Out on the Serve (Out in College 7)

“That won’t happen. I don’t date online hotties.”

“Never say never.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully and pointed my finger in the air, signaling a brilliant idea was on the horizon. “Maybe we should set up a sexy-time calendar.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday. You can have Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. We’ll take Sundays off to rest up. Leave me a sign so I know if you’re, um…entertaining.”

Braden guffawed. “Like what? A sock on the front door? Gee, it’ll be like freshman year in the dorms all over again.”

My grin grew to epic proportions. I offered my hand for a high five I strongly suspected he’d ignore. When he did, I grinned and raised my beer bottle in a toast. But I wasn’t quite done messing with him.

“Here’s the deal. I need my beauty rest…even in summer. Lights out by ten. I don’t like sharing the refrigerator, so you’ll need to keep a cooler in your room. You’re welcome to use the television, but only if you keep it tuned to HGTV. And bathroom duty is yours. I’ll do you a solid and clean it before you move in. After that, you own it.”

Braden rolled his eyes. “The alternate arrangement is…we share housekeeping duties, agree not to eat each other’s food, including leftovers, and we do our best to not be assholes. Deal?”

I stared at his outstretched hand for a second and slipped my palm against his. The zing of awareness was back in full force. There was something about the latent strength and power in his grip that had my mind traveling to sexy places it had no right to go. I wasn’t overly worried, though. We didn’t have to become best buds, but I wanted him to feel comfortable here.

“Deal,” I said, releasing his hand. “Let me get the extra key.”

I hurried to my room. When I returned with the key, I found Braden standing near the door. He pulled his phone from his pocket and smiled.

“I’ll need your number. I’ll text you beforehand, but if it’s really okay with you, I’ll move in Monday.”

“Sounds great.” I gave him my contact info and opened the door. “Hey, if you’re interested, you should come play volleyball at the beach with me and my buddies this weekend.”

“Like…a pre-roomie bonding session?” he quipped, arching a brow.

“Exactly. Remember that free-ball kill shot I had against you at the Santa Barbara Invitational? We smoked you guys,” I taunted good-naturedly.

“Yeah, that didn’t happen,” he snarked.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Chilton didn’t play that tournament, which means you’re just making up shit on the fly.” His wide grin and twinkling eyes told me he didn’t mind. Better still, it indicated he had a sense of humor. Thank God.

I nodded matter-of-factly. “I tend to do that. We’ll be at the Belmont Shores courts at ten a.m. tomorrow. Come by if you can.”

“All right. Maybe I’ll see you there. Later, Elliot,” he said, stepping onto the landing with a wave.

I watched Braden’s retreating form as he disappeared down the stairs and into the twilight. I glanced up, noting that the sky had cleared. That had to be a good sign, right? Sure, rain never lasted long in SoCal. Especially in May. But it would be nice to think my recent string of bad luck had run its course ’cause I’d been a mess all semester.

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. My living situation with Sophie went from great to uncomfortable while I struggled to pass Spanish IV and hopefully avoid summer school. Add juggling a wicked tournament schedule with my college team and laying the groundwork to continue as a professional, I was mentally tapped out. Oh yeah, and I’d been nursing a broken heart.

But I was back. I had a college degree, and I was set to play professional volleyball with some amazing talent this summer. And now…I had a new roommate.

Things were finally looking up.

Everything felt funny this morning.

Sure, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and no doubt the sand would be warm under my feet, but my head was all over the place. I should have been thinking about my next tournament and maybe perfecting my serve before Gus got on my case for being too careful or too aggressive. But my mind was on my very hot new roommate.

“What are you thinking about? You’ve got that crinkle between your eyes you get when you’re stressed,” Colby commented during our drive to the beach the following morning.

“I do?” I checked the rearview mirror quickly, then turned onto 7th Street.

“Yep. What’s on your mind?”

“My new roommate is hot,” I blurted.

“Oh? Keep talking,” he instructed in a pervy tone.

Quick backstory. Colby and I had been best friends since junior high when he’d moved to SoCal from Michigan. We bonded over contraband cigarettes at recess. Colby was a Midwestern boy who loved hockey, and I was a beach rat who spent my spare time hanging around volleyball and basketball courts to avoid going home. Other than being raised by single moms, we didn’t have much in common. But I liked to think we helped each other out at a time when we both needed lessons in perspective. The “life isn’t so bad” kind that thirteen-year-olds tend to heed from their peers before family.