The Roommate Equation

“I wasn’t supposed to have a toaster oven in my dorm. Too much of a fire hazard.”

“And you almost setting your room on fire proved that point.”

“You were distracting me that night.”

“Blame me,” she says with laughter in her voice. “You always do. Whenever you mess something up, you say I’m distracting you.”

“Because most of the time, that’s true.”

She holds my gaze, heat flickering in her eyes as her lips part for me. She wants me to kiss her, and I have never wanted anything more.

I’m inches from her, and with her thighs spread, practically begging me to move between them. She moans when I pull her legs apart and slide my fingers up her inner thighs.

We both want this.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about having Ash on top of me, under me, and on her knees one more time. But once will never be enough, and we both know it.

Leaning forward, I move my palms to the counter on both sides of Ash. Her chest rises and falls, drawing my attention to her chest. It’s hard not to notice her when she insists on wearing low-cut tops that show off way too much skin. But Ash could wear a turtleneck sweater, and I would salivate at what’s beneath.

She breathes on my lips. For a split second, I consider testing to waters to see if she will kiss me again until a door slams shut upstairs, followed by footsteps. Sloan pads down the stairs, dressed in an Armani suit and Italian loafers, his blond hair gelled into tiny spikes.

Ash hops off the counter with her plate in hand. Before I can move out of her way, her enchiladas smash into my chest. Some of her food falls onto the floor, splashing across the tile. I glance down at the stain in the center of my shirt. Perfect. I bought this shirt for the meeting, and now it’s trashed.

Ash’s mouth widens. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I guess this will teach me not to wear white when I eat Mexican food.”

Sloan enters the kitchen. He pulls out a chair from the table and plops down, resting his dress shoe on his knee. “Is it time to eat? I’m starving.”

“You have two hands.” I tip my head toward the stove. “Go fix yourself a plate.”

I bend down to clean up the fallen enchilada, and the sauce splattered across the tile. Ash helps me clean, apologizing profusely before she rushes out of the kitchen.

“I have to change my shirt,” I tell Sloan. “Start eating without me.”

Sloan bobs his head and then gets up from the table with his plate in hand.

I find Ash in her bedroom, the door open and her back to me. My first instinct is to stay, even though I should walk away. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and digs through her drawers for a new shirt.

Ash turns around when she hears my shoes moved across the hardwood floor. Her breath hitches when I lean in, digging my hip into hers. She should push me away, but she wants this as much as I do. Our lips are inches apart, and when our eyes meet, I can feel the sexual tension between us like sparks on my skin.

Sloan is down the hall, busy eating dinner. Right now, he could care less about what we’re doing. He would never suspect that we like each other, not with the way we have fought in front of him over the years.

Our sexual frustration masked as hatred has served us well over the years, providing us with the perfect cover. Even when we dated, we acted as if nothing had changed in front of Sloan. Like we didn’t know every surface of each other’s skin, or how good the other tasted.

I grip Ash’s hips, pinning her in place, using my body to cage her against the dresser. She leans back on her elbows and closes her eyes, her lips plump and shiny with cherry gloss. I can’t help myself. I wish I could stop myself, but I need to feel her one more time.

When I brush my lips against hers, Ash purrs so softly it goes straight to my balls. I breathe in her scent, drink in her familiar smell that I have thought about for years. No one has come close to replacing Ash. Over the years, I have tried to get her out of my head, but no one can replace the only woman you have ever loved.

There is no substitute for Ash.

I brush my lips against hers again to test the waters and see if she will let me keep going. The corners of her mouth turn up into a smile that illuminates her bright blue irises.

“Dylan,” Ash breathes. “This is a terrible idea. Sloan could walk in here any minute.”