Roommate Wanted 2

Tim adjusted his glasses as he sat back at his desk, reviewing the online ad he had just posted.

"Roommate wanted," it read.

Tim preferred to live alone, but the silence in his big house had started to feel oppressive lately. Besides, a little extra money never hurt. He had even specified in the ad:

"Preferably male."

He hoped for someone quiet, maybe a fellow nerd who would enjoy a Marvel marathon or a good board game every now and then. He smiled at the thought.

A few days later, the doorbell rang. Tim wasn't expecting anyone, so he walked to the door curiously.

When he opened it, he was greeted by a young woman--no, a whirlwind of energy. She was in her early twenties, with long dark hair tied into a high ponytail and designer sunglasses perched on her head. She wore a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and boots that looked like they cost more than Tim's monthly groceries.

"Hi," Tim started awkwardly.

But before he could say anything else, she swept past him into the house, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Wow. This is... cozy," she said, her tone making it clear she meant the opposite. She walked into the living room and began inspecting everything: running her fingers along the bookshelves, lifting his Marvel action figures, and peering out the windows.

"Um, excuse me, who are you?" Tim asked, hurrying after her. "And--what are you doing here?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned around and fixed her sharp eyes on him.

"This is your lucky day," she declared, as if she were doing him a massive favor. "I've decided to move in."

Tim blinked. "What? No, wait--you can't just decide that! I specifically said I was looking for a man as a roommate."

She raised an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and took a step closer to him. "Are you seriously trying to ruin your lucky day?" Her voice was low and icy now, cutting through his protests. "I'm moving in. Period."

Tim stammered. "But--but I--"

She raised a hand to silence him. "Where's the kitchen?"

Before Tim could point her in the right direction, she found it herself. She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, like she already owned the place.

"Alright, let's do this. Contract. Let me see it," she said, snapping her fingers impatiently.

Tim, still stunned, went to his desk and grabbed the printed agreement. He carried it over to her, trying to regain some control of the situation. "Look, I really think we should discuss--"

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. She leaned back in the chair, exhaling smoke casually as Tim stared in horror.

"Whoa, whoa! No smoking in the house!" he exclaimed.

She smirked, taking another drag before saying, "I live here now, Timmy. I'll smoke wherever I want."

"It's Tim," he corrected weakly.

"Timmy suits you better," she said with a condescending smile. "Now, be a dear and get me an ashtray."

Tim hesitated but decided it was better to comply. He rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, but he didn't have an ashtray. By the time he returned with an empty mug, she had already flicked her ash into his glass of cola on the table.

He froze, staring at the ruined drink.

She glanced up at him and laughed, blowing a puff of smoke in his direction. "Relax, Timmy. You'll learn to loosen up."

Tim clenched his jaw and set the mug down, trying to stay calm. He held out the contract. "If you're serious about moving in, then we need to go over the terms--"

Before he could finish, she pressed the glowing tip of her cigarette into the contract, leaving a burnt hole in the paper.

She smiled sweetly. "Timmy, I've decided: the first six months, I'm living here on a trial basis. Rent-free. I need to make sure I'm comfortable."

Tim's jaw dropped. "Rent-free? That's not how this works!"

She stood up, brushing past him. "Oh, it is now. And speaking of comfort, we're going to get my suitcases. You have a car, right?"

Tim opened his mouth to protest, but the look she gave him made him think twice.

"Well?" she demanded.

Tim sighed, defeated. "Fine. But it's Tim. Not Timmy."

She smirked, grabbing her sunglasses from the table. "We'll see about that, Timmy."

Tim jingled his car keys nervously as they stepped into the garage. The space was tidy, with neatly arranged tools and shelves lining the walls. But the centerpiece was unmistakably the gleaming pride of the room: Tim's car. A sleek, black sports sedan that he had saved up for years to buy.

Nuria stopped in her tracks, her eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh. My. God. This is your car?"

Tim smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, it's my baby. I try to take good care of it."

Nuria walked around the car, running her fingers along the smooth surface. "Hmm, it's not bad, Timmy. Not bad at all." She turned to him with a mischievous grin. "Hand me the keys."

Tim's grip tightened around the keys. "Uh... no offense, but I don't really let anyone else drive it."

