Make Me Yours Read Online Ashley Zakrzewski

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
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She’s only got one thing on her mind, but all he can focus on is her.

Ivy league grad student, Carleigh, is beautiful, blonde, and comes from money—she’s way out of his league. And the last thing she wants is a distraction, even if it comes in the form of a handsome, muscular man who looks enticing in just a towel. Determined to make it on her own, and not rely on her parents’ money, she falls into a life focused solely on her studies while enjoying life in NYC. But the more they get to know each other, the more their initial impressions change. Carleigh’s whip smart and not a rich brat, and Bryson’s funny and dotes on her when she gets sick.
Construction worker, Bryson Kennedy, is up for a big promotion, but he’s also desperate to find a new place to live. When a mutual friend brings up Carleigh’s urgent need for a roommate, he jumps at the opportunity.
Their first touch is electrifying. They can’t keep their minds off one another. But they’re both afraid to say anything. Will they be able to drop the shield guarding their hearts or go their separate ways when the lease is up?

FULL BOOK START HERE:

1

CARLEIGH

In the midst of April, Trinity up and leaves mid-degree on a free-spirited whim to go on a year-long backpacking trip in Southeast Asia, leaving me with a two-bedroom condo in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s nice, but not cheap enough for me to live in by myself, even with a little of my parents support. So, I put up on social media my need for a new roommate. Alarming place to do that, I know, but my profile is private so only my friends will see my plea. I refuse to ask my parents for a handout. It’s been almost a year since my last request, and I’d like to keep it that way.

My father is a well-known pathologist and professor at Harvard. He and my mother have always pressed the virtues of hard work, earning my place, and paying my own way. They’ve helped, of course - it’s a nicer apartment than a twenty-four-year-old should have - but it’s only feasible if I have a roommate. My parents make it their mission to make sure my sister and I don’t end up spoiled rich kids, despite our unavoidable privilege. As a logical person, it’s better for me in every way that I acknowledge it and go my own way, as Stevie Nicks would say, but there are times when I’m on the subway home from my part-time serving job, only to have to write a paper into the wee hours once I get there, that I wish they were a little looser.

I pride myself on not having to run to my parents for money and work to provide for my place. It’s not much, but it’s mine. I’ve had a few years to spruce the place up a bit, and Trinity never appreciated my effort. An apartment shouldn’t be a prison, and when I moved in, all it had was white walls, and that’s the first thing I altered.

Colors remind us of enjoyment, and when I’m stuck at home, I need something that is soothing. The bedrooms are a soft blue, and the living room is a beige. Instead of painting it the same color as the bedrooms, I went with using furniture to accent the color scheme.

After a week with no offers, I panic. Rent is outstanding and I’m still three-hundred bucks short. I try to pick up a couple of extra shifts at work, but none are vacant. What am I going to do? There has to be someone out there needing a place to live.

When I first met Trinity, we got along efficiently. Same as now, I couldn’t be picky about who moved in, and so I went with the first woman that applied. We were attending the same college, and that would keep her busy with her thesis instead of causing drama. Even with her, it was a transition.

I’m a spotless and organized person and like things a certain way, and she never criticized, happy to follow my lead. I have a right to be agitated about Trinity deserting me, since we agreed to live together throughout all of grad school, not three-quarters of it. It’s the sort of thing I like the idea of doing if I were a different person, someone without twenty-four years of deep-seated anxiety, perfectionism, and high expectations drilled into me. The world needs people like Trinity to follow their hearts just as much as it needs people like me to rigidly follow their five-year plans.

Some people make fun of me because I like to make lists. There is something so gratifying with being able to mark something off when it’s complete. My compulsion started when I was nine- years-old, and I got my first planner. In the back, there were three to five lined pages for whatever, and I used them to write my goals. Silly, right? A nine-year-old with goals? Trinity used to get mad about how organized I am, but it’s because she couldn’t keep to a schedule to save her life. Grad school is savage and the only way anyone graduates is by staying in their lane and keeping to a very strict schedule. My parents have pushed me to become someone who changes the world for the better, gives back to the community, ‌and makes them proud. No way I’m going to throw all my hard work away just to go backpacking. Absurd.


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