Page 8 of The Roommate Game

I stared at them…I think. And I was pretty sure I told them that I loved the enthusiasm, but they couldn’t stay. My roommate would kill them…and me.

The guy on his knees grinned up at me and rubbed the heel of his palm along my fly. “C’mere.”

I leaned against the doorjamb long after the door closed in my face. Or did they leave? Maybe? I didn’t think I took him up on that BJ, but I wasn’t positive. It got foggy again until a girl showed up. She had red lips and long brown hair. She told me her name, but don’t ask me what it was.

We talked…or she talked to me. I was good at peopling and feigning interest in topics outside my wheelhouse. Good skill to have.

Maybe.

Next thing I knew we were kissing, one of those passionate kisses that always led to sweet release. But God, my brain was a murky mess. Pictures crashed and collided in my brain—the taste of strawberries, talented fingers unbuckling my belt, the slide of skin, and the feel of wet lips wrapped around my cock.

Maybe I came, maybe she did, maybe I dreamed the whole thing up.

I had no fucking idea. The static was overwhelming, pulling me under.

And then everything faded to black.

I woke the next morning alone, half-undressed. Sun cascaded through the open blinds and burned my retinas. The room spun as I struggled to sit up.

Oh, God.I closed my eyes and dropped my head between my thighs. There was something crusty on my shirt. It could have been anything from cum to vomit. Or both. Gross.

Fuck. Iwasgross.

My body ached, my insides churned like a cement mixer, and my teeth felt downright hairy. I stripped out of my clothes and lurched toward the en suite bathroom, barely making it to the toilet to empty the contents of my stomach.

I heaved and sweated through a bout of shivers, finally pulling myself up to stand at the sink. I splashed water on my face and made urgent use of my toothbrush before braving a glance at my reflection.

My eyes were bloodshot, my hair stood on end, and my pallor was ghostly. I looked like shit. Again.

This was the face of the team captain for the Smithton Bears, my friends. This was the guy who pumped up his teammates and the entire town. This guy was popular, in demand. He was somebody. Everyone said so.

But the truth wasn’t so pretty in this mirror.

This had to stop.

Now.

CHAPTER 4

RAFE

The house was a mess.

No, it was a disaster.

I paced the kitchen, grinding my teeth at the sight of dishes piled high in the sink, coated with a thick layer of dried syrup, bits of soggy nachos, sandwich crusts, and cigarette ashes. Beer bottles were lined up like toy soldiers on the windowsill, and some yellowy liquid had created a puddle under the fridge.

Oh, and don’t get me started on the smell. It was rank.

Listen, I wasn’t a neat freak by any stretch. Ask my mom. Or my ex-boyfriend.

I only occasionally remembered to make my bed, and my clothes were piled on various surfaces in my room according to mood or color or how soon I needed to do laundry. I wasn’t a stickler for order, and until Gus, I was easygoing when it came to sharing common space.

Not anymore. I couldn’t deal with living in pure, unadulterated chaos with an irresponsible goofball who wanted to host raging parties every damn weekend.

“Mornin’.”Speak of the devil.Gus scrubbed a hand on his face as he ambled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “How’s it—oh, shit. This place is a wreck.”

“You think?” I snarled.