Page 51 of The Roommate Experiment

I blink water out of my eyes and find my fingers wrapped around Dylan’s bicep, the firm muscle flexing under my touch. Heat sears through me, and I drop my hand as if burned, walking and paddling backward.

“Sorry, I—” My apology is cut short as my foot slips on the pool floor. I go under. Water rushes into my mouth, and then powerful arms are around me, hauling me up.

I break the surface, coughing and gasping, as I find myself plastered against Dylan’s torso. Our legs tangle as we tread water, his hands gripping my waist to steady me, my palms flattening on his chest. Even in the cool embrace of the pool, his touch scorches my skin.

For a suspended moment, we’re frozen, our bodies molded together. I feel every inch of him, hard and unyielding against my softness. His heartbeat thunders under my palm, matching the frantic pace of my own.

Our eyes lock, and a live wire replaces my veins again, the current setting every nerve ending alight. I can’t breathe, can’t think. There’s only Dylan, the heat of his gaze, the pressure of his hands.

Just as I’m about to fry in the pool with all the electricity coursing through me, the music cuts off, leaving a ringing silence in its place. Dylan’s phone, abandoned on a lounge chair, chimes with a new message. A robotic voice reads it out on the speakers’ system.

“Message from Olivia: Miss you, babe. Wish you were here with me.”

The words slice through me colder than a blade of ice. Dylan jerks away as if stung, his face shuttering. He clears his throat, looking anywhere but at me.

“I should… I need to?—”

I paste on a tight smile and gesture toward Dylan’s phone. “Yeah, you’d better go respond to that,” I say lightly as sourness fills my stomach.

Dylan nods, avoiding my gaze as he climbs the metal ladder. I hate myself a little for not being able to tear my eyes away from the muscular planes of his back as he strides over to his phone, water sluicing down his sun-kissed skin, tracing paths I want to follow with my fingers—also with my tongue, if I’m being honest.

He grabs a towel and starts drying off, putting an end to the show and to the synchronized body-lock performance we were having underwater.

I’m left bobbing backward, my skin still tingling from his touch, as reality crashes over me colder and more unforgiving than the water. Nothing like getting a wake-up call in the form of your crush’s gorgeous girlfriend declaring her undying love on the Dolby surround system. I bite the inside of my cheek, half-laughing at myself. I’m beyond tragic.

My arms are heavy as lead as I lift out of the pool, weighed down by disappointment. Nina and Tristan are still playing around, too wrapped up in each other to notice the drama unfolding. Rowena shoots me a knowing look from her floatie. I deliberately turn away, not ready to face her pity or curiosity.

“Well, at least tonight I won’t have to worry about sharing a mattress with Mr. Committed,” I grit out quietly, grabbing my towel. “Silver linings, right, Dylan? The air conditioning won’t be the only thing keeping things frosty.”

Dylan, already halfway to the house, doesn’t hear me. Just as well. The disaster would be complete if he picked up on my hopelessly one-sided feelings.

I flop down on my chaise, letting the sun bake away the lingering chill. It’s fine. Super. So what if the guy I’m halfway in love with is head over heels for someone else? I’ll get over it. It won’t take another eleven years either.

24

DYLAN

The air mattress squeaks under me as I shift my weight, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. Sleep eludes me once again despite the late hour and how much I’m begging my racing mind to settle. It’s not the unfamiliar surroundings of my parents’ living room keeping me up. It’s her. Hunter. She’s slumped on the couch across from me, her breathing soft and steady.

And I’m lying wide awake. A moron who can’t stop replaying the accidental snuggle-in-the-deep-end debacle in the pool earlier, when our bodies tangled under the cool water. The way her curves molded against my chest, the electric slide of her bare skin on mine, the slight pierce of her belly button piercing scraping against my stomach; it’s as if every touch was tattooed on me, available to revisit whenever I feel like torturing myself. Heat unfurls over me, skull to toes, just thinking about it.

I flip onto my back with a low groan. I’m going to be dead on my feet tomorrow if I don’t get some shut-eye. But every time I close my lids, there she is. Tempting me. Taunting me.

A muffled sound breaks the silence. At first, I think it’s an animal outside, but then it comes again. A stifled moan, from the direction of the couch. My pulse quickens and my imagination runs wild. Is Hunter having a dream? The sexy kind, from the breathy way that noise escapes her?

Fuck.I must’ve racked up some serious bad-luck points somewhere. I’ve been fighting the attraction to her all damn night, and now I have to listen to her make those sounds in her sleep?

Another whine floats over, and frustration crashes through me. I’m reaching for the pillow, ready to pull it over my face to block her out, when a whimper reaches my ears.

I freeze.

Because it’s not a sound of pleasure, but of pain. An agonized cry that sends a spike of alarm through my chest.

Concern floods me, instantly replacing the frustration. I prop myself up on my elbows, squinting through the darkness at Hunter’s form on the couch. Her body is tense, curled in on itself. She shifts, another whimper escaping her.

“Hunter?” I call out. “You okay?”

No response. I sit up fully, push the bedsheet aside, and kneel beside the couch. Her face is scrunched in discomfort, even in the dim light. I try again, a little louder this time. “Hunter?”

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