Page 8 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Stop!” His voice cut through my scientific rambling. “Just...stop.”
I froze.
“There are paper towels in the kitchen.” His jaw was clenched so tight I worried for his dental health.
I scrambled to my feet and hurried toward what I hoped was the kitchen, leaving coffee-soaked footprints in my wake. I could feel his glare burning holes in my back as I grabbed an entire roll of paper towels.
“This is fixable,” I assured him, dropping back to my knees and soaking up the last of the spill with the paper towels. Stone—or Austin—whatever his name was, moved with surprising efficiency despite a noticeable limp that he seemed determined to ignore.
“Is your knee okay?” I asked, gathering the coffee-soaked paper towels.
His expression closed off immediately. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t look fine. The way you’re favoring your left leg suggests possible damage?—”
“Do you analyze everyone you meet, or am I just special?” he cut me off, his tone sharp enough to leave paper cuts.
I flushed. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. I observe things and then my mouth just...” I made an explosion gesture with my hands.
His phone rang, saving me from further embarrassment. He answered with a curt, “Dennis, what the hell were you thinking?”
I tried not to eavesdrop as I finished cleaning, but the apartment’s acoustics made it impossible not to hear his side of the conversation.
“No, she’s here now...Yes, with luggage...No, you can’t just...That’s not the point...”
While he argued, I texted Angel.
911. Apartment fell through. Current location: scary hot guy’s place. He’s mad. I spilled coffee. May die of embarrassment before hypothermia.
“Look,” Stone said, returning his attention to me. “There’s been a miscommunication. My teammate Dennis apparently told you that you could sublet this apartment?”
I nodded miserably. “Through your property manager. I was supposed to meet them here to sign paperwork and get keys.”
“This is my apartment,” he said firmly. “Part of my contract with the team includes this housing. It’s not available for subletting.”
“Team?” I asked, confused.
“Hockey. Minnesota Blizzard.”
The pieces clicked together. “The hockey tournament! That’s why I couldn’t find a hotel!”
“Winter Classic,” he corrected automatically. “And yes, the city’s packed because of it.”
I groaned, showing him a message in my mobile. “My fellowship housing won’t be ready for at least two weeks. And there’s literally nowhere else available.”
“That’s not my problem,” he said, but with slightly less conviction than before.
“I know it’s not.” I sighed, gathering my dignity along with my coffee-stained scarf. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. And the mess. I’ll figure something out.”
As I turned to leave, my phone rang—Dr. Eleanor Barnes, my fellowship advisor. Perfect timing.
“Dr. Barnes! Hi! I was just about to call you,” I lied, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.
“Kate, I’ve been trying to reach you. There’s an issue with your housing arrangements.”
“Yes, I just found out. But don’t worry, I’m working on a solution.” I glanced at Stone, who was watching me with an unreadable expression.
“Unfortunately, our guest accommodations are fully booked for the next two weeks due to the international microbiology conference. I’ve checked with administration, and there simply aren’t any options through the university right now.”
