Page 11 of The Roommate Game

“A chance to confuse and befuddle my roommate,” I replied.

“That’s it?”

“That might sound like a small reward, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m tired of being on defense. I have to insert myself. I have agency, I have rights!”

Celine chuckled, pulling out of my reach to glide forward and spin. “Oh, my God, Rafe. You’re having a vigilante moment.”

Hey, I liked the sound of that.

“I am.”

“And you can kill two birds with one stone.”

I shaved ice as I came to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean?”

“Get back at your roomieandinvite your crush over to continue your kinky pinky action.”

She skated away before I could muster an intelligent comeback.

But Celine was right. I obviously had a few details to work out—namely, how to get under Gus’s skin. I wanted him up to his eyeballs in yoga and kale smoothies, my mom’s Enya soundtrack, and Jackson’s vegan seven-layer tofu dip. Even if he only lasted ten minutes, I’d take it as a win.

Especially if Eli was there.

I scanned the rink, hoping for a glimpse of my crush in the crowd of figure skaters keeping up with their postseason training. No such luck. I’d text him later to issue a personalinvitation. Maybe an activity with friends would put us both at ease and make it easier to move beyond pinky sex.

Two birds, one stone. Perfect.

CHAPTER 5

GUS

I’d beensober for a week. No alcohol, nothing to dull my senses or drown out the voices in my head.

It had been a rough few days. The hangover from hell had lasted a solid forty-eight hours. My brain had banged against my skull like a hammer, and it had taken my stomach a little extra time to get on board with anything other than toast or bland turkey sandwiches. It was almost as if I’d been recovering from a terrible flu.

Not gonna lie, it had freaked me out.

But the listlessness and general blah feeling had dissipated, and by midweek, I’d felt more like myself. The unmedicated me who was fidgety as fuck, smiled too wide, and carried a restless energy that seemed to amuse or alarm the general public.

I’d forgotten how irritating it was to constantly manage my words and reactions.Tone it down and be chillwarred withDon’t zone out…no matter how boring this asshole isin my head.

Getting the balance right was tough, but I was determined this time. I was reasonably sure my bad habits hadn’t tipped into a full-scale issue. I wasn’t an alcoholic or an addict…yet. I couldcontrol this. I had to. There was no way I was doing another secret rehab stint.

No way.

I had to get my shit together. I couldn’t stay at Smithton forever, hiding from familial expectation. Besides, other than Brady, my best friends were graduating this year, and I was already on the brink of being the pathetic old guy on campus. Christ, I was going to be twenty-five this year. Twenty-fucking-five.

But I wouldn’t get anywhere if I couldn’t think clearly. So…I went cold turkey.

News flash: it sucked.

I’d been nauseous at practice on Monday and had actually taken a break to puke in the middle of sprints.

“You okay, Langley?” Coach had asked.

“Stomach bug. I’m fine.” I’d grabbed my stick and blasted onto the ice. Not fast enough to avoid Coach’s penetrating stare.

I wondered if he knew I was a mess. I wondered if they all knew and that the only person I’d been fooling all along was me.