Page 38 of The Roommate Experiment

Despite the ridiculous pink apron over his white tee and sweatpants, he looks… absurdly sexy. Way too sexy to behold first thing in the morning. My lady parts give an internal swoon against my will. Damn him. Why does he have to resemble a Calvin Klein ad even in an apron and sweats? And he’s like that naturally, no makeovers needed. It’s not fair.

His eyes fly open and meet mine. He doesn’t speak, just looks, winding me up to a tension so tight I’m afraid I’ll snap right in half. I’ve no idea what’s going through his mind.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Dylan’s eyes skim over me with a soft concern that makes my pulse quicken. They linger on my wrist as if to check all markings are gone—thankfully, they are—then drift back to my face. “How are you doing?”

I avert my gaze, busying myself with the coffee pot. “I’m so sorry about last night. For ruining your date.”

Dylan straightens, his smile faltering. “I ruined my date, not you. And are you okay after… you know… everything…?”

Of course, he’d worry about me instead of himself. His genuine concern only makes things worse. It’s most likely pity.

I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, really. The date was a disaster, but nothing a little ice cream couldn’t fix.”And half a bottle of your Chablis, I add in my head.

I pour us each a mug of coffee, using it as an excuse to avoid his worried, blue-green eyes. “Seriously though, thanks for coming to my rescue last night. I feel awful about the whole thing.” I hand him his mug, finally meeting his gaze.

Dylan shakes his head, his blond fringe falling into his eyes. “No, I’m sorry I walked out and left you with my bill; I feel terrible.” He wipes his hands on the shouldn’t-be-sexy pink apron, and reaches for his phone. “How much do I owe you? I’ll Venmo you the money.”

Not able to sustain eye contact with him for prolonged amounts of time without melting, I look away. “Oh, no, it’s nothing.” I wrap my hands around my steaming mug and inhale deeply, praying the rich scent will overpower the hollow ache carving me out from the inside. If only caffeine could erase heartbreak as easily as it jolts me awake. Having to pay for his bill was humiliating, but somehow, getting the money back stings even worse.

But Dylan isn’t having it. He insists, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he taps away on his phone. “Hunt, let me make it right. Just tell me the amount.”

I sigh, knowing he won’t let it go. I reluctantly give him the figure, trying not to wince at the exorbitant cost of his dinner date. At once, my phone pings with the Venmo notification. I hold it up, mustering a smile. “Got it. Thanks.” I take a sip of my coffee, scalding my tongue. “So, um, did you patch things up with Olivia? After you ran after her.” I’m not even sure what I want his answer to be.

Dylan’s shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his tousled hair. “No, she left. Still pretty upset.”

I nod, glancing around the kitchen, taking in again the mess of flour and cookie dough. “Is that why you’re stress-baking so early? To whip up an apology?”

He cute-frowns, realization dawning on his face. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a great idea. Homemade cookies would be the perfect peace offering.”

I resist the instinct to bang my head against a cabinet. Why did I have to suggest that and serve him the ideal romantic gesture on a silver platter? I picture Olivia melting at the sight of him on her doorstep, cookies in hand, all transgressions forgiven.

The oven timer dings, startling me. I move aside as Dylan slides on a pair of oven mitts, looking unfairly adorable in his flour-dusted apron, and carefully removes a tray of golden-brown chocolate chip cookies. The sweet scent of browned sugar and warm dough fills the air, making my mouth water despite my mental spiral of bitter regret.

He sets the tray on the counter, and I admire the perfectly round cookies, doing my best to ignore the sinking pit in my stomach. Leave it to Dylan to excel at everything, even baking. When Olivia sees them—andhim—she’ll forget about breakfast altogether and devour the chef instead. Guess that leaves me with just the crumbs…

With a spatula, Dylan lifts a cookie from the tray, plates it, and offers it to me, grinning. “Care to be my guinea pig?”

I hesitate, but the temptation of a warm, gooey cookie proves too strong to resist. I accept it with a nod, taking a tentative bite. The flavors explode on my tongue—rich chocolate, buttery dough, and a hint of salt. I can’t prevent the moan that escapes my lips.

Dylan’s grin widens, eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “Think Olivia will forgive me after tasting these?”

I swallow the bite, along with the lump in my throat. With cookies this good, Olivia will perform acrobatics in bed and beg him to father her future children. I wince.

Dylan’s brow furrows, concern etching his features. “Is something wrong with the cookies?”

Mentally, I reply,With the cookies? No. With my life? Everything.But aloud, I force a smile and shake my head. “No, they’re delicious. Olivia will forgive you.”

He stares at me, his expression unreadable. I squirm under the scrutiny, wondering not for the first time what he’s thinking when he looks at me like that. But then he nods, satisfied, and places another cookie on my plate.

“I should bring these to Olivia as a surprise breakfast.” He reaches for a Tupperware. “Might spend today with her, try to smooth things over.”

A knife is plunged into my chest, and every little thing that comes out of this man’s mouth twists the blade, creating more damage. I nod against the devastation, my smile never faltering. “Good idea.”

“But I’ll be back in time for dinner at Rowena’s. I’m curious to meet her fake fiancé. He’s a legend in the finance world,” Dylan adds, his tone brightening. “Want to share a taxi?”

The thought of being confined with Dylan in the back of a cab is both dreadful and exciting, but I agree anyway. “Sure, sounds good.”

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