1. Least-worst options
Leah
Leah dragged her suitcase up the fourth flight of stairs, telling herself that the lack of working elevator wouldn't bother her when she wasn't hefting twenty kilos of baggage.
"It's nice," she murmured as she surveyed the white hall and labelled doors, looking for number 407.
It wasn't really. It was cold and clinical, like a doctor's surgery, but she'd made her decision. She would rather drop out of college than stay in the room she had shared with the girl that she had thought was her best friend.
Emily had been the perfect roommate. Leah had been prepared for someone nuts: a slob or a crazy party girl. She would have tolerated that. She'd come to campus with her High School sweetheart, Sam, and she'd felt wholeheartedly that the contentment she'd experienced when they'd both got scholarships to the same university could overcome whatever drama would come from sharing a room with a stranger. Emily could have been a stoner who performed ritual sacrifices in the bathroom and Leah would have shrugged it off as a small price to pay for getting everything else she'd ever wanted.
She was pleasantly surprised by the shy, sweet girl that she shared her new home with. She was interested in Leah's life without being nosy, could carry out a decent conversation, and had brought a crepe maker with her into the dorm. She was generous with her cooking (and everything else) and Leah happily shared her fast expanding network of friends with Emily in return. Life had been perfect for exactly six months.
Until that night.
Leah had planned an intense cramming session at the library before spring break, but a burst pipe had turned the normally quiet space into an industrial zone and she'd decided to go back to the dorms. She'd strolled in expecting Emily to either be asleep or watching d-grade romantic comedies.
What she hadn't expected was for Sam to be sweaty and naked, thrusting vigorously into an equally naked and sweaty Emily.
She'd gaped at them for a full minute, jaw flapping noiselessly while she processed that what she was seeing was actually real and not a nightmare.
Then she let them have it.
She called Emily every name that existed for dumb skanky bitches as well as coining a few that had probably never been thought of before. She'd punched Sam in the face and clocked him in the head with Emily's crepe maker.
She'd howled like a banshee – with tears streaming down her cheeks and such violence in her words that campus security had been called. The RA had to physically restrain her, and by the end of the night there wasn't a person on campus who hadn't heard what had happened.
At the time it had felt good to lash out, but in the aftermath – when Emily fled home for the holidays and Sam had disappeared to lick his wounds – Leah discovered that the consequence of being a hothead was that everyone knew her business and her quiet college refuge had become a prison.
Even with dwindled numbers as most students went on vacation, there were pitying looks everywhere she went. Poor scorned psychotic Leah, lucky not to be in prison after assaulting her cheating boyfriend.
All over campus there were whispers or even worse, condolences.
She'd lasted three days before she came to the conclusion that she couldn't live at university anymore, especially not with Emily due to return at the end of the week.
She pawned her favourite earrings – a gift from her grandmother – as a way of securing quick cash. Her campus accommodation was all paid up but it wasn't worth keeping. She needed a new place to live. Fast.
She soon realised that this was a College town. Living space was at a premium. Everything in her budget was a shithole and fully occupied anyway. She had almost resigned herself to sleeping at the bus station when she remembered Paul Lahote; a sleazy acquaintance of Sam's new friend Jared who seemed to burn through a flatmate every few weeks.
She'd met him at a few parties – always with a different girl on his arm – and accepted instantly that he was an arsehole. Loud, brassy, chauvinistic and insufferable (and that was apparent in less than two minutes of conversation).
Still, he had his own apartment. Leah was a bit fuzzy on how he could afford it, but she had seen a picture. It wasn't a hovel. She's weaselled Paul's address out of Jared -who was clearly frightened of her having viewed the imprint of Emily's crepe maker on Sam's face -and marched towards Paul's residence with all her belongings and a sense of purpose.
Now that she was actually at his address, she paused for a minute. She didn't know Paul terribly well, but she knew enough to understand that he wouldn't want her for a flatmate. She'd need to be clever. She spent a few minutes considering the possible outcomes of her request before deciding on a course of action. She dragged her luggage into the alcove next to the entrance so it was out of sight and took a deep breath before rapping her knuckles sharply across the door.
