Page 6 of The Roommate Experiment

Tristan laughs, but there’s a sympathetic edge to it. “Poor bastard. Can’t even smooth things over with mind-blowing sex.”

And just like that, for the first time in my life, I get a mental flash of Hunter in a sexual context. Long, toned legs wrapped around my waist, dark hair fanned out across the pillow, those obsidian eyes burning into mine as I—Woah. Where did that come from?

I banish the inappropriate image. “Yeah, well, I’ll resort to the traditional forms of groveling.”

I hear my sister’s voice yelling his name in the background.

“I should head inside. Early day tomorrow and all that.”

“Same here.” Tristan stifles a yawn. “Night, Thirty-Three.”

“Night, Eleven. And thanks for calling.”

“I thought you might need to hear my voice, honey.” Tristan uses a mock-romantic tone.

“Asshole.”

“Love you, man.”

“Same.”

I hang up, slipping my phone back into my pocket. The skyline glitters in the distance, but I don’t really see it. My mind is stuck on that fleeting, vivid image of Hunter, limbs tangled with mine. I need to get that out of my head, and fast. The last thing I want is for things between us to grow even more complicated.

With a sigh, I make my way back inside, the cool air of the apartment a welcome relief from the cloying humidity. As I pass Hunter’s door, I pause, wondering if I should knock and apologize. But then I reconsider. I’ll make it up to her by becoming a better, cleaner roommate. In my room, I flop down on the bed and stare up at the ceiling fan whirring above, its shadows casting playful shapes across the walls as my mind refuses to shut off. My thoughts ping-pong between guilt over arguing with Hunter and that damn mental image of her pinned underneath me that has imprinted in my brain.

I mean, sure, she’s attractive. I’d have to be blind not to notice. But that’s always been a passive observation, a fact filed away without much thought. But tonight, it feels different. That image of her tangled in the sheets with me came out of nowhere, blindsiding me like a sucker punch. Maybe it’s because we’ve never spent this much time alone together before. Sharing a space like this changes things—it strips away the buffer of other people, leaving just the two of us. I tell myself it’s nothing, just a stray thought brought on by the new dynamic.

She’s my roommate now. And even if seeing more of her messes with the wiring in my brain, I can’t go there. We’re in too close quarters. Living together means there’s no escape if things get messy. And, more importantly, I’m seeing someone. Things with Olivia are pretty new; we’ve only gone on a couple of dates. But I still have no business fantasizing about another woman. Already, Olivia wasn’t super thrilled when I told her I was moving in with a woman—a single, smart, gorgeous woman…

I groan, covering my face with my hands. This is not how I pictured my first night in the new apartment going. I need to fix this, and fast. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up early, make breakfast as a peace offering, and apologize for whatever incomprehensible offense I committed. It’s a solid plan.

Just as I doze off, my phone lights up with a message.

Olivia

How’s the new place? New roommate nice?

I stare at the screen, guilt churning in my stomach as Hunter’s face flashes in my mind. How do I even begin to answer that?

3

HUNTER

I’m sprawled on my bed, the buttery glow of the nightstand lamp softening the edges of my room. Shadows stretch lazily across the pale-blue walls, turning the dark wood of my bookcase into an inky silhouette. The earthy scent of paper and wax drifts from the candle I’ve lit, heavy and clingy, more oppressive than soothing. My gaze catches on the bookshelves, their carefully organized rows of novels, textbooks, and engineering manuals stacked with obsessive precision, each one perfectly aligned by subject and size.

Across the room, my laptop glows faintly on the tidy desk, surrounded by carefully labeled files and a mug of perfectly aligned pens. The screen is stuck on a spreadsheet of color-coded data—an unfinished report for the engineering consulting firm I work for. The closet door is slightly ajar, revealing clothes hung in perfect rainbow coordination, all facing the same direction on identical hangers.

Okay, maybe I’m a bit of a neat freak. But if anyone asked, I’d deny it.

I shift uncomfortably, fingers brushing the cool sheets covered in tiny constellations and math formulas. I trace the white shapes over the pastel-lilac cotton, wishing an equation could solve the mess in my head. But the cute, starry patterns bring no solace as regret claws at my insides.

Groaning, I bury my face into the pillow, cringing at the memory of how I acted like a total bitch to Dylan. I took out my frustration about his new girlfriend on him, griping about dirty dishes. Yeah, it annoys me when someone leaves them in the sink to get that gross, slimy residue that’s impossible to scrub off afterward and that attracts every fruit fly in New York. But let’s be real. I snapped at him because I was mad my roommates-to-lovers dream had gotten crushed.

My stomach churns anxiously. Did I completely ruin our semi-friendship? Is Dylan already regretting taking up his sister’s lease?

Footsteps echo in the hall and my heart stops. Two shadows take shape under my door. Dylan’s feet? Why is he standing outside my room? Is he as upset about our fight as I am?

I hold my breath, pulse pounding, waiting for him to knock, to speak, to reassure me he’s dumped his girlfriend and all my fantasies can still come true—probably not this last one.

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