15. Accepted

"Look what that bitch did to my back!"
I looked up from unpacking my suitcase to see a 20-something-year-old girl come flying into the apartment, throw her purse onto the couch, and turn her back to Cole, lifting her shirt all the way up to her bra strap. I poked my head out the door to see if I could catch a glance. I wanted to know what the bitch did (not that I knew who the bitch was, or who this girl was in my new living room).
I saw a shiny red scrape, about 4 inches long and an inch or two wide, stretching across the right side of the middle of her back.
"What happened??" Cole asked as he bent down for a closer look.
"Well, I was in the middle of hooking up with John when his girlfriend busts in! She freaked out, pushed me off the loft, and knocked John out cold! I had to hide in the bathroom while she tried to bash the door in. That bitch is crazy!"
She noticed me standing in the doorway, an eager look on my face, waiting to hear more.
"Oh, hi." She said.
Cole laughed and said, "Whitney, this is Maleah, your new roommate. Maleah, meet Whitney."
"Oh, hey!" Maleah said. A big smile spread across her face.
Damn. She was gorgeous. I didn't want a gorgeous roommate (unless it happened to be male, and Maleah was definitely NOT male.) She was Puerto Rican, thin, tan, and had a funky style I knew I'd never be able to pull off. I wanted to hate her.
It was a three bedroom apartment, and I started to wonder about the third roommate. Would it be another beautiful girl I probably wouldn't get along with?
I got my answer later that night. I came home from a trip to Kmart for some necessities, and I heard the shower running. I assumed it was Maleah because Cole had already headed a few doors down to his new apartment. I was hanging my shoe rack on my door when I saw movement in the living room. I swung my door open and saw a startled half naked man standing in the living room. He was only wearing a towel, and his smooth, muscular body had that fresh-out-of-the-shower glisten. I wanted to reach out and touch him. His dark brown hair was cut close, and his big brown eyes looked at me in complete confusion.
"You must be my third roommate," I said, stepping into the living room and holding my hand out to him.
"Oh, so you're in Cole's room? I'm Tristan." I was surprised to hear such a thick French accent come out of his mouth. He let go of his towel to shake my hand. I tried to use mind powers to make the towel drop to the floor. No such luck.
As he walked into his room I snuck a glance at his backside. The towel was stretched tight against his perfect ass. Life was good.
Maleah and I became instant best friends. We spent our Saturday nights clubbing at NYC hot spots and our Sundays recovering over brunch and nine cups of coffee each at Wai or Yaffa Cafe. She introduced me to all of her friends, and everyone accepted me without a second thought.

I don't think Tristan liked to wear clothes, because nine times out of 10 he was only in a towel. Not that I'm complaining.
Two weeks after I moved in, we acquired a third roommate. The day he moved in he asked if I could do his makeup and if he could borrow my heels.
There was nothing like NYC. Was I really ready to leave it for a better job in Texas?