"Coming," a voice drawled from inside. She heard the feet shuffling on the other side of the wooden panel and a topless Paul appeared in front of her, beer in hand.
"Hey Paul," she chirped, sauntering past him before he had a chance to even fully assess who had interrupted him. It was important to her to actually get in the apartment. Nothing could be accomplished if he slammed the door in her face.
"Leah Clearwater?" Paul asked uncertainly. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm doing you a favour," she answered with forced confidence. She surveyed the apartment. If she was honest with herself it was nicer than she could have hoped. It still had the sterile feel that permeated the whole building – beige carpets, white walls and black and white furniture, but maybe that was a guy thing. She tried not to notice the glass marks on the coffee table or the pile of dishes in and around the sink.
"Oh yeah?" Paul drawled smirking at her. "What could you possibly do for me?"
Leah blushed. Paul might be a dick but he was a very good-looking dick. It was hard not to notice his chiselled stomach or the bulging biceps that flexed as he drew another sip of his beer.
"Still looking for a new flatmate?" She gave him her most winning smile, trying valiantly to erase the resting bitch-face that had taken residence since the Sam and Emily debacle.
He blinked at her uncertainly and she reasoned that he was a bit surprised by her answer.
"I found someone for you. The perfect renter really, but I wanted to check your place out before I recommended them."
"Oh yeah?" Paul recovered himself. "What makes this prospect such a catch?"
"They've got two month's rent in advance and a busy college schedule. Between a part time job and all nights reserved for the library, they only want a place to crash at the end of the day. You'll hardly know they're here."
Paul considered this. "How do you know him?"
"Her," Leah corrected. "From campus," she added. This was the tricky bit. Paul had to agree to the concept before she made the true nature of her pitch clear.
"No fucking way," he snarled, surprising her with his vehemence.
"What's your problem?" she spat, offended on behalf of her non-existent female friend.
"I'm not sharing with a chick, Leah. I can barely keep a male flatmate and they're much more relaxed about whether I leave the toilet seat up or down."
"This girl's different," Leah protested. "She's got a brother. She's very easy-going. She won't care about you being a slob."
"I'm not a slob!"
"Right," Leah backtracked. "But she wouldn't care if you were. She's a kind of dishes the next day - or the day after - person herself."
Paul considered this information. "Even if that's true, girls are so judge-y. I don't wanna live with some nasty broad who's all like: 'Paul did you bang three chicks this week?'"
Leah snorted. "Only three?" She gave him a withering look. "I would have thought you were batting higher than that."
He barked a sharp laugh, toasting her before taking another swig of beer. "I've got a life, Leah. Man cannot be sated by fucking alone."
"Whatever," Leah waved her hand, anxious to bring the discussion to a close. "She's seen it all and she doesn't care. She just needs a place to live for a few months."
He narrowed his brow. "She's not old is she? That could really cramp my style. No chance of getting poonani if you're shacked up with poonono."
Leah supressed the urge to gag. He was even worse that she had thought. "She's my age. In college, Paul. Do you want a fucking flatmate or not?"
He took another gulp of beer and titled his head, deep in thought. Leah held her breath. This was her very last chance before she either took to living on the streets or dropped out of college altogether.
"Okay," he said finally. "I'll meet her." Leah breathed a sigh of relief. "No guarantees though. If she's as you described her then maybe it could work for a little while."
"Great," Leah chirped, making her way to the door. She threw it open and curved her way round to where she'd left her wheelie-bag.
"Hey!" Paul called to the hallway. "Are you going to even tell me a name or when I'm going to meet them?"
She returned, bag in hand with an ear to ear grin. "Right now, Paulie." She breezed back inside, giving her new home a thorough once-over while Paul gaped at her. "So – which one's my room?"
A/N: For those who are hanging out for an update on The Alpha's Call – it's coming I promise, but I can't control my muse or what (s)he tells me to write and right now he's telling me to write this story.