them by another guy’s failure. It wasn’t fair, and it made Steph even more determined to prove herself.

  “Can I get you a drink…or anything else?” the bartender asked behind her.

  Steph turned and regarded the pretty redhead. Was it just her imagination, or had there been a flirty undertone?

  “You kinda look like you could use one,” the bartender added with a subtle wink.

  Yep. Definitely flirting. God knew Steph could have used a drink to make it through Marissa’s routine, and flirting was her favorite pastime. At the start of her career, she would have said yes to the drink—and to the implied offer—but her nearly ten years in comedy had taught her a lot. Now she never drank before her set because it slowed her down, and she had learned the hard way to not hook up with employees at the venues where she performed.

  Too bad. The redhead was cute. Steph sent her an appreciative grin. “Thanks. I’m good. Depending on how this goes,” she gestured toward the stage, “I might have to hightail it out of here right after my set.”

  “Nah, I doubt it. I remember you from last year. You’re good. Now she,” the bartender nodded toward Marissa, “is a whole nother ball game.”

  They both paused and watched Marissa for a few seconds.

  “…and then he nudged aside my selfie stick and said—” Marissa took a nervous pace forward and stepped onto the mic cord, pulling it out. Her voice cut out in the middle of the punch line, which might have been a blessing in disguise because their small-town audience wasn’t into Marissa’s big-city humor.

  Come on, read the crowd.

  Marissa managed to plug the microphone back in and struggled through the rest of her set.

  Steph wasn’t sure who was more relieved when it was finally over—Marissa or the audience. With a mumbled “This joke normally goes so much better,” she fled from the stage.

  The bar owner took the mic and stared after her. “Um, thank you. That was…interesting. Give it up for Marissa Jones, everyone.”

  The crowd clapped without much enthusiasm.

  “Are you ready for your headliner?” the bar owner asked with fake cheer. “Please give a warm welcome to Tiffany Renshaw!”

  Steph groaned. He had gotten her name wrong the second year in a row.

  But she was a professional, so she smiled as she bounded onto the low stage as if she owned the place. No way would she let them see her sweat. She shook the owner’s hand and took the mic from him. “Thanks, but it’s Stephanie Renshaw, actually.” She gave the audience a conspiratorial grin. “Someone should tell him a man could really get in trouble calling out the wrong name at the wrong time.”

  “Oh, he already knows that, sweetheart,” the owner’s wife shouted from the back of the room.

  That got th
em the first real laughter of the evening.

  Grinning, Steph launched into her routine and forgot about everything else—her frustration with Marissa, the fleabag hotel where she’d spent the night, and the eight hundred and fifty miles she’d have to drive to make it back to LA. It was always like this for her. Up on stage was the one place where she felt at home. Being a comic on the road for most of the year had stopped being fun a while ago, but this was why she was still doing it.

  Before she knew it, an hour had gone by, and she was delivering her closing bit. “Since it’s Halloween, let me talk about something really scary: most comedians’ love lives. Have you ever noticed how the majority of comics are either single or divorced? Apparently, sarcasm and being gone most of the time are not desirable traits in a partner. Who knew?” She pressed her hand to her chest and acted surprised. “I also found out that Ramen noodles are not considered an appropriate first-date meal and that most people don’t find it attractive if you start scribbling down ideas for jokes while they tell you their life story.”

  A chuckle went through the crowd.

  “So, I’m single. I know, shocker, right?” She playfully tossed back her tousled hair.

  The audience made fake sympathetic noises.

  “Oh, don’t worry. It’s by choice…well, not mine, but anyway.” That wasn’t exactly true, but it always got her a laugh, so she’d left it in.

  “I’d take you, babe,” one of the guys who had drifted back over from the pool tables shouted.

  “Sorry,” Steph answered without missing a beat. “That wouldn’t be fair to all my other suitors. Anyway, my parents think I have bad judgment when it comes to the people I date. Well, either that or bad eyesight. I used to have this really buff boyfriend. He wore an ankle weight all the time, and I thought, wow, he’s really into keeping fit.” She acted it out, hopping around on one foot to show the audience where the weight had been. Then she paused before delivering the punch line. “It turned out it was an ankle monitor. He’d forgotten to mention he was out on parole.”

  The crowd roared, and a guy in a cowboy hat thumped his beer mug on the bar and doubled over, howling.

  The wave of laughter flowed over Steph, and she soared on top of it like a champion surfer. The adrenaline rush hit her, and she couldn’t help laughing along with the audience. Nothing could beat the feeling of making a room full of strangers laugh.

  When she thanked the audience and left the stage, she caught the gaze of the cute bartender.

  Okay, maybe sex could. Too bad one of the few rules she lived by was to keep her hands off venue employees—and people with ankle monitors.

  Steph was still buzzing from her stage high when she crossed the parking lot toward her Mini Cooper convertible.

  “Stephanie? Wait!” A woman’s voice from behind stopped her.

  A wide grin formed on Steph’s lips. Apparently, the cute bartender didn’t intend to let her leave without saying goodbye. She turned, a bit of flirty banter already on the tip of her tongue.

  But it wasn’t the redhead who’d followed her; it was Marissa. “Are you heading back to your hotel?”

  “No. I’m so keyed up I figured I might as well head toward LA and get as many miles in as I can and just crash in some motel along the way.”

  “Can I hitch a ride?” Marissa asked. “I took a Greyhound here because what they’re paying me doesn’t even cover the gas money.”

  Greyhound? Wow. That was true dedication. “Sure. Hop in. There’s not much legroom, but my car sure smells better than the bus.”

