Page 39 of The Roommate Experiment

He packs the rest of the cookies and goes to his room to change. He’s back five minutes later in jeans and a T-shirt. As he grabs his keys, my gaze drifts to his backside. Mmm, more bite-able than the cookie I’m finishing. With a last wave, he’s out the door, off to win back Olivia’s heart.

Sighing, I take another bite of my cookie, savoring the sugary fattiness. But as I dust my hands on my PJ bottoms, I survey the disaster zone that is our kitchen and marvel at how seamlessly I’ve transitioned from picking up Dylan’s restaurant bill to sweeping away the broken eggshells. I’ll send him the cleaning chargeanda therapy invoice this time. And he can Venmo me both.

19

DYLAN

It’s already late afternoon by the time I come back home. This morning, Olivia forgave me the moment I showed up on her doorstep with the apology cookies. We had a nice breakfast together, visited the exhibition she’d been raving about, and afterward, grabbed lunch near Central Park. It was a lovely day, but it still left me unsatisfied.

Maybe it was the sense of everything being so perfectly pleasant, yet lacking that undercurrent ofsomething. I didn’t feel that magnetic pull couples in love are supposed to share, the inexplicable urge to bridge any distance between us, as if gravity itself was bending to keep us close.

It’s not been love at first sight with Olivia, but I’m not in lust with her, either. Between us is more niceness all along. I don’t want to grab her wrists and pin her against a wall to kiss her. I’m not even sure I enjoy spending time with her that much. Today, I never caught myself holding my breath, waiting for her to say something unexpected that would make me laugh. Or wanting to reach for her hand because Ineededto touch her.

Instead, being with her gives me this nagging sensation ofwrongnessI can’t put my finger on. Which is ridiculous, considering I had a perfect-on-paper day with an equally perfect woman.

As I kick off my shoes in the entry hall, my eyes dart to the kitchen, and I do a double take. It’s spotless, without a single dirty dish or speck of flour in sight. I groan, remembering the mess I left behind this morning in my rush to get to Olivia’s. And Hunter had to clean after me—again. Holy shit. The bill at the restaurant last night, and now this. I’m the worst roommate ever.

Guilt gnaws at my insides as I head down the hall to Hunter’s room. Her door is half-open, so I knock, pushing it ajar. She’s seated at her desk, engrossed in her laptop, but she turns when she hears me enter.

“Oh, hi,” she greets me, her dark eyes meeting mine. And that gaze lands straight at the base of my spine. My tailbone is being electrocuted.

I lean against the doorframe, an apologetic expression on my face. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me for how I left the kitchen?”

To my surprise, a smile tugs at her lips instead of the scowl I’m expecting. “Oh, you mean your avant-garde flour installation?” she quips. “I didn’t have to scrape it. MoMA called, and they picked it up.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you cleaned up my baking catastrophe. Sure you don’t hate me, not even a little?”

Her eyes narrow playfully. “Don’t worry, you’re still behind the neighbor who leaves trash in the hallway overnight on my hit list.”

I laugh as relief washes over me at her lighthearted response. “I would like the record to show that I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve been stressed lately, but I promise this isn’t me.”

“Well, at least the stress-relief cookies were delicious.” Hunter’s lips quirk. “But maybe next time, try to keep more of the ingredients in the bowl.”

I touch two fingers to my forehead and give her a mock military salute. “Will do. Is it okay if I hop in the shower?”

Hunter nods, gesturing to her laptop. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ve already showered and only need to change.”

With a grateful smile, I head to the bathroom, the tension in my shoulders easing for the first time all week. As the warm water pelts my back, I clear a circle in the fogged-up glass and catch myself grinning like an idiot.

The hot jet is amazing, and I whistle for the rest of the shower until I step out, towel off, and pad to my bedroom. I call Hunter on the way, yelling that the bathroom is free if she needs it. In my room, I change into a fresh pair of jeans and a polo shirt. As I style my hair in the closet mirror, I find I’m looking forward to dinner at Rowena’s new place tonight. Except for Adrian, it’ll be good to be just us, our close group of friends. The people around who I feel most comfortable. When I don’t have to try so hard and can be myself.

Refreshed and ready, I knock on Hunter’s now-closed door. “Hey, are you good to go? The car I booked should arrive soon.”

The door swings open, and the sight of Hunter on the other side turns my lungs into concrete. She’s dressed in a light-blue button-down shirt, the fabric tied at her waist, revealing a tantalizing sliver of skin and that fucking belly ring. The sleeves are rolled up, exposing her delicate wrists adorned with simple gold bracelets. My gaze travels down to her white linen shorts, skimming the tops of her toned thighs, giving her an effortlessly cool vibe. Her dark hair tumbles in lush, beachy waves around her shoulders, and even though she’s not wearing any noticeable makeup, she looks stunning.

“Err…”Speak, Dylan, speak.“You look… definitely ready,” I manage, mentally kicking myself for the lame quip.

Hunter glances down at her outfit, a hint of uncertainty in her onyx-black eyes. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“No, not at all,” I assure her, nodding with conviction. “You look perfect. I mean, your clothes are perfect. For dinner. At Rowena’s.” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop myself.

Hunter’s lips curve into an amused smile. “Okay, great. Let’s head out, then.”

We exit the apartment together and find our ride already waiting for us downstairs. As we slide into the back seat, I’m enveloped by Hunter’s intoxicating perfume. It consumes me in wisps of shadows and secrets, mysterious and magnetic. A whispered invitation, curling into my thoughts like smoke under the moonlight.

I try to focus on the passing city scenery, but my gaze keeps drifting to Hunter’s lithe thighs, tantalizingly bare in those shorts and too close for comfort in the confined space.

The cab ride is nothing short of sweet torture, and I’m relieved when we pull up to Adrian’s building. As Hunter and I step out onto the sidewalk, I spot Tristan and Nina emerging from their own taxi.

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