Page 49 of The Roommate Experiment

23

HUNTER

The citrusy tang of lemonade lingers on my tongue as I lean back in the chaise longue, the condensation from the glass chilling my fingers. Bright sunbeams dance across the pool’s surface, glinting like scattered diamonds. Nina, Rowena, and I are soaking up in the half-shade of a giant white umbrella, our skins glistening with a sheen of sun lotion in the thick, July heat.

Soft beats pulse from portable speakers connected to Dylan’s phone, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the faint breeze. While us gals lazy it out, the guys are hauling the ratty, old—now also soggy—couch through the basement egress door. They’re shirtless.

As they emerge, Dylan’s golden hair catches the light, the flex of his back muscles mesmerizing. Beside him, Tristan grunts with the effort, biceps bulging.

“Damn.” Rowena lowers her sunglasses. “I know one’s your boyfriend and the other’s your brother, but holy hell. How are we supposed to look anywhere else right now?”

Nina laughs, propping herself up on her elbows for a better view. “Oh, don’t hold back on my account. I’m enjoying the show.”

Her appreciative hum blends with the music as we watch the men navigate the couch across the lawn. Sweat glistens along the ridges of Tristan’s abs and over Dylan’s shoulders, broad and sculpted from years on the basketball court.

I take a long sip of lemonade, the ice clinking against my teeth. I hiss at the stab of pain, wishing ice could chill more than just my incisors. If only I could put a cold compress on my raging crush. I should tear my eyes away; ogling Dylan’s bare, sweaty chest is doing nothing to cure me. Especially not as the guys drop the couch and face us—it’s a muscle onslaught.

Dylan flashes an easy smile our way as he calls out, “Hey, any of you lovely ladies want to give us a hand?”

“We wish we could,” Nina yells back, “but we don’t want to.”

Dylan huffs out a laugh and bends to grab the couch again, those delectable shoulder muscles rippling. I hide my shameless gawking behind my sunglasses.

Rowena smiles playfully. “If Tristan ever loses his job, he can always get a role in the nextMagic Mike.”

Nina jokingly groans. “The jerk even wore a backward baseball cap when he knows we’ll have to wait all day to?—”

Rowena finishes the phrase for her, “To make tender, caring, sweet love?”

Nina scoffs. “After that display, what I plan to do with Tristan ain’t going to be sweet.” She turns to Rowena with a mischievous grin. “I bet your fiancé is just as ripped, huh?”

At the mention of Adrian, a cloud sweeps over Rowena’s face, her gaze becoming distant. “He’s not my fiancé, so I won’t berippingthe benefits—pun intended.”

I study my friend closely. Rowena tries to act carefree, but she’s been downcast for the entire journey. Even more broody than me, which is saying something.

“What about you?” Nina nudges my foot with her toe. “Seeing anything you like?”

On reflex, my gaze darts back to Dylan. The guys have dropped the couch on the grass, and he’s stretching out, bathed in sunlight. His blond locks gleam like molten gold, catching every ray, and his body—oh, his body. Muscles flex as he lifts his arms above his head, the smooth skin of his torso gleaming with sweat. It looks as if the god of the sun himself has come down to Earth to haul furniture.

If ancient poets had ever witnessed this, Apollo would’ve had some serious competition in the worship department. Every inch of Dylan ripples with strength, each movement a reminder that some people were built to make the rest of the population suffer.

And suffer I do; my mouth goes dry at the sight. I take a hasty swig of lemonade, the cold tartness a reality check. He’s taken. And even if he weren’t with Olivia, he has never shown an interest in me in eleven years. We’re friends. Roommates. Platonic as can be.

Nina pokes my foot again. “No comment, Miss Brolin?”

I try to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just thinking that none of my disastrous dates from last week must’ve looked that good without a shirt. I should add ‘must be an ex-basketball player’ to my desiderata on my profile.”

Nina shushes me as the guys approach, their footsteps muffled by the grass. “Shh, don’t let them hear you talk about basketball or they’ll delight us with some college glory days anecdotes.”

I make a zipper motion over my lips as they arrive. Tristan catches my gesture, raising a mock suspicious eyebrow at his girlfriend. “Keeping secrets, are we?”

Nina provokes him teasingly. “I can’t tell you everything, babe. I’ve got to keep a little mystery alive.”

Tristan’s response is wordless. He lies on top of her, sliding his sweaty body over hers in a move that’s at once gross, playful, and sensual. “Is this mysterious enough for you?”

Nina screeches, her hands flailing in mock protest. “Ew, you’re disgusting.” But the struggling lasts about two seconds before she pulls him down for a passionate kiss, her fingers tangling in his damp hair.

I glance away, feeling like I’m intruding on a private moment. My gaze lands on Dylan, who’s watching the display with a look that’s equal parts fondness and exasperation.

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