The Roommate Equation

I slowly make my way toward the end of the balcony, where a set of stairs lead to the beach. I’m dying to feel the crunch of sand between my toes and the wind in my hair as the breeze blows off the water.

A soft light illuminates from the last bedroom. Creeping past Dylan’s window, I do my best not to make a sound as I take a quick peek inside his bedroom. If Dylan finds me outside of his room, he will think I’m snooping on him.

I let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see him. He must have waited until he thought I was in bed before heading back into the living room.

Dylan has always been a night owl. He likes to write code at night when he says his brain takes over, and he’s a slave to his creations. It must be a creative thing because I also have my best ideas at night. I like to write my screenplays when everyone is asleep. But with my new job, I haven’t had as much time to pursue my art.

At the center of Dylan’s room, there’s a California king mattress attached to a black metal headboard and footrail. The sheets look like black silk that I would love to roll around on after a hot bath.

An entire wall is dedicated to a long computer desk with a handful of monitors and servers on racks. Dylan has a gamer chair in my favorite color, black with red stripes down the sides. Video game posters, covers of tech magazines, and pictures of Dylan and Sloan at Date Crashers events cover the walls.

His room looks the same as when he was in college. Dylan might be sexy and somewhat irresistible, but he will always be a nerd at heart. That’s the boy I fell in love with. I loved him so damn much that I gave him everything—every part of me.

When my bare feet hit the soft sand, I let out a moan that almost sounds sexual. Damn, this feels good. Smiling like an idiot, I rub my feet into the sand and stagger toward the water. This is my favorite part of Southern California. I love that you can drive almost anywhere and find the beach, dip your feet into the water, and soak up the sun.

“What are you doing?”

I jump at the sound of the deep voice that booms behind me. I must have imagined it. No one’s on the beach with me, not this late at night.

“Ash,” he says with a threatening tone. “Don’t ignore me. I know you can hear me. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

My heart speeds up, but this time, for an entirely different reason. Dylan. I spin around to face him. He’s on the ground, with a bottle in his hand and one leg propped up, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a comic book tee that hugs his chest. He changed since the last time I saw him. Now, he looks more like the boy I knew in high school.

“I wanted to feel the sand,” I admit, now aware of how lame I sound. “And I wanted to see the ocean.”

“You should be in bed. Sleeping. We leave for work in five hours.”

I hover over him, staring down as he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He ignores my question, so I swipe the bottle from his hand. Dylan reaches for it, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. He tugs. Hard enough that I lose my balance, and I fall on top of him. With an irritated grunt, he rolls me over and onto my back, but he remains on his side, looking down at me.

He studies me like a line of code.

Like I’m an equation he needs to solve.

“I don’t need much sleep,” he says after a while.

I squeeze my fingers around the bottle and drink, all too aware that it tastes like vodka and Dylan. It’s like kissing his lips all over again but without the pleasure of the release. Dylan steals the bottle from my hand. His immediate contact sends a shiver down my arm, creating goosebumps along my flesh.

We always had chemistry, so it’s no surprise that being this close to him stirs up feelings from the past.

“You should go to bed,” I say.

He laughs and then breathes vodka in my face. “Are you going to tuck me in and give me a goodnight kiss?”

I laugh at his suggestion. “You wish. Not even in your dreams.”

Dylan digs a hole in the sand and rests the bottle inside it. His fingers touch mine. I lift my head, and our eyes meet.

“You never drink this much.”

Dylan rolls his shoulder. “I don’t normally have you sleeping down the hall from me.”

“You’re drinking because of me?”