Page 12 of The Roommate Game

Yep, that was when the paranoia set in.

I’d been positive the TA in my criminal justice class was looking at me weird the next day. Shar, our favorite waitress at Bear Depot, had set her hand on my forehead and told me I needed more rest. Darya at Coffee Cave had questioned my latte order, and that had sent me spinning, too.

“Sure you don’t want the extra shot? You usually order it that way.”

Oh, right.

I’d smiled, but it had felt plastic, as if I’d been wearing a broken mask.

I found myself checking my pits to be extra sure I didn’t stink ’cause damn, I was sweaty and jittery too. Everyone had to notice.

But they didn’t.

Ty was in la-la land with Walker, Brady was freaked out about midterms, and Regan was having girlfriend issues. I nodded and said a few encouraging words, like, “Happy for you man” to Ty and “You got this, Brade-ster” to Brady, and “Cassie’s awesome, Re-Man. Just talk to her.”

Christ, I sounded normal.

By Wednesday, I’d thought I had my mojo back. I’d been strong at practice—my passing game on point and my reflexes legit quick. Four days sober was all it had taken.Fuck, yeah!

For someone who sought excuses to celebrate, this was it. Party at my pad! But I’d stayed strong.

Good thing too ’cause Thursday, I’d run into a pretty brunet who’d greeted me like an old friend and I’d spiraled all over again.

“Hey you,” she’d purred, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she’d twirled a strand of her long hair around her finger. “You didn’t text me.”

I’d read the social cues and put the pieces together, but they were incomplete at best. Was there a polite way to tell someone that you couldn’t remember their name or place them in a lineup? Probably not. And I certainly wasn’t about to admit that I wasn’t sure what we’d done. Her look had indicated that whatever it was had been sexy. But had we made out or fucked or something in between? Had it been good?

A rogue memory of waking up half-naked and queasy the other morning had flashed in my mind. So real that my stomach had flipped and I’d almost gagged.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with midterms and practice.”

She’d trailed a manicured finger down my chest, gazing up at me with a saucy expression that had left little room for misinterpretation. She’d wanted me.

Me.

Was she nuts?

Last week I would have been all over this. I’d have immediately invited her to the house for a repeat. Why wait till evening? We could go now and fuck like bunnies. I’d charm her name from her, and she’d never know I was a shithead with the maturity of a blowfish.

But this week…she was living, breathing proof that I was a complete and total fuckup. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and at a loss as to how to tell someone they could do better with literally any other man on the planet.

“You have my number. Use it.” She’d left before I could respond.

I’d swiped my forearm across my mouth and speed-walked to my truck, my fingers shaking as I’d turned on the engine.

Get your shit together, Langley.

So yeah…it had been a bad week.

The only saving grace was that Rafe hadn’t been home much. I figured he was still supremely pissed at me for the partying, the mess, and the grocery bullshit. Maybe he needed some space or was just busy, but for the sake of sanity, I chose to believe he hadn’t thought twice about me.

Either way, I’d been on my best behavior. I’d kept the house tidy, I hadn’t touched anything that didn’t belong to me in the kitchen, and I hadn’t invited anyone over. I’d stayed out of Rafe’s way as much as humanly possible and worked on keeping my shit together. A mumbled greeting in the hallway had been the extent of our interaction.

Until today.

I rinsed my cup in the sink, my stomach rumbling as I plotted out my morning. I was hungry. No, I was ravenous. It was the first time I’d had a real appetite in days. Not that I hadn’t been eating…just not as much as usual.

Last week’s me would have swiped the blueberry yogurt hidden behind the milk in the fridge and helped myself to a couple of slices of the cinnamon raisin bread I’d spotted in the pantry. Now, I was bummed I hadn’t ordered groceries online or stopped by the market last night or?—