Page 59 of The Roommate Experiment

I nod, instantly regretting the motion as the floor wobbles underneath me. “Yeah, celebrating a win at work. Maybe celebrated a little too hard.”

Dylan’s smile softens, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “The big project you were telling me about last night?”

“The one.”

As I fight with the strap of my messenger bag to pull it over my head, I take in Dylan’s face breaking into the brightest, goofiest smile.

“Congratulations, Brolin, you deserve it.”

I go warm in several places, my alcohol-addled brain latching onto the way he called me by my surname as if he’d said babe.

Dylan takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to free me from the damn strap. He pulls it gently over my head and steadies me as I wobble again.

“Need help getting to bed?”

I laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. “You’re so nice, Dylan. Like, the nicest guy ever.”

“Thank you.” Dylan grins, guiding me down the hallway toward my bedroom.

“Seriously, the nicest.”

“Yeah, you mentioned,” he teases, his hand warm on the small of my back.

We make it to my room, and I fall onto the bed, the world still spinning pleasantly. I’m struggling with my sandals, to kick them off; the thin straps are conspiring against me.

He watches me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Does being nice include helping you with your shoes? Or is that crossing a line?”

I giggle. “Yes. Nice people help with shoes. It’s in the rules of niceness.”

Dylan’s warm and rich laugh pulls my focus entirely to him as he kneels down, gently removing my shoes and setting them aside. His fingers barely brush my skin, but my head starts to spin faster.

As he stands back up, I throw my arms out wide and let myself fall backward onto the bed, grinning up at him. “Is this the part where you tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story?”

“A bedtime story?” Dylan smiles as he pulls a blanket over me. “Any requests?” he asks sarcastically.

“The one where he ditches the perfect princess and marries the nerd instead,” I mumble, my eyes already drooping.

Dylan chuckles, his hand brushing my hair back from my face.

“I’m not sure I know that one.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“And you might be too tired for a story, anyway.”

I hum in agreement, sleep already pulling me under. “Yeah, I’m tiredddd…”

The last thing I’m aware of is the gentle click of the door as Dylan leaves.

And then I’m dreaming, lost in a world where nice guys help with shoes and tuck you in at night, and everything is warm and safe and perfect.

28

HUNTER

The next morning, I cringe before I even open my eyes, my head pounding like a jackhammer. But the physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional gut punch as hazy memories of last night flood back. Groaning, I press my face into the pillow.

What the hell did I blabber to Dylan? Something about him being the nicest nice guy, and then… a princess and a nerd? Oh gosh.

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