Page 48 of The Roommate Experiment

My heart twists at the disappointment in her voice. I hate seeing her upset, even over something as small as a ruined book. I want to fix it, to make everything better for her.

By some stroke of luck, my suitcase ended up on the far side of the room, safe from the sprinkler’s wrath. I grab one of my basketball shirts. “Here.” I hold it out to her. “It’s dry, at least.”

“Thanks,” Hunter says, her voice hoarse. “Can you please close your eyes while I change?”

I nod and shut my eyes tight as I hear the rustling of fabric. Wet clothes smack against the hardwood floor and my imagination spirals, filling in the vivid details I can’t see. The snap of her bra unclasping nearly undoes me.

Each shuffle and whisper of movement send electric currents through my body. Knowing that Hunter is mere feet away, wearing only damp panties, makes me unhinged. Raw nerve endings sizzle and my brain synapses misfire in all directions. I squeeze my eyes even tighter against the overwhelming temptation to peek.

Behind my eyelids, tantalizing images of Hunter flash and meld with memories of my dreams, the real and imagined blurring together. An eternity passes before her voice breaks the charged silence.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

I blink and the sight before me is even more devastating than my fantasies.

She’s haloed in the faint light filtering in from the windows, my old basketball shirt swallowing her. Her damp hair is finger-combed away from her face, her skin dewy and fresh. She looks soft, vulnerable. Utterly unattainable.

“Thanks.” Her eyes crinkle with a smile. “Much better now. Your shirt might be a keeper. It’s super comfy.”

She does a little twirl, and I tighten my fists. I want to pull her to me, bury my face in her neck, and breathe her in. I want to press her body against mine, to explore every curve and hollow…

With a hard mental push, I shove the thought away and muster a smile. “It looks good on you. Better than it ever did on me.”

She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “I don’t know about that. I bet you looked pretty good in your basketball days.”

“Unfortunately, those days are gone,” I joke, falling into the easy banter that has always defined our relationship.

“Fishing for a compliment? Because I won’t tell you that you still look more fit than any guy I know… even the under thirty…”

I smile. “As long as you won’t tell me, my ego will be kept in check.”

I swallow against the constriction in my throat, barely resisting the primal urge to close the distance between us. To wrap her in my arms and never let go.

Seeing her in my clothes, surrounded by my scent, sends a possessive thrill through me. I want to see her in nothing but my shirt, the fabric skimming her thighs, her hair mussed from my fingers…

I choke back the inappropriate thoughts. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or are we done for the night?”

Hunter tentatively touches the couch, her fingers sinking into the damp cushions. “It’s still pretty wet. We can’t sleep on it.”

I nod dumbly and glance at my watch. “It’s almost five. How about we surprise everyone with homemade brownies for breakfast?”

Her face lights up, a grin tugging at her lips. “If your brownies are as good as your chocolate chip cookies, I’m totally down. I need to… uh… just check something real quick.”

Hunter rummages through her suitcase, searching for dry underwear, I realize with horror. She tries to be discreet, but I catch a tantalizing glimpse of lace peeking out from her fingers. My breath hitches.

She stands, hiding her hands behind her back. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” She leaves me to change out of my own soaked clothes.

As she climbs the stairs, I stare at her legs, transfixed by the smooth expanse of skin disappearing under the hem of my shirt. Once she’s out of sight, I drag a hand down my face, frustrated and overwhelmed.

The image of Hunter in my shirt, her damp hair clinging to her neck, is seared into my brain. And the rustle of fabric as she undressed echoes in my head, stoking the fire burning under my skin.

I change and try to focus on something else, needing a minute before I join her in the kitchen. I grab a towel from the laundry room to mop up the puddles on the floor. But my mind keeps wandering, imagining Hunter peeling off her wet clothes, exposing inch after tantalizing inch of smooth skin…

“Get it together, man,” I mutter to myself, wringing out the soaked towel with more force than necessary.

I’m tired, I reason. It’s been a long day, and the unexpected wake-up call has me all out of sorts.

But like never before, I desperately wish I were more of a jerk, that I’d broken things off with Olivia before this trip, funeral or not. The timing couldn’t be worse, but every fiber of my being yearns to test the waters with Hunter, consequences and complications be damned.

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