The Roommate Equation

Without another word, we make our way toward the house. I shouldn’t stare at her ass as she walks in front of me, but it’s hard not to look when Ash has an ass that’s made for my hands. I stop in front of the doors that lead to my bedroom, and Ash hesitates.

“I’ll meet you in the hallway. We don’t want it to look like I crawled out of your bed.”

“I’m sure Sloan’s already torn the place apart looking for you. He should know by now that you’re not in your room.”

“Yeah, I guess it doesn’t matter then.”

I open the door and tip my head for Ash to enter my bedroom. It feels weird having her in here. This is my coder domain, my oasis. I never bring women into this room because it feels too personal.

We find Sloan in the living room, pacing back and forth with a cup of coffee in his hand. I clear my throat, and his eyes meet mine.

He slams the mug onto the living room table and rushes over to us. “What the fuck were you doing with my sister? I looked everywhere. We were supposed to leave for the office over an hour ago.” He tugs at the ends of his hair and groans. “Please tell me you didn’t…” More hair pulling and freaking out. “You better have a good reason—”

Ash steps forward, places her hand on Sloan’s shoulder, and his expression softens.

“We fell asleep on the beach. I wanted to feel the sand after my shower last night. Dylan was already out there drinking. We shared a bottle of vodka. We were both drunk and fell asleep. It’s not a big deal.”

Sloan looks somewhat relieved. “I was so worried. I thought something happened to you.”

Ash holds up her hands and smiles. “I’m fine. No damage, apart from a wicked hangover.”

“Get ready,” Sloan growls. “And do it fast. If we don’t leave in the next ten minutes, we’ll never get through traffic, and you’ll be late for work.”

Chapter Eight

Ash

My heart hasn’t stopped racing since I woke up on the beach next to Dylan. I thought I was dreaming when I moaned his name and encouraged him to keep going. Because only in my dreams would I ever let Dylan touch me again.

When I step into the foyer, Dylan’s eyes travel over my breasts that are stretching the hell out of this top. I have to wait until my next paycheck to buy a few shirts that don’t make me look like Porno Barbie. I’d never had an office job before accepting the position at Brenton-Lake, and I wasn’t about to let Sloan buy my clothes.

Dylan sucks in a deep breath and digs his teeth into his bottom lip, before he brushes his palm across the dark stubble on his jaw. He turns his head as if he can’t stand to look at me for another second. Sloan doesn’t notice, of course, he never does. Thankfully, he lives in his own world most of the time. He’s too obsessed with himself to see the reaction I get from his best friend. That’s what made it so easy for us to sneak around behind his back.

“About time,” Sloan says as he opens the front door. He ushers me outside, and the two of them follow behind me.

I stop in front of Dylan’s Maserati GranTurismo. The blue paint is so pretty it sparkles when the sunlight hits it. After Dylan turns on the engine and rolls down the convertible top, he helps me into the backseat, his eyes burning a hole through my shirt as I climb into the sports car.

Dylan gives me a once over, and then he takes his place behind the wheel. Sloan connects his phone to Bluetooth and takes charge of the music. He flips through his Spotify playlists, and then a rock beat filters through the speakers. Once we’re on the Pacific Coast Highway, I get the urge to throw my hands above my head as the wind blows through my hair.

On occasion, I catch Dylan looking at me in the mirror. I make eye contact with him, and his eyes fall back to the road. Could he be more obvious?

Technically, I broke up with Dylan, but I had a good reason. We ended our relationship on horrible terms. I was crushed, disappointed with how he handled the news. I thought he would be more supportive. Instead, he reacted like an asshole and pushed me away.

An hour later, after sitting through tons of traffic, Dylan double parks in front of my building on Wilshire Boulevard. Dylan slides out of the car, offering his hand to me. I take it, and my fingers tingle from the immediate contact with his skin.

“We’ll pick you up after work,” Sloan says, resting his elbow on the center console. “If you get done early, call. Okay?”