Page 35 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
Kate stood at the sink, furiously scrubbing her forearms, which were streaked with dried protein powder residue. Her hair, pulled into that messy bun I secretly loved, was damp, and my Minnesota Blizzard t-shirt hung loosely off her shoulders, covered in spots from the protein shake explosion.
She froze when she saw me in the doorway, eyes wide with embarrassment. “You’re early!”
“I’m exactly on time,” I countered, leaning against the doorframe. “Want to explain?”
She exhaled deeply, her cheeks flushed with guilt. “I wanted to do something nice for you—make your special protein shake before you got home. I swear I checked the lid. But either it wasn’t on tight enough or that blender is out for blood—so, long story short, there was a vanilla protein explosion. Walls, ceiling, cabinets…me.”
I fought back a smile. “Yet, somehow the kitchen looks spotless.”
“Panic-cleaning for two straight hours works wonders. Did you know dried protein shake practically turns into cement?”
“I’m discovering that now,” I said dryly. “But the laptop…”
Kate winced visibly. “Yeah. About that. It was right next to the blender—open. It got completely soaked. I tried to dry it out, but…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes full of genuine remorse. “I think it might be ruined. Please yell or something, because this whole silent-staring thing is terrifying.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, frustration briefly flaring. My laptop contained all my rehab schedules, meticulous training notes, and hours of critical game footage. Most of it was backed up to the cloud, thankfully, but the thought of sorting through the recovery process made my temples throb. Itwasn’t the end of the world. But in this moment? It wasdamnclose.
“Austin, I am so sorry.” Her voice was small, anxious. “I know it’s important. Really important. If there’s any way I can fix it?—”
“Kate,” I interrupted softly. She finally stopped talking and looked up at me, clearly bracing for my anger. “Take a breath. It’s a laptop.”
“A laptop with all your rehab notes and personal training files,” she pointed out, voice shaking slightly.
“Yeah, it’s valuable to me. But it’s still just a thing,” I admitted, stepping closer.
She eyed me warily. “You’re seriously not furious?”
“I’m not thrilled,” I said truthfully. “But it was an accident. And I’m not going to explode over a genuine mistake.”
She stared at me, clearly uncertain. “That’s…unexpectedly reasonable of you. Especially considering how you usually react to disorder.”
I smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
She laughed softly, visibly relaxing. “Like one of my bacterial cultures?”
“Let’s not push it,” I warned gently, stepping even closer.
Her smile faltered, turning serious again. “I’m just not used to people reacting calmly when I screw things up.”
The vulnerability in her voice tugged at me. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “Academic circles aren’t exactly forgiving of mistakes. And my ex…he wasn’t exactly patient with my chaos either.”
“Your ex sounds like an asshole.”
Her lips curved slightly upward. “He was. Is. Definitely an asshole.”
“Look at me,” I said quietly.
She raised her eyes to mine, nervousness flickering through the warmth I saw there.
“I can recover the data. Eventually. I can get another laptop,” I said firmly. “But there’s only one you.”
Kate’s breath caught audibly. “How was the charity thing?”
“Boring as hell.” I reached out, gently brushing some leftover protein shake from her cheek with my thumb. “All I could think about was getting back here. To you.”
“Really? Even after I told you about the kitchen disaster?”