Nuria stepped closer, holding out her hand. "Keys. Now."

Tim hesitated. "Look, I just don't think--"

Before he could finish, Nuria reached out and plucked the keys from his hand with practiced ease. She gave him a pointed look, shaking her head.

"Timmy, let's get one thing straight. I'm living in your house for six months. On trial. If you keep being this difficult, it's going to feel like very long six months--for you." Her tone was light, but her smile had an edge to it.

Tim opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He sighed instead. "Fine. Just... please be careful."

Nuria didn't answer. She was already sliding into the driver's seat. Tim barely had time to get in on the passenger side before she turned the ignition. The engine roared to life, and her eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Buckle up, Timmy," she said, smirking.

Tim fumbled with his seatbelt, but before he could click it in place, Nuria slammed her foot on the gas pedal. The car surged forward, pressing him back against the seat.

"Whoa, whoa! Nuria, slow down!" he exclaimed, gripping the door handle for dear life.

Nuria just laughed, her hands steady on the wheel. "Relax, Timmy. I've got this."

"I'm serious! This is a residential area!" Tim protested as they sped past rows of neat suburban houses.

She glanced over at him, completely unfazed. "You worry too much. And don't worry about speed cameras. Those tickets aren't my problem."

"They're mine! That's exactly why--"

Before he could finish, Nuria cranked up the car's stereo. The bass thudded loudly as she turned onto a main road, accelerating even more. Tim closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer.

After what felt like an eternity to Tim, they finally pulled into the driveway of a large, elegant house. The sprawling lawn was perfectly manicured, and an ornate fountain stood in the center of the garden path.

Nuria parked the car, turned off the engine, and stepped out. Tim followed, his legs a little shaky.

The front door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was in her late forties, with striking features and an air of effortless elegance. She was wearing gardening gloves and holding a small spade, clearly about to start working on the flower beds.

"Hi, Mom," Nuria called out casually. "I brought my new roommate."

Tim started to introduce himself, but Nuria cut him off. "This is Timmy," she said with a sly grin. "My housemate."

Tim winced. "It's actually Tim--"

"Timmy," Nuria said again firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Nuria's mother, Eva, smiled politely. "It's nice to meet you, Timmy," she said, clearly unaware of the tension.

Tim forced a smile. "Nice to meet you too, ma'am."

Eva held up her spade. "I was just about to start weeding the garden. But I can come inside for a bit--"

Nuria cut her off. "Mom, you're not doing that."

Eva frowned. "What do you mean?"

Nuria sighed dramatically. "Manual labor isn't for women. Timmy can do it." She turned to Tim, her expression sharp. "Right, Timmy?"

Tim blinked. "Uh, well, I mean, I could help if you'd like--"

Nuria raised a hand, cutting him off. "He means he'll handle it, Mom. Don't worry about a thing."

Eva hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose--"

"No imposition at all," Nuria said breezily. "Timmy loves to help." She clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a pointed look. "Don't you, Timmy?"

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but the look Nuria gave him silenced any objection.

"Yeah," he said weakly. "Of course."

Eva smiled warmly. "Well, in that case, thank you. I'll show you what needs to be done."

10 minutes later Tim glanced back toward the house. Through the window, he could see Nuria and Eva sitting at the kitchen table, chatting and laughing over cups of coffee.

Tim sighed and turned back to the flower beds. He had a feeling these six months were going to be even longer than he'd imagined.

Tim wiped the sweat off his brow as he straightened up from the flowerbed. The sun was beating down on him, and his back was starting to ache. "Finally done," he muttered to himself. He grabbed his tools and headed toward the house, looking forward to a glass of water and maybe five minutes of rest.

As he approached the front door, a note taped to the window caught his attention. The handwriting was bold and unmistakably Nuria's.

**"We're off to the store to get some groceries for the move.

While we're gone:

Rake the leaves.

Mow the lawn. You'll find everything in the shed. xoxo, Nuria."**

Tim stared at the note in disbelief, reading it a second time to make sure he wasn't imagining it. "You've got to be kidding me," he said aloud.

He waited a few minutes, hoping they might return quickly, but the driveway stayed empty. With a resigned sigh, Tim trudged toward the shed. Inside, he found an old rake and a rusty lawnmower that looked like it hadn't been used in years.

