Page 62 of The Roommate Experiment

The motion also sends a faint citrusy smell my way that mingles with the scent of the car’s cool leather. I breathe in her perfume, reminded of last night. Drunk Hunter was a perfect, chaotic whirlwind. Beautiful even while unsteady on her feet, slurring words, and rambling about how I was the “nicest guy” as I helped her into bed.

As I concentrate on the road ahead, I wonder if “nice” is what women want. Nice guys finish last, right? It’s the bad boys who always get the girl. Suddenly, the title of “nice guy” is less a badge of honor and more a consolation prize. Kinda makes me the biggest loser.

But then Hunter’s bedtime story request from last night drifts back to me:The one where he ditches the perfect princess and marries the nerd instead.It sounded like a joke, something she threw out without much thought, especially after a few cocktails. But the more I replay it in my head, the more it feels like there was a hidden message buried under the alcohol haze.

Was it just another one of her offbeat comments, or was she trying to tell me something? And why the hell does it keep looping in my brain?

When she said the prince should ditch the princess. She didn’t mean me and Olivia… did she? I shake my head, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the minivan in front of me slows down even more.

There’s no way Hunter sees herself as the nerd of the story. She’s about as far from nerdy as you can get. She’s magnetic, sharp, and a hell of a lot sexier than she realizes. But if she did mean herself… then what does that make me? The prince stuck with the wrong girl? The nice guy fumbling around, trying to figure out who he’s supposed to end up with?

Needing a distraction from the idea I might be the clueless prince in her narrative, or worse, not be her type, I suggest, “Hey, how about we play a game of ‘would you rather’ to pass the time?”

“Oh, fun.” Hunter’s eyes light up. “Okay, I’ll go first. Would you rather have to sing everything you say or dance everywhere you go?”

Without missing a beat, I break into a falsetto, my voice playfully off-key. “I’d rather siiing my words than dance.”

Hunter’s bubbly laugh fills the car as she admits, “I’d choose to dance everywhere. At least I could keep it subtle.”

“I’d love to see that.” I grin, enjoying the lightness between us. “Alright, my turn. Would you rather be able to read minds but only hear negative thoughts, or teleport but only to places you don’t want to go?”

She purses her lips, considering. “Hmm, I’d pick reading minds. Sure, negative thoughts might sting, but at least I’d know who to avoid.”

“Good point,” I agree, nodding. “Imagine you blink and you’re in an airport security line on a holiday weekend. Or worse, you end up at the DMV during lunch hour.”

“Aww. That’s sadistic of you, Thompson.” Hunter shifts to face me more fully, her seatbelt tugging across her chest. “Okay, next question. Would you rather live without coffee or never eat pizza again?”

I glance at her in mock horror. “Give up pizza? No way. Coffee keeps me functioning, but pizza… pizza is life. It keeps me happy.”

“Guess you could convert to tea or drink a lot of sodas.”

“Pizza makes you thirsty so that’d be perfect. Alright.” I click my tongue. “Would you rather be stuck in traffic for two hours every day or have slow internet?”

Hunter’s head falls back against the headrest as she thinks hard. “Ugh, traffic, I guess. I could listen to music or podcasts while I’m stuck. Slow internet would make me lose my mind.”

We riff off each other, laughter filling the car as we toss around one ridiculous answer after another, until Hunter’s tone shifts, her voice taking on a thoughtful edge as she asks, “Would you rather be happy or make someone else happy?”

Her gaze on the side of my face is a lick of flame.

The question hits a bit too close to home with my current situation with Olivia. “Oh, you know me, always the people pleaser. It’s a terrible flaw.”

My thoughts tangle like vines. Putting Olivia’s temporary happiness before mine is what I’ve done so far. Choosing her well-being while she recovers from her grief. But now with Olivia, the relationship, the missed break-ups—I’m caught in a maze with no way out. Suffocating, like a shirt that’s two sizes too small.

“But I guess you can’t make someone else happy unless they’re already happy themselves, you know?”

“Are you—are you happy?” Hunter asks, not looking at me.

How do I even answer that?I am happy now, yes, because even if I’m stuck in traffic wearing uncomfortable clothes with a million degrees outside, I’m with you playing a silly game and suddenly, all my problems are miles away.

“Miss Brolin, I’m afraid that inquiry violates the game’s rules, and it’s my turn, anyway.” If she’s wondering why I’m side-stepping the topic, she says nothing, and before she asks, I blurt out the first silly question that pops into my head. “Would you rather have Cheeto dust permanently on your fingers or cheese breath for the rest of your life?”

Hunter scrunches her nose, considering. “Cheeto dust.”

“But you could cure the cheese breath with mints,” I argue, grinning.

She gasps in mock outrage. “And you talk about rules. Terrible would-you-rather conditions are incurable, Dylan. In-cur-a-ble.”

We share another two seconds of solid eye contact and then both burst out laughing.

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