Page 3 of The Roommate Experiment

With one last wistful glance at his biceps, I exit the bedroom and head for the kitchen, zigzagging through the boxes strewn in my path.

I open the fridge and throw myself into making lasagna. I stocked all the ingredients to make his favorite dish yesterday, after obsessively scouring cooking blogs for the best lasagna recipe that’ll win me his heart. Dylan will love my food and then he’ll loveme.

As I layer the sheets of pasta with the sauce, another daydream takes over. I imagine him having his mind blown by how good the lasagna is. I picture heated glances across the dinner table that will once again inevitably lead to our first passionate kiss. But then my practical side intrudes into the fantasy as I try to envision the logistics of how we’d kiss across a table. Would he wipe the surface of everything, same as it happens with desks in movies? Set me on the table, push between my legs, and kiss the living daylights out of me? Or would he scoot closer and go for a more understated side hug where the food and dishes are spared a trip to the floor?

Which bears the question if making out with someone after eating lasagna would be more sexy or gross. I should’ve gone easier with the garlic in the sauce. Whatever. Dylan could eat raw onions, and I’d still want to kiss him.

I’m pushing the pan into the oven when the man himself emerges from the hall, looking sweatier than ever—and good thing I turned the thermostat down because the room immediately feels ten degrees hotter.

“All unpacked?” I squeak.

“Nah, but I’ve decided I’m done for the day.” He sniffs the air. “Hey, smells delicious. What are you making?”

“Lasagna.”

His eyes widen. “That’s my favorite.”

“Oh, really?” I laugh a little too hard. “I hadnoidea.”

“Do you mind if I take a shower before dinner, or is it ready?”

“Go ahead, I just put the pan in the oven. It’ll be done when you come out.”

He goes, and I fan myself. Perhaps making a dish that requires firing up the oven in mid-June wasn’t the best idea. But the things we do for love.

I lay the table, focusing on the familiar routine instead of the fact that Dylan is down the hall, in my shower—naked.

Ourshower now, I suppose.

Another wild vision takes over, and I let myself get lost in the mindless dreaming of Dylan and me showering together. No risks of woodland creatures showing up this time because it’s not the kind of wholesome fantasy that’d take place in a fairytale—unless it was the after-dark version.

A while later, the oven timer dings, jolting me out of my reverie. The lasagna’s cheesy aroma fills the kitchen as I pull it out. The crust looks just right—golden brown and bubbling.

I’m setting the pan on the table when Dylan walks in, and a lump of air catches in my throat. He’s wearing basketball shorts and nothing else. I’m blinded by an expanse of flat muscles and pale skin so perfect it belongs between the pages ofTwilight.

At least he doesn’t glitter.

But his chest is a work of art—broad and perfectly sculpted, with droplets of water still clinging to his body, tracing glistening paths down the planes of his abdomen. His six-pack abs are so clearly defined they could’ve been carved from marble. And his hair, damp from the shower, curls slightly at the ends, so casually sexy, it’s almost insulting.

“Oh, there it is.” Dylan grabs a T-shirt from one of his boxes still lying around and pulls it on, granting my brain permission to resume a few basic functions. “Smells even better than before.” He inhales deeply. “You’re going to spoil me.”

I laugh, ignoring the way my heart flutters at his words. “It’s only dinner.”

Dylan’s eyes meet mine, and I could swear there’s something—a flash of… interest? Curiosity? But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

We sit down to eat, and I have to admit, the lasagna is one of my best. Dylan moans appreciatively around his first bite, the sound landing a punch somewhere in my lower belly. I take a large gulp of water to distract myself.

“How does it feel to be officially moved in?”

Dylan grins. “Pretty great, actually. Thanks again for letting me crash here. I know it was kind of last minute.”

“I should be the one thanking you. Without you, I would’ve had to move out and I love this place. I hate change.”

“Change is good sometimes.” He winks, taking another bite of lasagna.

I almost choke on my bite. Change is good. Change isgreat. I am converted. Let’s shake up things right away. Delicious as the lasagna is, I’m ready for it to be thrown to the floor.

My head is spinning so fast with fantasies I’ve turned into Sleeping Beauty twirling in the woods, surrounded by singing birds and squirrels, ready to dance my dreams away with my prince.

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