Page 44 of The Roommate Experiment

On second thought, my so-called “reprieve” sounds more like torture. Four days of Hunter in swimsuits, and me stuck in romantic limbo, playing the role of the platonic friend… Now I’ve turned into another character fromTitanic: Captain Smith, fucking iceberg alert in hand and still ordering more speed.

21

HUNTER

I’m sandwiched in the back of Dylan’s pickup between Nina and Rowena, my skin sticking to the leather seats as sweat beads down my spine. The seatbelt digs into my shoulder, an unrelenting pressure as we wind along the coastal road toward Mystic.

I keep my arms pinned to my sides, careful not to brush against anyone. Easier said than done in such close quarters. I glance sideways at Nina; she’s hijacked the car’s Bluetooth and is dictating the road-trip playlist. While on my other side, Rowena has her eyes closed, one hand resting on her still-flat stomach. Despite the cramped discomfort, I’m glad it’s just the five of us packed into the car like sardines.

I’ve become a person who celebrates funerals, or finds them convenient at least. But with Olivia sidetracked, the electric wire clamped to my spine that would zap me with 200 volts of current every time I imagined her tagging along this weekend has been cut. Horrible, I know. What does that say about me?

I’m not even sure if Dylan had invited Olivia or not; he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. But either way, her absence is a small reprieve, temporary packed car ride be damned. Four whole days without wondering if she’ll be showing up in my life unexpectedly—at my apartment, in a restaurant, or wherever it is she and Dylan hang out.

The miles roll on, the road unwinding ahead of us in a line of coastal scenery accompanied by the steady sound of waves. Finally, the Thompsons’ house comes into view, and a new kind of excitement kicks in. I’m ready to leave the car—and thoughts of Olivia—far behind.

The sun hangs high in the sky, the afternoon heat shimmering off the pavement, and even if I can’t see it yet, I hear the pool calling my name. I tumble out of the pickup in my haste to escape, tilting my face up to the sun as I stretch my cramped limbs. The air smells of freshly cut grass and salt from the nearby sea.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Mr. Thompson booms from the porch, a wide grin splitting his face.

Mrs. Thompson appears beside him, hands on her hips. “Get in, the lot of you,” she calls, waving us forward. “I’ve got lemonade and cookies waiting.”

We grab our suitcases and troop to the porch, greeting the Thompsons as we pass them.

Dylan bumps my shoulder as we head toward the kitchen, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “Now you can tell me if my mom’s cookies are better than mine.”

I roll my eyes, smirking. “You’re fishing for compliments, Thompson.”

“Me?” Dylan brings a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Never.”

He winks before turning and pushing the kitchen door open, the cool air rushing out to meet us. It’s a walk-in fridge compared to the temperature we left in the front yard. But that wink has a traitorous warmth boiling through me that has nothing to do with the summer heat and doesn’t care about the blast of air conditioning.

As we all settle around the island, Rowena perches on one stool, her hand still pressed to her stomach, while Nina leans against the counter, eyeing the snack spread. I pull up another stool and position myself in front of Dylan, giving him my shoulders. My scalp prickles like crazy, but it’s a lesser discomfort than having to meet his eyes while I’m still flushed from a stupid, meaningless wink.

Mrs. Thompson hovers nearby, smiling as she passes the cookie plate. But her brow furrows with concern as she stops in front of Rowena.

She places a gentle hand on my friend’s shoulder. “You alright, dear?”

I check on my friend. Winnie looks a little green around the gills.

Rowena offers a wan smile. “Just a bit of morning sickness. The car ride didn’t help, but the pills I’m taking manage the nausea pretty well.”

Mrs. Thompson’s eyes widen, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “Morning sickness? Are you… are you… expecting?”

Nina shoots her mom a sheepish look. “I hadn’t told them yet, Winnie.”

“Oh, congratulations, sweetheart.” Mrs. Thompson envelops Rowena in a warm hug, her face alight with joy. “Do you want a glass of water? Milk?”

“Milk might be better.”

Mrs. Thompson gives Rowena a cookie and then pours her a glass of milk from the fridge. “Here, this should help settle your stomach.”

“Hey, do I get milk and cookies too, even if I’m not pregnant?” Dylan jokes behind me. And hearing his voice that close reconnects the electric wire fused to my spine, sending jolts through every nerve.

Mrs. Thompson levels her son with a look; Nina is next. “You two, come with me.”

As they disappear into the other room, Mr. Thompson takes out more mugs and keeps passing around the plate with the cookies. “I don’t see why we all can’t enjoy a snack while they sort out whatever it is they’re up to.” He chuckles, setting everything on the table.

I eagerly accept a still-warm cookie. The first bite is pure bliss—buttery, sweet, and utterly divine. But as good as these are, they don’t come with the sight of Dylan, tousled and flour-dusted, grinning in that heart-wrecking way that ruins my entire existence. So really, they’re missing depth.

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