The Roommate Equation

“In here,” Ash yells from the living room.

We walk past two suitcases, several brown boxes, a laptop bag, three garment bags with dozens of hangers sticking out, and five plastic containers filled with shoes and miscellaneous items. Her entire closet is on my floor, randomly thrown into a pile that matches Ash’s personality. I have to stop myself from organizing her stuff.

Ash raises a remote above her head and then stands on the couch, facing us. What the hell is she doing? I hate when she jumps on the furniture like a child, and she damn well knows it.

“How do you work this thing?” Ash extends her hand with the remote in her open palm. “There are like fifty buttons. How do you keep track of all of this shit? I hit the blue one, and the lights came on. I tried another one that I thought was for the TV, and some lady started talking through the speakers.”

Sloan takes the remote from her hand and laughs. “You can thank Dylan for that. He automated the entire house.”

She shakes her head. “It’s seriously annoying. Why do you need your lights connected to Wi-Fi?”

“Because it’s more efficient,” I shoot back with an angry snarl in place.

Ash holds my intense gaze. We exchange a heated look laced with frustration and sexual tension. I have to fight my attraction to Ash, which is why I avoid our house whenever she comes over. I sleep on the couch in my office, pretending to need space to work on a project. And when Sloan drives into the city to have lunch with her, I find something else to do.

Anything to stay away from her.

Like I should have done a long time ago.

“What were you trying to do?” Sloan asks Ash to end our staring competition.

“I want to watch TV. But I didn’t realize it was such a production to turn the damn thing on.” Ash flicks her dark curly hair over her shoulder. “Can you turn on Criminal Minds for me?”

“Is that wise?” Sloan gives her a challenging look. “Do you need another thing to obsess over? Watching a show about serial killers is not a good idea when it gives you nightmares.”

She rolls her eyes and groans. “I don’t tell you to stop watching porn. So, would you stop being an annoying older brother and turn on my show?”

Sloan blushes at her mention of him watching porn. A few times in high school, Ash walked into her brother’s room while he was looking at some nasty shit. He didn’t have his hand on his dick, but he was still pretty embarrassed when she caught him.

Ash gives him a sweet smile that is not as sweet as it looks. “Please, Sloan. I don’t want to miss the show.”

With that, Sloan melts into a puddle on the floor and complies with her request. He treats Ash like she’s his daughter. And now that she’s living with us, he will expect me to show her the same special treatment.

“Okay.” Sloan clicks the buttons to turn on the eighty inch flat-screen television in the living room. “But if this shit gives you nightmares, don’t wake me up.”

Ash loves scary movies. When she was a kid, she had vivid dreams after watching them and would wake Sloan up, freaked out and demanding he check for intruders. Ash was such a pain in the ass that eventually, Sloan hid all of her horror DVDs though he should have known better. Because when Ash wants something, she will do anything in her power to get it.

After Sloan turns on the show, Ash plops down on the couch and curls her body into the cushions. She looks happy, peaceful, with her hair fanned out around her face. Like the girl I kissed seven years ago. The girl who drove me to the point of madness. Years of thinking about her, imaging how she would taste and feel, made me act like an idiot.

Irrational.

Uncontrollable.

“Where am I sleeping?” Ash kicks her feet up on the cushions, peeking up at Sloan with those pretty blue eyes that slice right through me.

“Down the hall from Dylan,” Sloan says.

I clear my throat. “You would be more comfortable in the guest house.”

Sloan angles his body toward me, one eyebrow raised. “Dude, no way. My sister isn’t a guest. She’s family. Ash isn’t staying in the guest house.”

I don’t see the problem. Why is Sloan making a big deal out of where his sister sleeps?

I blow out a deep breath, knowing I will never win this argument with Sloan. “I thought it would be more practical. Ash would have a kitchen and bathroom to herself with private access to the beach.”

“We have seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms,” Sloan challenges. “And a personal chef that can make her whatever she wants to eat. She doesn’t need a kitchen. Ash would end up burning down the house if I let her cook.”