Page 5 of The Roommate Game

“Yeah, I love tuna melts, and they’re always better with thick cheddar. I’m Gus, by the way,” I said, tilting my chin in greeting. I debated offering my hand, but that seemed like overkill in a grocery store.

“I know who you are.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I think the whole campus knows you. I’m Eli. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. So…what are you making with your cheddar cheese?”

“An omelet.”

I crossed my arms, cocking my head slightly. “What else is in that omelet? Ham, onion, chives, bacon? Oh, gotta have bacon. Don’t tell me you’re leaving out the bacon.”

Eli snickered. “Afraid so. My season just ended, but I’m still in training mode and bacon doesn’t make the cut.”

“That’s a damn shame,” I lamented. “What’s your sport?”

“Figure skating.”

I raised my brows. “No shit. My roommate is a figure skater. You must know him. Rafe Johnson.”

“Johannsen?”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s it.”

“Yes, I know Rafe.” The unabashed once-over was confusing.

I couldn’t tell if Eli was sizing me up and judging me based on a negative review from my roommate, or if he was interested and wondered if it was awkward that we had Rafe in common.

Buzz buzz.

I rescued my cell from my pocket and automatically glanced at the caller ID.Mom. I let it go to voice mail, thinking I’d call her when I got home. I wasn’t ready to sever the connection with this sexy guy, and I certainly wasn’t going to waste my flirting window by bringing up my crabby roommate again.

“Let’s go back to that omelet. Are you telling me it’s a cheese-only thing?”

Eli blushed. The softest shade of pink ghosted his high cheekbones. Did I mention he was pretty?

“And tomato with a sprinkle of goat cheese.”

“Now that sounds tasty.”

“It is,” he assured me. “Simple and easy and—do you have to get that?”

Buzz buzz

If my mom was doing the double-call thing, she had something to say and Constance Langley was nothing if not relentless. “Yeah. I…should. Hey, it was nice to meet you.”

“You too. Good-bye, Gus.” Eli ducked his chin and pushed his cart in the opposite direction.

I watched him longingly, admiring his pert ass and broad shoulders…just as my cell went off in my hand like a grenade.

“Geez, Ma. What’s up?”

“That’s no way to greet your mother, Augustus, darlin’,” she replied, her tone dripping with slow Southern charm.

Mom was a Charleston transplant who’d married my hockey-playing dad fresh out of college, and they’d settled in Indiana. Both of my parents were outgoing, congenial people, but my mom could be a little ferocious. A “Bless your heart” with a sweet-as-pie smile from Mom was the equivalent of a death warrant. And most folks never saw it coming.

“Hello, Mother. What can I do for you this fine morning?”