Page 4 of The Roommate Experiment

“Oh, by the way,” Dylan interrupts my daydreaming. “I wanted to ask you something.”

My heart leaps into my throat. This is it. He’s going to say he’s always had feelings for me too, that even if it’s only been a few hours, moving in together made him realize?—

“I was wondering if it’d be okay for my girlfriend to visit sometimes?”

I nearly drop my fork, catching it at the last second with a clumsy scrape against my plate—my heart hammering as if I’ve just rescued something far more precious than a piece of silverware. Not that it matters as everything else shatters around me.

The singing in my head comes to a screeching halt. All the birds explode under the pressure of a shrill, too-high note like inShrek. And I’m left shell-shocked, staring at my new roommate.

Girlfriend? When did he…? How did I not know…?

“Hunter? You okay?” Dylan’s looking at me with concern, and I realize I haven’t spoken for several long seconds.

“Yeah, sorry,” I croak out. “Just… surprised. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Then my voice turns unnaturally bright as I add, “A girlfriend—wow, Dylan, that’s amazing.” Amazingly devastating. “First Nina and now you. New relationships are the best! Like walking around with glitter in your veins.” Or push pins, in my case. I need to shut up.

Dylan’s face relaxes into a smile. “It’s pretty new. Her name’s Olivia. She’s great; I think you’re really going to like her.”

I think I’m really going to hate her.But I nod mechanically. “Oh, I’m sure I will!” My fake grin is wide enough to break my cheeks. The lasagna, which tasted sublime moments ago, turns to ashes in my mouth. But I force down another bite, determined to pretend everything is fine, super. A-okay!

“So, is it okay if she comes over sometimes?” Dylan prompts, still waiting for an answer.

“Of course,” I hear myself say as if from a great distance, my voice bubbling with forced enthusiasm like I’m a morning talk show host. “This is your home, too. She’s welcome any time—seriously, no need to ask.”

Dylan beams at me, completely oblivious to the way my world is crumbling around me. “Thanks, Hunt. You’re the best.”

I force another smile, but inside, I’m splintering. The fairytale I’ve been spooling in my head all day shatters, replaced by a grim reality where my Prince Charming has shown up at the castle gates with a different princess in tow.

As Dylan launches into the improbably romantic story about how he met Olivia, I nod along, making appropriate cheerful noises at the right parts. But my mind is elsewhere, counting those eleven steps again. Only now, they don’t represent the years of knowing Dylan. They symbolize the insurmountable distance between us, a chasm I foolishly thought I could bridge, but that has never been wider.

Eleven steps away. An entire world apart.

2

DYLAN

I’ve fucked up, but have no idea how. Hunter hasn’t stopped smiling since we sat down to dinner. But halfway through the meal, something about it has started to feel off, like that forced grin has been ironed onto her face. Her energy is different—too bright, too bubbly, like she’s overcompensating for something. I do a mental inventory of our conversation, but I can’t pinpoint what I said or did to upset her, or when exactly the shift happened. I just know it did. Things were going well—friendly banter, easy quips. And now this synthetic politeness has wrapped around us like a creeping fog.

I look at her, and she gives me a thirty-two-tooth smile in return. But it doesn’t reach her eyes, their usual warmth replaced with a glossy, distant sadness.

I sound insane, but I’m sure something is up. I’m not making things up. Like when I got up to refill the water pitcher and I caught her off guard. She thought I had my back turned and had dropped her head in her hands, her shoulders sagged in a way that confirmed my instincts. And now, even though she’s smiling at me and offering cheerful quips, she’s barely touching her lasagna. When she does take a bite, it’s small, mechanical, like she’s forcing herself to swallow it against a gag. Which doesn’t make sense; the lasagna is delicious.

Since I’ve scarfed down all my pasta and Hunter doesn’t seem interested in finishing hers, I offer to do the dishes. Anything to ease the strange disconnect. “I’ll clean up.” I give her my most charming smile. “Only fair, since you cooked this amazing meal.”

Hunter glances up, meeting my eyes briefly. “Sure, thanks.” She nods, but her tone lacks real warmth. As she stands up, her long, dark hair falls down her back, swaying slightly as she moves to the counter. She tears off a sheet of aluminum foil with a crisp, metallic sound that slices through the quiet, jagged and precise. Her movements are rigid as she carefully wraps the metal sheet over the casserole of lasagna leftovers. Hunter drops it in the fridge and closes the door too enthusiastically, making it slam. “Should be good also tomorrow.”

“Lasagna always tastes better the next day.” I give her an open smile.

“Lasagna magic, right?” Hunter flashes a quick, robotic smile, her jaw tight as her eyes flick to the doorway, betraying her eagerness to escape. Fuck, the awkwardness is painful.

Stretching my back, I stifle a yawn, exhausted from hauling a thousand boxes. I gather our plates and deposit them in the sink. Hunter jumps out of my way almost comically.

I eye the pots and pans and suddenly feel too tired to tackle the washing tonight.

Tomorrow. I’ll deal with them in the morning when I’m not dead on my feet.

I’m about to head to the living room and collapse on the couch when I catch Hunter’s gaze lingering on the sink, her dark eyes fixed on the unwashed dishes. She presses her lips into a thin line, and I can sense the disapproval radiating off her. Well, at least it’s a genuine reaction.

I sigh, a familiar frustration bubbling up inside me. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those,” I half-joke.

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