Page 60 of The Roommate Experiment

I made a complete fool of myself. My skull throbs in agreement, the beginnings of a hangover taking root. Not the look I was going for on a day I’ll have to spend next to Olivia the Perfect. She probably sleeps a full twelve hours, wakes up humming a tune that makes flowers bloom, and has mice dressing her.

Meanwhile, my morning breath could qualify as an environmental disaster, a noxious cloud capable of wiping out entire ecosystems. I run my tongue over fuzzy teeth and wince. Did I even brush them last night? That I can’t remember the answer is significant enough.

With a sigh, I crack one eye open, immediately assaulted by the too-bright sun streaming through the blinds. Coffee. I need coffee. But that would require me to show my face in the apartment and face Dylan.

If I hide long enough, he’ll leave to go pick up Olivia, and I won’t have to see them until the engagement party. I’m supposed to catch a separate ride with Nina and Tristan, anyway. Problem solved.

I’ve barely finished the thought when a knock sounds at my door. I freeze. Keep quiet and pretend I’m still asleep or woman up and face the music?

“Hunt? You okay?” Dylan’s muffled voice filters through.

My stomach somersaults, but I manage a strangled, “Yeah, I’m good.” I overcompensate, sounding too cheery to be believable. But I don’t want him to worry on top of having had to put me to bed like a child. I try again, aiming for casual. “Just waking up.”

“Mind if I come in for a second?”

I hum an affirmative, not trusting my voice. The door cracks open and Dylan leans against the threshold, all tousled blond hair and broad shoulders. A modern-day Prince Charming wrapped in a Greek god’s body.

His eyes scan my face with a hint of amusement. “How’s the head?”

I tug the comforter higher, realizing I’m still in yesterday’s clothes. The fluffy barrier is my last line of defense, a plush fortress protecting me.

“I’ve had better mornings,” I admit, trying for a wry smile. “What time is it?”

“Just past eleven, sleepyhead.”

“Whoops, guess I’m living that rockstar lifestyle finally.”

“What do rockstars prefer to cure a hangover? Greasy breakfast or painkillers?”

“Can you add a time machine to that list?”

“Unfortunately not, but I can throw in some bacon.”

Fatty food and a cocktail of painkillers both sound like salvation, but the promise of crispy bacon wins out. “I’m sold. Breakfast, please.”

Dylan nods, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Coming right up. I’ll get cooking.”

He disappears down the hall, and I wait until I hear the clatter of pans before making my walk of shame to the bathroom. I crank the shower as hot as it’ll go, letting the scorching spray wash away the remnants of last night’s poor choices.

By the time I pad into the kitchen, hair still damp and wearing my favorite oversized comfort shirt, the room is filled with the most heavenly aroma. Sizzling bacon, melted butter, the earthy scent of scrambled eggs. Even the coffee smells richer than usual, more robust.

Dylan glances over his shoulder, pausing mid-scramble. For a split second, his smile falters, a glitch in his easy-going demeanor. But it’s back in a flash as he gestures to the table with the spatula.

“Perfect timing. Breakfast is served.”

He slides a plate in front of me, piled high with crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a buttered roll oozing with melted cheese. A steaming mug of coffee appears next, and I wrap my hands around it gratefully.

“You’re a lifesaver.” I inhale the rich aroma. “Thanks for this.”

Dylan smirks as he settles across from me with his own plate. “Just carrying out my nice-guy duties.”

I shoot him a mock glare. “Okay, now you’re being mean.”

“If I were being mean, there wouldn’t be coffee.”

“That’s more survival instinct. I’m a terror without caffeine.”

“Good to know coffee keeps you from becoming a supervillain.”

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