Page 32 of Stranded

My hands curl even tighter around the mug as I stare at him.

He’s moving in. This guy I can’t stop wanting… he’s going to be living with me. Or just above me, but that’s basically with me.

“G-Great!”

Great? Seriously? That’s all I can come up with?

Carter pumps his fist in the air. “Yeah! New neighbour. Hi, new neighbour.” He reaches out to high-five Ronan, who laughs and returns the high-five. Then he whips out his phone. “Let’s iron it out right now.”

Details. Yes. Thank god.

If we have details to iron out, maybe I can stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss Ronan every night…

Oh, who am I kidding?

It’s all I can think about now.

Chapter

Twelve

RONAN

It’s moving day,and my roommates don’t even know.

Not that they care.After three nights away from home, none of them have so much as messaged me to check if I’m still alive. They’re either feeling so guilty they can’t acknowledge me or they’re coldblooded motherfuckers who want to maintain plausible deniability.

I know how far they’ll go for petty revenge. So I waited until they’re all at their studio for their weekly strategy meeting—whatever that means—and then came home to pack up for good.

Soon, I’ll be free.

Free to make a new home, a new future… and to figure out how Alph is going to fit in.

Mmmm. I hope he stretches me in ways I’ve never felt before…

“Packing,” I mutter desperately, flapping a hand in front of my face to cool off. “Packing first.”

Alph is on the way to his boat with most of my stuff. He’ll be back soon for me and the last few suitcases. I shove the last shampoo bottle into the corner of the suitcase and flip it shut, then plop my ass on top to help force the zipper up.

Not daydreaming about him is a losing battle, but at least I can keep my hands busy. AndifI finish packing before he gets back… I can keep my hands busy some other way.

Just like that, I’m packing again at top speed.

The pile of clothes on the floor is almost gone, and there’s just one more hanger.

“Ugh,” I flinch as I pick it up. “That’s a boner-killer.”

This is the one shirt I’ve been dreading seeing ever again. My final project last year, shoved in the back of the closet since April… but I can’t avoid it any longer.

Seeing it now is like a fever dream that brings everything flooding back.

We only had 24 hours, start to finish and I barely slept.

The first thing I did was ask my brothers for old dress shirts. They teased me for asking, instead of just stealing and “improving” them like I did when I was a kid. But, as it turned out, they had almost identical shirts to give me: one black and one white.

I knew I was onto a winning idea.

I ripped the shirts apart at every seam, cut a continuous strip of blood-red lace and carefully added it between every single piece. Then I reassembled it all to make one shirt. It was hell making sure there were no ragged seams, but I was determined not to make it a DIY punk statement.

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