  “Thanks.” Marissa squeezed her backpack into the trunk next to Steph’s duffel bag.

  They climbed in and drove the first couple of miles in silence, but Steph felt what was coming, so she wasn’t surprised when Marissa said in a near whisper, “That was bad, wasn’t it?”

  Steph wasn’t going to lie, but neither did she want to discourage a fellow comic. “We all bomb every now and then. Part of the job.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t understand it. I did the exact same material in bars and cafés in LA, and it worked every time.”

  “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. You can’t do the same jokes wherever you go. Those guys back there couldn’t relate to juice cleanses, mimosas, and LA rush hour.”

  “Hmm. You might be right.” Marissa pulled her phone from her pocket and started to take notes. “Any other advice?”

  Steph threw her a look out of the corner of her eye. When had this turned into a free consultation? But they had a lot of time to kill, so she might as well help out a colleague. She pointed at Marissa’s low-cut top. “I’d take a look at your wardrobe if I were you. Bits over tits.”

  “What?”

  Steph chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate a good-looking pair of breasts. I definitely do. But if you want people to take you seriously, show them good comedy, not your cleavage.”

  Marissa blushed and adjusted the neckline of her top. “Does that mean you’re gay? All those jokes about your bad taste in men are completely made up?”

  “Nope. All true.” Steph grinned. “I’m bi, which means I have indiscriminate bad taste in men and women.”

  A giggle drifted over from the passenger seat. “Oh my gosh, you’re funny. If you can make me laugh after that disaster, you’re really good.”

  “Spend enough time working the road, and you’ll be really good too.” Or slink home with your tail between your legs, Steph mentally added. That wasn’t what she was doing, though, was it?

  Marissa sighed. “I know you’re right. With the five minutes here and there I cobble together in LA, there’s no way to improve fast. I need the longer spots you can get out here, but I’ve only been on the road for three weeks, and I already hate it. I thought being in a different town every week would be a fun adventure, but…”

  “Tell me about it. Except for a week back in LA this summer, I’ve been on the road all year, bouncing around the country, living out of my suitcase, and eating shitty food.”

  “So you’re going back to LA for good?” Marissa asked.

  “Yeah. Let’s face it. No one was ever discovered in a country bar in southern Idaho, so I’m aiming for my big break in the city of sunshine and smog. That’s the plan anyway—if I can find an apartment without having to sell a couple of organs.”

  “If you need a place to crash for a while, I’ve got a sleeper couch,” Marissa said.

  That was part of what Steph liked about being a comedian. While competition for gigs was fierce, there was an unspoken code among comics. Whenever another comedian needed a place to stay for a couple of days, you provided it, no questions asked.

  “Thanks, but luckily, my sister lives in LA. She’s offered me her guest room for as long as I want it.”

  “Oh, I bet that’ll be nice.”

  “Yeah, kind of. My sister’s a neat freak, so it’ll be like living with my parents.” Although, truth be told, Claire had gotten more relaxed since she and Lana had become a couple for real. That was one of the reasons Steph liked her future sister-in-law so much.

  “I know what you mean,” Marissa said. “My sister’s the same. Oh, hey, wait a minute! She and her boyfriend are moving from LA to New York and looking for someone to take over the lease on their two-bedroom apartment. It’s not listed yet. Do you want me to give them a call?”

  “That depends on how much the rent is. Like I said, I’m pretty fond of my kidneys.”

  “It’s not too bad, especially considering it’s close to Melrose and Sweetzer,” Marissa said.

  If Steph had been a dog, her ears would have perked up. Finding a halfway affordable apartment that close to two of the big comedy clubs was about as likely as encountering a zebra on the interstate. It was almost too good to be true. “How much is ‘not too bad’?”

  “Twenty-two hundred, I
think.”

  In other words, highway robbery in most other parts of the country, but pretty cheap for such a central spot in LA. From what little she made as a comedian, she couldn’t afford it. But if she got her friend Penny to give her back her old job as a dog walker and maybe picked up a few Uber rides, it might actually be doable. “You know what? Give them a call. If I find a roommate who pays his or her part of the rent on time, I think I can swing it.”

  Marissa slapped her own forehead. “Oh, shoot. Sorry, forget I said anything.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The landlord doesn’t rent to singles,” Marissa said. “I’m sure there’s a story there, but I never found out what it was. I just know they don’t want singles or roommate situations.”

  Steph frowned. “Isn’t that housing discrimination?”

  “Only if you can prove it in court, I guess. Too bad. It’s a great neighborhood—nice and quiet, but only a few blocks from The Improv and The Fun Zone. It even comes with two parking spots. Plus it’s rent-controlled. If I didn’t plan on being on the road for most of next year, I’d move in myself.”

  “Damn.” Steph slapped the steering wheel. “For an apartment like that, I’d marry someone, if need be.”

  “Sorry,” Marissa said again.

  After that, both kept quiet for a while, with only the radio and the monotonous sound of tires on pavement breaking the silence. The words she’d just said seemed to echo through Steph’s mind. For an apartment like that, I’d marry someone. She wouldn’t go that far, of course; she enjoyed the freedom of sleeping with whomever she wanted too much. But the landlord didn’t need to know that. What if she did what her sister had pulled off last year? When Claire’s first fiancée had broken up with her, endangering the publishing contract for her relationship advice book, Claire had hired an out-of-work actress to play the role of her loving future spouse.

  Maybe Steph could do something similar. In a city like Los Angeles, it shouldn’t be hard to find someone who was desperate for a place to live and willing to play her significant other in front of the landlord.