The Roommate Experiment (Funny Feelings #3)

Chapter 1

1

HUNTER

There are exactly eleven steps between my door and Dylan’s new room; I’ve counted them obsessively since morning as I waited for him to arrive with his boxes.

Ironically, each step represents a year I’ve known him, a year of stolen glances, hidden smiles, and unspoken feelings. Eleven years since the summer after freshman year when I went to visit my best friend Nina at her parents’ house and met her impossibly tall, impossibly handsome brother for the first time.

He was sunbathing by the pool. A hint of a smirk on his lips, eyes closed under dark sunglasses, one arm lazily draped behind his head as he soaked in the warmth.

I nearly tripped over when Nina introduced us, my tongue suddenly tied in knots as I gazed up (and up, and up) into those mesmerizing blue-green eyes. Dylan smiled, and the world tilted on its axis.

From that moment on, he’s had my heart in a headlock. My entire stay at Nina’s became a secret study of him. I’d watch him toss Nina into the water, his abs rippling as he laughed, and imagined what it would feel like to be in his arms. I even resented it was never me being thrown into the pool.

After that first year, summer visits turned into regular hang-outs when my college roommates and I all moved to New York after graduation, where Dylan already lived. Recently, since Nina and Dylan’s best friend, Tristan, started dating, we’ve been seeing a lot more of each other. And now, we’re living together.

The physical distance between us has been narrowing and shrinking, but I suspect Dylan still sees me only as his baby sister’s friend. I’m not even sure I can call it being friend-zoned. I’m a step lower. Friend zone adjacent . An accessory friend, the friend of a friend you’re used to having around but don’t really consider your friend.

While for me, he’s been the man I’ve compared every date, every boyfriend to. I’ve memorized every detail of him: the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the little scar on his chin from a childhood skateboarding accident, the freckle behind his left ear that I once noticed when he bent down to tie his shoe. I know his coffee order by heart—large Americano, extra espresso shot with a splash of oat milk. And I can pick out his laugh in a crowded bar from a mile away.

All these details are pieces of him I’ve tucked away, each one a small, treasured artifact stored in a corner of my heart, carefully collected in all the time I’ve known him.

Eleven years. Eleven steps.

It’s ridiculous how much significance I’m assigning to this narrow stretch of hallway. But I can’t stop. Every step between us represents a chance that I’ve never been brave enough to take. But now, with us living under the same roof, maybe things will be different.

I lean against my doorframe, listening to the muffled thuds and rustles coming from Nina’s old bedroom. Dylan is unpacking his stuff. As of two hours ago, we’re officially roommates.

A prickly spike jolts my nervous system as I realize this is the first time we’ve been alone. Unjustified butterflies surge in my belly at the sound of him humming under his breath. I need to get a grip. I can’t be on pins and needles whenever I’m home, waiting for his next movement. Even if every little thing about him is a tiny hook in my heart.

“Hunter? You out there?” Dylan’s voice floats down the hall, and my stomach does a somersault.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I call back, wincing at the slight high-low wobble I don’t control.

I cross the hall, counting each step under my breath again. One, two, three… By the time I reach eleven, I’ve plastered what I hope is a casual smile on my face.

Dylan is standing in the middle of the bedroom, surrounded by boxes and looking unfairly ravishing in a faded T-shirt and jeans. His blond hair is tousled, and there’s a smudge of dust on his cheek that I immediately itch to wipe away.

“Hey, roomie.” He grins, making my knees go weak.

I lean against the doorframe, trying to look nonchalant. “Hey yourself. Need help unpacking?” I should’ve offered to help him get settled right away.

Dylan runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “Nah, I’ve got it under control.”

“Oh.” A flicker of disappointment tightens in my chest. Of course, he doesn’t need my help. Or want to hang out. He probably just wants the Wi-Fi password.

Before I blurt out it’s PrettyFlyForAWiFi, he adds, “But I was wondering if you have a spare set of keys, or if I should go get one made?”

“Um, didn’t Nina give you hers?”

