Room Mated: Standalone Reverse Harem Romance

Contentment filled me as my friends sat down. I’d spent most of my life traveling. My parents had been a combination of nomads and hippies. We never stayed in one place very long, and I’d lived in a dozen countries by the time I was a teen. Consequently, I hadn’t had a lot of lasting friendships. That all changed when Mason was assigned my roommate in college. I valued my friendship with him more than pretty much anything else in my life. We didn’t meet Parker until last year, but he fit in well with us, and he was an important part of my life, whether he was the man he was last year or the shadow he was this year.

I hadn’t expected our new roommate to be another good fit, and I sure as hell hadn’t expected her to be female, but Kylie was already dear to me. They all were. I wished I could buy them a round of drinks, but it looked like Mason had already taken care of that.

My eyes scanned the enthusiastic crowd—the drink consumption played a part in that—but kept returning to my friends as I played. I was making music, letting off steam, and having fun. Soon, I’d share a drink with my friends between sets.

Life was pretty damn good at the moment.

16

Kylie

Jude hadn’t been kidding about the Dancing Horse. It was in desperate need of an update. And decent management. It made my uncle’s bar look like the height of luxury by comparison.

But it was loud and people were dancing and drinking, and it looked like fun. Mason seemed to know where we were going, and he led us through the crowd, gripping my arm tightly. I was glad for that, both because I wasn’t big enough to push my way through people as he did and also because I wasn’t a hundred percent steady in my high-heeled sandals.

Mason stopped at a round table and tossed the handwritten reserved sign onto the floor. “That’s for us?” I shouted over the noise.

“Of course. Our friend’s in the band.” He pulled the rickety chairs around so that we could all face the stage. I was eager to watch Jude play. I hadn’t been able to see the band when following Mason through the crowd, but I’d heard them, and I thought they were pretty good. Better than this dump deserved, at any rate.

The rock song they were belting out wasn’t something I recognized, but it was good with a pounding rhythm that seemed to enter my bloodstream. I liked the sound, but I still couldn’t see them well.

Sitting up as straight as I could, I tried to see over the heads in front of me, but all I could see was one guitarist. It was a woman with spiky hair and black thigh-high boots. I could see the end of another electric guitar next to her—maybe that was Jude’s? I folded my leg under me, trying to gain some height while not stabbing myself with the heel of the shoe.

Mason noticed my predicament. “Here.” Without any further discussion, he reached over, scooped me up, and settled me on his lap. Wow. His muscular thighs and broad chest made for more comfortable seating than that old chair had. For a moment, I was self-conscious about sitting in his lap, but no one seemed to care. In fact, a woman at a nearby table was thrilled to snag the extra chair for her friend.

Now I could see—but to my disappointment, Jude wasn’t there. There were only five of them, two guitars, a drummer, a keyboard, and a singer. Why wasn’t he playing?

The singer was a blond guy about my age, and he wasn’t bad. I wondered if Jude sang. Probably, since he was so musical. Maybe he’d swap out with the singer or one of the guitar players at some point?

Mason’s chest was warm against mine, and it felt good since my arms were bare. Not that it was cold in here. In fact, it was too warm for the number of bodies in the room, but I still appreciated Mason’s warmth. He had on a black button-down shirt and jeans. I’d seen more than one woman checking him out as we waited in line outside. He definitely looked good tonight. On the ride over, I kept seeking out glimpses of his upper chest where his buttons were undone.

Parker looked nice, too. He had on jeans, a gray shirt that stretched tightly across his ripped chest, and a black jacket. I caught his eye and gave him a smile.

The band switched numbers, and I returned my gaze to the stage. Something flew up in the air at the corner of the stage, and my attention was pulled to the drummer. He was doing a very cool thing where he’d hit the drum three times and then flip the drumstick up in the air, catching it neatly on the fourth beat. It was a pretty cool trick. I hadn’t been all that into live bands in the past, but I appreciated people so talented that they made it look easy. Now, the drummer was—