The Roommate Equation

Sloan turns to me, his elbow on the bar and his gaze shifting between the woman in desperate need of saving and me. “I could help him get the girl,” he says with a cocky smirk. “Or I could steal her away from him.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re good, but not that good. This dude needs a miracle.”

“I helped you once, didn’t I?”

I shake my head. “If you say so.”

“Your shitty attempt at picking up girls senior year had a lot to do with us starting Date Crashers. How many times did I have to bail you out?”

“Whatever, keep telling yourself that. Your ego is already overinflated enough.”

“Did you not get laid the night I crashed your date with the girl from Zeta Beta?” He finishes his beer, throws it into the trashcan to his left, and pushes off the wall.

No, I was with your sister that night.

The girl from Zeta Beta was my cover.

But you’ll never know that.

Because I’m an asshole.

I tap Sloan on the arm. “If you’re such a big shot, then prove it.”

Sloan is incapable of turning down a challenge.

He winks. “Game on.”

“Drinks on me if you succeed.”

He cocks his head at me. “What if I can convince the girl to leave with me instead?”

Sloan could talk a woman into giving him head with her husband standing next to her. I have never seen anyone sweet-talk their way through life the way Sloan does. He’s one of those lucky bastards who has that magical touch when it comes to the opposite sex.

“If you leave with her,” I point out, “technically, you would break a Crasher Commandant.”

Sloan wrote the rules our Crashers and Ditchers have to follow when using Date Crashers.

“Never go home with a Ditcher,” Sloan groans.

“You can’t break your own rules.”

“You’re such a buzzkill,” he grunts. “But you’re right. My morals are a little loose, but even I won’t cross that line.”

“How are you going to do it this time?” I lift the fresh beer the bartender places in front of me and tip my head to thank her. “He needs a Hail Mary even you can’t throw.”

“Watch and learn, my friend.” Sloan pats me on the shoulder and winks. “You stick to number crunching and algorithm writing, and I’ll show you how date crashing is done.” He tugs at the collar of his oxford and then buttons his suit jacket. “You’re buying the next round.”

“Teach me, Jedi Master,” I deadpan with a cocky grin. “I want to see you earn those drinks.”

Strolling over to the couple, Sloan removes his cell phone from his pocket and holds it up to his ear, pretending to talk to someone. He makes room for himself next to the blonde woman, pushing a stool out of the way as he invades her personal space.

The blonde doesn’t move an inch. Though, even from my vantage point, she tenses up, as if whatever Sloan is saying into the phone is making her uncomfortable. Sloan glances over at me and grins.

I shake my head and laugh, tipping my beer to my lips. He leans over the woman’s shoulder to grab a stack of napkins and spills her drink onto the bar on purpose. What a dick. She jumps off the stool with a squeal and turns her back to Sloan, now facing the suit she was ignoring.

Sloan wipes the liquid with the napkins in his hand, they exchange a few words, and then the suit swoops in to whisper something to her. Her mood changes, and now she’s angling her body toward the man she once found repulsive. Whatever Sloan said to her must have been awful to turn this situation around.

Sloan raises his hand to mimic the motion of drinking a beer. As usual, this asshole has proved me wrong. I order another round of beers as Sloan makes his way through the crowd.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Sloan says, “is how it’s done. Pay up, bitch. I’m drinking my weight in beer tonight.”

Our bottles clink. We drink to the future of our company and to all of the people we have helped. The sole mission of Date Crashers is to save people from bad dates, but tonight, Sloan helped two people come together. We’re in talks with a dating app called Exact Match. If the deal works out, their app will integrate with Date Crashers.

Sloan’s cell phone rings. “Hey, Ash.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. Every time memories of Ash enter my mind, all of the guilt and pain from the past resurfaces. A long moment of silence ensues as Sloan listens to his sister ramble on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, you can sleep in one of the spare rooms,” he tells Ash. “Use the keypad. You know the code to get into the house. We’ll be home soon.”