Page 9 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
My heart sank. “I understand. I’ll find something.”
“Kate, I understand this housing situation wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry the university put you in this position. This fellowship is highly competitive, and it’s important that you’re able to fully focus on your research without additional stress. If you feel this housing issue might impact your ability to concentrate, please let me know how we can help.”
“It won’t be a problem,” I assured her, panic rising in my throat. “I have a temporary arrangement.”
Stone raised an eyebrow at that blatant lie.
After ending the call, I turned to him, desperation overriding my pride. “Look, I know this isn’t your problem. But I really need this fellowship. It’s my dream opportunity, and I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’ll pay whatever rent you want, I’ll be the quietest roommate ever, and I promise not to spill anything else. Please.”
He studied me for a long moment, then spoke to the ceiling as if questioning his own sanity. “The guest room is through there. Bathroom’s attached. Kitchen’s communal.”
Relief flooded through me. “Really? You mean it?”
“Temporarily,” he emphasized. “Until you find something else. And there are rules.”
“Of course! Rules are great! I love rules! They create necessary boundaries and?—”
He held up a hand. “Rule one: Quiet after nine p.m. I need my rest. Rule two: No guests. Rule three: Clean up after yourself immediately. Rule four: The main bathroom is mine. Rule five: No touching my food without asking.”
I nodded eagerly at each point. “Absolutely. I’m actually very clean. Well, in living spaces. My lab desk is admittedly a disaster zone, but that’s different because organized chaos actually promotes creative scientific?—”
“Rule six,” he interrupted. “Minimal talking before I’ve had coffee.”
I smiled weakly. “Got it. I can be quiet. Sometimes. When necessary. Starting now.”
I pantomimed zipping my lips, which earned me what might have been the ghost of a smile before it vanished behind his stern expression.
“The guest room’s through that door. I have physical therapy in an hour.”
Taking the hint, I wheeled my suitcase toward my temporary sanctuary, feeling like I’d just survived a hurricane.
“And Kate?” he called after me.
I turned, expecting another rule.
“Try not to spill anything else.”
Once safely behind the closed door of the guest room, I let out the breath I’d been holding and collapsed onto the bed. The room was as minimalist as the rest of the apartment—crisp white bedding, a simple nightstand, and a dresser with nothing on top. Not even a dust particle seemed brave enough to settle on any surface.
“Well, this is happening,” I whispered to myself, staring at the ceiling.
The bathroom connected to the guest room was spotless, with fluffy white towels hanging near the shower.
After unpacking the essentials, I heard the apartment door close, signaling Stone’s departure for his physical therapy. The silence was both a relief and oddly oppressive.
I ventured out to explore the kitchen. Everything had its place—color-coded containers, precisely aligned appliances, and a refrigerator that contained primarily protein shakes and meal prep containers labeled by day.
“This man is either a highly functioning robot, or he has serious control issues,” I muttered, carefully opening cabinets to locate a glass for water.
After hydrating and gathering my courage, I called Angel to update her on my housing adventure since she hadn’t responded to my earlier text.
“You’re living with a professional hockey player?” she squealed when I finished my tale. “That’s like the setup for a romance novel!”
“More like a horror movie,” I corrected her. “He looks at me like I’m a particularly annoying lab specimen. Plus, he has more rules than my high school chemistry lab.”
“Is he hot?” Angel asked, completely missing the point.
I hesitated. “Irrelevant. Also, yes, objectively speaking, if you’re into tall, muscular, brooding men with jawlines that could cut glass. But he’s also clearly unhappy about this arrangement and probably counting the minutes until I leave.”