"Great," he muttered, dragging the mower out into the yard.

For the next half hour, he worked under the relentless sun, sweating through his shirt as he raked the leaves into piles and mowed the overgrown grass. His muscles ached, and his patience was wearing thin. Just as he was finishing the last patch of lawn, the sound of screeching tires made him look up.

His car came speeding into the driveway, skidding to a halt with a sharp squeal. Tim's jaw dropped as he saw Nuria sitting behind the wheel, one arm resting casually out the window. A lit cigarette dangled between her fingers.

She caught his eye and gave him a mysterious little wave, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. Then she stepped out of the car, flicked her cigarette onto the driveway, and walked inside without so much as a word.

"Seriously?" Tim said to himself, throwing his hands up in frustration. He marched toward the door, determined to say something about her reckless driving, but as soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted by Eva's sharp voice.

"Timmy! Stop right there!" she barked.

Tim froze, startled. "What? What did I do?"

Eva pointed at his shoes, which were covered in dirt and grass clippings. "You are not coming in here with those filthy shoes."

Before Tim could respond, Nuria appeared behind him, holding the garden hose. Her expression was innocent, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll take care of it."

Tim's eyes widened. "Wait--what are you--"

Before he could finish, Nuria turned on the hose and sprayed water all over his shoes.

"Nuria!" Tim shouted, jumping back. Water splashed up his pants, and his shoes were quickly soaked through.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. "There you go, Timmy. All clean!"

"My shoes are soaking wet!" he protested.

She shrugged, tossing the hose aside. "Better wet than dirty. You're welcome."

Tim groaned, but before he could argue further, Nuria held up a finger. "Wait right here."

She disappeared into the house and returned a moment later holding a pair of old, worn-out sneakers. She dropped them at his feet.

"Here, you can wear these," she said.

Tim picked them up and frowned. "These are, like, three sizes too small!"

Nuria crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Don't be ungrateful, Timmy. It's not like I have to let you borrow my shoes. Now put them on."

Tim hesitated, but the look she gave him left no room for debate. Reluctantly, he squeezed his feet into the tiny sneakers. His toes felt like they were being crushed, and he winced in pain.

Nuria nodded, clearly pleased. "See? Much better. Now you won't track dirt everywhere."

Tim mumbled something under his breath but decided it wasn't worth arguing. He took a deep breath and changed the subject. "So, is your luggage ready to go?"

Nuria smiled sweetly. "Oh, Timmy, I made things so much easier for you. I got rid of a bunch of my old clothes. And by 'got rid of,' I mean I went shopping for new ones."

She pulled a handful of receipts from her pocket and handed them to him. Tim's eyes widened as he read through them. The total was staggering.

"Nuria, this is... a lot of money," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

She waved her hand dismissively. "And you're the one who's gonna pay for them. Consider it a welcome gift. And besides, now you don't have to waste time packing up my old junk. You're welcome."

Tim opened his mouth to protest, but Nuria cut him off. "Now stop complaining and get to work. We need to leave soon."

"Can I at least grab a drink first? I'm dying of thirst out here," Tim said.

Nuria shook her head firmly. "Nope. You can drink when we get home. First, you need to finish packing my things."

The "packing" turned out to be a solo operation. Nuria lounged in the kitchen with her mother, sipping iced tea and chatting, while Tim hauled bags and boxes out to the car. His feet throbbed with every step, the too-small shoes making every trip a painful ordeal.

As he returned to the house for the final load, Nuria stopped him with a smirk. "By the way, there's no more room in the car for my shoes and boots. You'll have to come back tomorrow to pick up the rest."

Tim's shoulders slumped. "Tomorrow? But--"

"No buts," Nuria said, cutting him off. "Now let's go. I'm driving."

Tim didn't even bother arguing this time. He climbed into the passenger seat, trying not to wince as Nuria once again sped off down the road.

As the house disappeared in the rearview mirror, Tim couldn't shake the feeling that the next six months were going to be the longest of his life.

As they pulled into the city, Tim frowned as Nuria turned the car onto a street that definitely wasn't leading back to his house.

"Uh, Nuria?" he said hesitantly, watching the unfamiliar buildings pass by. "This isn't the way to my house."

