Page 24 of The Roommate Experiment

DYLAN

After fleeing Hunter’s room, I quickly hop into the bathroom for a cold shower. Five minutes later, I step out, the fire in my veins still far from cooling. I wrap a towel around my waist, droplets dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. The bathroom mirror is fogged up. I wipe a hand across the glass, clearing a circle to catch my reflection and shave.

As I walk into the living room, I notice the silence. Hunter must have already left for work. My lungs twinge with… relief? After our last super-cringy interaction, I’m not eager for a repeat. Or maybe it’s shame. Or disappointment. All three are equally possible.

When Tristan and Nina first told me they were moving in together and kicking me out, albeit lovingly, taking over Nina’s room seemed the fastest, most logical solution. The New York rental scene is no joke, and while I’m doing well at my investment firm, I don’t want to throw away my savings on some overpriced bachelor pad—to rent at least. I want to save until I’m ready to buy.

But as I pour myself a mug of the coffee Hunter left in the pot and glance around at the empty apartment, I wonder if I’ve been naïve thinking living with her would be the same as staying with Tristan. Yes, we’ve known each other forever. She’s a friend, but being roommates is different. Is it because she’s a woman? Would it be the same with any other woman on the planet?

No.

The answer rings in my ears before I even have time to fully form it. It’s instinctive. Immediate. And I know it to be true.

I scratch my head. This whole platonic living arrangement might be trickier to navigate than I expected. And it doesn’t help that Hunter looks the way she does: all dark eyes and flawless skin.

And I should stop having these thoughts. Especially now that I have a girlfriend.

I finish my coffee and drop the mug in the dishwasher—I’ve learned my lesson about the sink and leaving dirty dishes in it. I go change for work while still analyzing the situation. Hunter and I are friends. So, yeah, I saw her underwear, and it was sexy as hell. The memory of her belly piercing had me turn the water to cold in the shower. But I need to lock those thoughts away before they spiral into something I can’t control.

I didn’t think it’d be this hard to adjust. Nina and Tristan moving in together was inevitable, but I wasn’t ready for how it’d turn my life upside down. Those two have been my rocks, Nina as my literal sister and Tristan as the brother I never had. But now that they’ve become a thing, I’ve been pushed out by both. I’m watching from the sidelines while they build their life together. Sure, I’m happy for them, but it feels like I’ve been demoted. I’m the backup player no one needs anymore. And I so desperately wanted to grab on to something familiar. Not to live with strangers or by my fucking self.

But maybe next time, I’ll think twice before signing up to share an apartment with a woman who looks like she stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.Rookie mistake, Thompson. Rookie mistake.

* * *

I stride into the office, the familiar Monday chaos swirling around me. But today, I’m off my game. As I settle into my corporate fishbowl, the usual start-of-the-week energy eludes me.

The June sun slants through the glass walls, bright but not yet oppressive, glinting off the brushed steel seams of the skyscraper. Outside my door, phones ring, cutting through the tense atmosphere on the M&A floor. And analysts argue over spreadsheets and upcoming deals, their voices rising and falling like waves.

I’d usually check how the juniors are doing to detect potential red flags. But today, my mind is elsewhere, wrapped up in lace and lingerie.

I stare at my computer screen, willing myself to focus. But it’s no use. Hunter’s lacy pink thong haunts me—the color, the feel of the soft fabric draped across my face, and worst of all, the fantasy of what it must look like on her.

I massage my temples to snap back to reality. On the screen, a financial report waits for my attention, but the figures dissolve into meaningless shapes. Words swim in front of me, blending into each other as my brain is even less cooperative than usual.

I open a text-to-speech app to read the report for me instead of slogging through it myself, hoping it’ll be easier to follow. The robotic voice drones on, reciting numbers and percentages that usually captivate me but that this morning can’t hold my attention.

I’ve just finished listening to the report when my assistant pops her head into the office. “Everything’s good for the 11a.m. meeting? Need anything from me?”

I nod. “Could you please pink the report?”

Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Pink?”

“Print,” I correct, as heat rises to my face. That lace really did a number on me.

Kelly frowns, amused. “Got it, boss. Do you want me to use pink paper instead of the usual cream?”

I scowl and flip her the bird. She laughs and flips me a mock military salute. “Cream it is.”

Kelly leaves the office, and I drop my face into my hands, letting out a groan as my phone buzzes. It’s a message from Olivia—right, my girlfriend. Guilt churns fresh in my gut at how much time I’ve wasted thinking about another woman’s lingerie.

Olivia

Morning, babe. Hope your week is off to a great start. I miss you already. When can I see you again?

I hesitate before dictating a response. I’m not in the mood for Olivia today. The week is off to a brutal start, and I’ve been at work since 7a.m. I need space to think—or rather, to stop thinking about other women’s lingerie.

Dylan

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