Page 200 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“Instagram-model hot? Or real life and in person hot?”

She lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “Yes.”

Oh God.

“Do they wear shirts around the house?”

Say yes. Please say yes…

“Occasionally.”

“One more question:why would you do this to me?”

Nova doesn’t blink. “Because I love you. And because I believe you deserve to suffer in the most delicious way possible. Hot roommates. Built-in dog. Proximity to your best friend.”

“You left out the part where I combust from sexual frustration.”

Nova grins. “That’s on you, not the lease agreement.” Sighs. “Listen, think about it, that’s all I ask. It helps you out—it helps Luca out. The room will be available for a while—they’re all too lazy to go out and find someone to live there.”

I nod. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Skaggs and Cash are low risk. Low drama. High abs.” My best friend levels me with a frustrated look. “Look. They’re good guys. It’s temporary. And you’ve lived with worse. Remember your roommate in Seattle who lost all her money online gambling?”

Yes, and Nova is a bitch to mention it.

The second our call ends and I’m alone, I open a web browser and type:Skaggs/Baddie/Hockeyinto the search bar with every intention of doing a deep dive.

I hit ENTER.

Immediately want to face palm.

Because… oh no.

Hellno.

The image search results are a thirst trap grenade!

There are game shots—helmet on, mouth guard out, all jawline and determination. Sweat. Then there are the off-ice pics. A black-and-white training photo with his shirt riding up to reveal actual, honest-to-God six-pack abs.

Washboard.

A fundraising event pic with a baby on his hip and a shy, closed-mouth smile cute enough to make one’s ovaries explode.

I sit back in stunned silence.

“Low risk?” I whisper to myself. “Nova, you sneaky little liar.”

Skaggs—whose real name is Turner Hutton III—has dark blonde, mussy hair, and dark eyes. He looks self-conscious in nearly every photograph.

Nova called him shy.

This man looks like he’s been carved out of the finest Scandinavian marble, bare chest sprinkled with fine hair. Admittedly, he doesn’t look all that comfortable without his shirt on, the photo taken for a charity calendar.

Still. His bashful smile is awkward enough to be lethal.

And Nova has the gall to suggest Ilivewith him?!

IS SHE INSANE?

I scroll. And scroll some more.

One picture has him holding a dog—a pug named Zippy, according to the caption—but now I’m imagining our wedding. There’s a slideshow involved.

I slap my laptop closed.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

I cannot live with this man.

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