Nuria didn't even glance at him, keeping her eyes on the road. "We're making a quick stop."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "A stop? For what?"

"I need to tell my boyfriend the good news," she said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tim blinked. "What good news?"

Nuria rolled her eyes. "That I've got my own house now, duh."

Tim's hands tightened on his knees. "Actually, it's my house. You're just renting a room--"

She cut him off with a sharp look that made him swallow his words. "No, Timmy. I have my own house. Don't ruin this for me."

Tim sighed but decided to let it go. There wasn't much point in arguing with her when she had that steely look in her eye.

Nuria pulled into a parking spot outside a slightly rundown apartment complex. She unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed the car keys.

"Wait here," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate. She stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

Tim watched her as she strutted toward the building, the car keys dangling from her fingers. "Wait here," he muttered under his breath, mimicking her tone. "What am I, her chauffeur?"

The minutes ticked by slowly. Tim tapped his fingers against his knee, fiddled with the radio, and checked his phone. Still no sign of Nuria.

After 25 long minutes, his phone buzzed. The number was unfamiliar, but he picked up anyway.

"Hello?"

Nuria's voice came through, loud and clear. "Timmy. I need you to do something for me."

Tim frowned. "What is it now?"

"Go to the night shop at the end of the street and grab a box of condoms."

Tim nearly dropped the phone. "What? No! I'm not doing that!"

Her voice dropped into a dangerously calm tone. "It wasn't a question, Timmy. It was an order. Now."

Before he could protest further, she hung up.

Tim stared at his phone in disbelief. "Unbelievable," he muttered. But after a moment, he sighed and got out of the car.

The night shop wasn't far, but the whole walk felt surreal. "How did I get myself into this?" he wondered aloud as he grabbed a box of condoms from the shelf and paid for them.

On his way back, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text. It was from Nuria. The message was short and to the point: "Apartment 3B."

When Tim reached the building, he climbed the stairs to the third floor and found the door marked 3B. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked.

The door swung open, and there stood Nuria. Her hair was slightly messy, but her expression was as commanding as ever. She looked at the box in his hand and snatched it without a word.

"Wait here," she said, and then shut the door in his face.

Tim stood there, utterly bewildered. He could hear voices and laughter coming from inside the apartment. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an intruder, but there wasn't much else he could do.

Minutes passed, and the laughter from inside grew louder. Then Tim heard something else--a faint, rhythmic squeaking sound. His face turned red as realization dawned on him. He tried to block out the noises, but they only grew louder.

Amidst the creaking, he heard Nuria's unmistakable laugh, followed by a playful squeal. "Oh, come on," Tim muttered, running a hand down his face.

The sounds continued for what felt like an eternity, but eventually, they stopped. Tim stood awkwardly in the hallway, unsure of what to do.

Finally, the door opened, and Nuria stepped out. Her hair was a bit more disheveled than before, and her cheeks were slightly flushed. She didn't seem the least bit embarrassed.

"Let's go," she said briskly, walking past him without a second glance.

Tim followed her down the stairs, struggling to keep up with her quick pace.

When they reached the car, Nuria slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. Tim hesitated, standing by the passenger door.

"You're driving again?" he asked.

She gave him a sharp look. "Of course I am. Now get in, Timmy."

Tim sighed and climbed into the car. The drive back to his house was quiet, save for the hum of the engine. Nuria didn't say a word, and Tim didn't dare break the silence.

As they pulled into the driveway, Tim couldn't help but wonder what the next six months would bring. One thing was certain--they were going to be anything but boring.

When they finally arrived back at the house, Nuria parked the car in the driveway and turned off the engine. Tim sighed, his feet throbbing from being crammed into the too-small shoes Nuria had insisted he wear. He glanced at her, hoping she wouldn't notice his discomfort, but of course, she did.

As they stepped out of the car, Nuria leaned casually against the door, lighting a cigarette. She gave him a knowing look. "What's wrong, Timmy? You look like you're about to keel over."

Tim hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's the shoes. They're, uh... not exactly my size."

Nuria tilted her head, smirking. "Not your size? But they look so cute on you." She flicked her cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. "Tell you what--you can take them off... after you've unloaded the car. Every single bag and box. Deal?"