Page 3 of The Roommate Game

As for Gus…I was almost completely invisible to him. I was the type of person men like Gus looked through. I had nothing to offer and zero interest in trying to win his favor, so it didn’t matter. Gus wouldn’t give me the time of day if he didn’t need my rent money, but that didn’t mean he was an outright jerk. As I’d mentioned, Gus was nice enough. We just came from different worlds…even though hockey players and figure skaters technically shared the ice.

I didn’t care if we were friends. I didn’t need or want a hockey bro in my life. All I wanted was a little peace and, if it wasn’t too much to ask, a guarantee from the universe that these last few months of school wouldn’t be a total disaster.

CHAPTER 2

GUS

This hangover wasn’tmy worst by a long shot. I still felt crappy, though, and my mouth was dry as dust. I hobbled to the kitchen and sent up a prayer to the fridge gods that there’d be something on the shelves.

The gods answered with a gallon of pulp-free orange juice and a single slice of cheddar cheese.

Meh, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

I glugged half the carton, swiped my hand across my mouth, and was about to polish off the rest when I sensed someone behind me.

Rafe, my cute, but very grumpy roommate. The dude was about as friendly as a porcupine who’d lost a fight with a cactus. Seriously.

“Want some?” I held out the container, positive I could win him over with a friendly smile.

Wrong.

“No, I don’t want to share germs with you, but thank you for asking,” he replied, a thunderous expression on his pinched face. “What I would appreciate is for you to replacemyorange juice and maybe add a sticker to remind yourself not to touch it next time.”

“Oh, shit. This is yours?”

“It was,” he corrected.

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll make it up to you. Let me buy you breakfast.”

“No, thanks. I have class.”

Now, that could have been taken one of two ways: A, I have class and would never drink out of a carton in my boxer briefs and a holey T-shirt while smelling like the south end of a northbound mule. Or B, I have a Biology lecture to attend.

Yeah, I was getting A vibes, too.

Rafe spun on his heels, marched out of the room, and stomped up the stairs. And unless I was way off the mark, he’d closed his bedroom door with more force than usual. Yep…he was pissed.

Again.

I hoped it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I’d caught a hint of true animosity in his glare this time. The sort of steely-eyed venom I associated with opponents doing battle on the ice in the middle of a heated game. Not my fucking roommate.

Shit.

Did Rafe hate me?

My best friends, Ty and Brady, thought so. In fact, they even seemed amused that I hadn’t caught on sooner.

Brady shook his head. “Rafe isn’t going to join your fan club any time soon, man.”

“Just hope he doesn’t murder you in your sleep,” Ty piped in. “What did you do now?”

I stretched my arms above my head, sinking into Ty and Brady’s marshmallowy sofa as I yawned. “I accidentally drank his orange juice…again.”

“Buy more.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

I abruptly changed the subject to the cinnamon rolls Brady’s mom had sent and put in my two cents about Ty dealing with his own drama. The guy was head over heels for Walker, the redheaded influencer he’d been passing off as “just a friend.” Everyone knew Ty was bi, so who the fuck cared?