The Roommate Equation

“Can you not do this right now?” I lean into her, my voice low. “How many times do I have to apologize? It’s in the past. Leave it there.”

She grits her teeth. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t get on my bad side, or I’ll have to spank you,” I say under my breath.

Ash gasps, while I laugh on the inside. She holds her breath for a few seconds before she rolls her eyes and snorts.

“Like I would ever let you touch me.”

Again.

I have committed every part of Ash’s body to memory. She has a crescent moon birthmark on her side that every time I kissed it, she bucked her hips. She fisted my hair between her fingers and moaned my name. She encouraged me to keep going when I kissed my way down her stomach.

She wanted it all.

And I wanted to explore every inch of her.

Feel her thick thighs in my hands.

Grip her sweet ass as I fucked her with my tongue.

Our first kiss turned into more than either of us had anticipated. We got carried away, desperate to shed years of pent-up sexual aggression between us. Ash wasn’t a girl anymore, even though she was still my best friend’s little sister. And after years of thinking about her in inappropriate ways, I couldn’t stop myself.

Ash slings a garment bag over her shoulder. She has so many clothes stuffed inside that the weight of the bag forces her to lean forward to maintain her balance.

I take it from her hand. “Stop being so stubborn and let me do it.”

She laughs, following me down the hallway.

“Which room do you want?”

“Which one am I allowed to use?”

“Pick a room, or I’ll choose for you.”

“The one with the rock-and-roll wallpaper, I guess.” She smiles. “I like that one.”

The designer Sloan and I hired suggested theme rooms to match each of our personalities. For the most part, the common areas in the house are pretty basic. The exterior walls are mostly made of glass, the ceilings high and vaulted. There’s a lot of white space and clean lines, simple but perfect for a bachelor pad. But the bedrooms each have their own identity.

I push open the door. Inside, the bedroom looks like a replica of the Hard Rock Café interior. Our designer turned sheet music into wallpaper that’s covered with guitars owned by famous musicians and framed vinyl records. Ash’s eyes widen as she stares at the four-poster bed at the center of the room that’s overflowing with fluffy pillows that have music notes on them.

She darts over to the bed and jumps on it, making angels with her arms and legs. I almost laugh out loud and stop myself. Ash is still the girl I have known for most of my life. Not much has changed about her over the years.

I hold up the heavy garment bag. “Where do you want this?”

Ash sits up and tucks her hair behind her ears, her cheeks flushed. And now, my mind is drifting to that night. To the look on her face as I took her innocence, stripping her of the one thing I knew she saved for me. My mind always wanders back to that night when I’m around Ash… because it changed everything between us.

She points a finger. “In the closet.”

I hang her clothes on the rack, and when I emerge from the closet, Sloan is standing in the doorway with three bottles of beer in his hands.

“You must have read my mind,” I say as I swipe a bottle and raise it to my lips.

Ash takes a beer from Sloan. He taps his bottle against hers, and then all three of us at once.

“To surviving you,” Ash mouths to me.

Chapter Five

Ash

Slightly tipsy and not hating Dylan’s company, I sit on the couch next to him and sip from my beer. Dylan is drunk now, much less annoying than when I first arrived. More like the boy I once knew. Back then, Dylan was so chill. He had this nerdy coolness about him that always intrigued me.

It made me want to know him.

Sloan is lounging on the opposite side of the sectional couch, flipping through television channels as he drinks his beer. He speaks into the remote in his hand, and I can’t help but laugh. They have more technology at their disposal than Best Buy.

Even the stove works through the Wi-Fi signal. I’d never heard of such a ridiculous thing until I accidentally clicked a button on the fancy remote, and the oven came to life, warming the house. It’s like I’m in a real-life episode of The Jetsons.

“You can carpool with us tomorrow,” Sloan says.

I cock my head at him. “Are you talking to me?”

“Who else would I be talking to?”

Dylan groans and then stretches his long body across the cushions, wearing a bespoke navy suit that perfectly fits his lean muscular frame. A silver tie hangs loosely around his neck. The top buttons of his white oxford are open, revealing a hint of dark hair on his chest.