Food Whore Read Online Free

the dry logistics: move-­in day, what she had and what I needed to bring, deposits and all. Still, I’d thought I had an idea of what to expect: a twenty-­five-­year-­old fashion designer trying to launch her own business.
    I was wrong. Charisma doesn’t translate that well on the computer. Emerald’s real-­life presence was a force, something you can only see in the flesh. I enjoyed her online, but now I found myself slightly shrinking as she spoke.
    She tossed some mangoes on the couch and one fell onto the floor with a bruising thump. “Are you settling in okay? You must think I’m a deadbeat landlord. Will you forgive me?”
    â€œUh, sure, I forgive you,” I said, trying to play along but not sure where she was leading me.
    She laughed. “Ohmigod, don’t think of me as a landlord. We’re roommates, ’kay? Oh, and I heard from the third girl, Melinda. She’s coming in next week from Cleveland. And these are for our living room.”
    She removed a bouquet of peonies from one of her bags and tossed it on the couch. Then, without a thought as to a vase or brushing her hair or sitting down, she opened up the coat closet and started to put on a large men’s suit jacket.
    â€œI’m meeting some friends for drinks now. You wanna come?” she asked.
    â€œOh, I can’t. I’m sorta waiting to hear about this grad school thing I applied for. And my boyfriend is coming over.” I’m not sure why I was so vague. With this gorgeous whirling dervish of a roommate, I clammed up.
    Right on time, Elliott ambled through our doorway. I could always sense his arrival from the trot-­like cadence to his step. It wasn’t hugely noticeable, but I knew him so well that even the nuances of his gait were obvious.
    â€œOh, hey,” he said to me before turning to Emerald.
    She flashed a toothy smile and took off the big men’s coat she had just put on, revealing the elegant line of her naked back.
    I got up from the couch and walked over to Elliott. “Emerald, this is Elliott . . .” I said, in a voice I hoped sounded like her cue to exit. But her eyes didn’t leave his and her long, thick eyelashes seemed to flutter in slo-­mo, all the more tantalizing.
    â€œ . . . my boyfriend,” I finished.
    Her concentration broke. “Your boyfriend? Oh! Your boyfriend! Good for you!” she said.
    Elliott didn’t seem to notice her subtle condescension. He wrapped his arm around my waist. Immediately, I calmed down.
    â€œWell, Ellllllliott,” Emerald said, her voice dripping with honey. “Nice to meet you.”
    He looked at her for two beats, like she was some novelty toy whose function he couldn’t figure out. “You work as a fashion designer, right? Tia and I googled you together.”
    â€œYeah, I liked the stuff in your portfolio,” I ventured. I really did.
    â€œWhy, thank you.” Emerald tilted her head and made a flourish with her hand.
    Then Elliott adjusted his backpack and I saw him take in the whole Emerald package: the curves, the hair, the twinkling, flirtatious eyes. Elliott was also looking good in a blue long-­sleeved tee that hugged his just-­right muscles. Those muscles actually seemed a little bigger today. Had he been working out or was it that my perfect and gorgeous roommate had triggered the jealous Neanderthal part of my brain?
    I tried to push those insecurities out of my head. I was with Elliott. My Elliott. That was all that mattered.
    But then again, I was in New York now, a city populated by models and designers and billionaire socialites. Anything was possible. You felt it in the thrum of the streets, as a spark in the air.
    Emerald had the confidence of a native New Yorker. I knew that from our emails, but I could tell it in person, too. She knew what she wanted, and at that moment, I feared that might mean Elliott.
    I sat on the couch and