“No. She was all over Tristan, gushing about moving in together.” Dylan rolls his eyes in an unconscious move; he might’ve openly accepted his best friend and younger sister are dating, but I suspect he still isn’t entirely comfortable with their constant PDAs. “Must’ve slipped her mind.”

“I have Rowena’s old keys. You can use those.” Rowena was my other roommate, who also moved out today to shack up with a dude, but for entirely different reasons from Nina.

Dylan’s face lights up, and the warmth of his smile travels all the way across the room. “Really? That’d be perfect, Hunt. You’re a lifesaver.”

My heart dances a little jig at the praise. I feel like one of those small, over-excitable dogs running in a circle and chasing my tail while yapping eagerly. “I’ll grab them for you.”

“Thank you.”

I wave off his thanks. “No problem.”

“No, really. You saved me a trip.” Dylan drops a heavy box and looks out the window at the bright sunlight filtering in. “I wasn’t looking forward to going to a hardware store in this heat.”

I’m making his life easier. That’s good. What else could I do to make him feel at home? “Hey, do you want me to lower the temperature on the air conditioning?”

I try not to stare as Dylan lifts his arms to stretch, his T-shirt riding up to reveal a tantalizing strip of skin above his waistband.

“That’d be great.” He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Maybe turn it a couple of degrees lower?”

I nod, trying not to fixate on the way his T-shirt clings to his chest, slightly damp from exertion. “Sure thing.”

I turn and skip down the hallway. In my room, I grab the keys from where I tossed them earlier in one of the desk drawers. I almost expect to find them dusty with cobwebs. My best friends moved out only a few hours ago, but it already seems an eternity.

Rowena’s keychain jingles in my hand as I shuffle-dance into the living room, stopping at the thermostat. I turn the wheel all the way down to sixty-eight degrees and shiver when the vent kicks in, the cool air raising goosebumps on my bare arms. Despite the cold, I smile to myself, imagining cozying up with a blanket on the couch later, Dylan sitting beside me as we watch a movie.

Wishful thinking, I know. Dylan sees me as a friend, nothing more—perhaps something less. But I can’t stop daydreaming about the countless romantic possibilities of cohabitation. Movie nights that turn into cuddling on the couch, cooking dinner and sharing intimate meals, our hands brushing as we do the dishes together, passion taking over, Dylan grabbing me by the waist and bending me over the counter before he?—

I close my eyes against the vision. I need to stay grounded in reality. At the rate I’m building castles in the air, I wouldn’t be surprised if woodland creatures showed up and started cleaning the house while they sang.

I head back to Dylan’s room.

“Here you go.” I toss him the keys.

He catches them effortlessly, his reflexes as quick as ever. Dylan looks at the keychain, a mini ax encased in clear plastic, the same as a fire-emergency tool, and at the writing on the back:

Break Glass in Case of Bad Decisions

He flashes me that heart-stopping grin again, and I have to remind myself to breathe. “Interesting key ring.”

I wince despite myself. “Yeah, Rowena should’ve kept it. I don’t know what’s gotten into her to agree to marry a complete stranger for money while pregnant with her ex’s baby.” Dylan raises both eyebrows and before he can tell me I’m being judgmental, I lift my hands. “I know it’s her decision, but I worry. She’s my best friend.”

Dylan’s expression softens. “Nina’s the same. But, hey, we know who this guy is. If Adrian West tries anything funny, Tristan and I will make sure he regrets it.” His jaw sets into a determined line.

Damn, he’s so hot when he threatens to protect the people he cares about. It’s one thing I admire the most about him—his fierce loyalty to those he loves. And while he doesn’t exactly love me or Rowena, his sister does, and for the transitive property, he feels protective of us, too.

“Well, I hope she won’t regret moving in with the guy.”

Dylan lifts another box, biceps bulging. “It might sound selfish, but I’m glad the roommate re-shuffling worked out despite everything. I couldn’t have handled living with strangers.”

I’m one step below a true friend but one above a total stranger. Yay, me. “Hey, with what you’re paying for both rooms, you could’ve gotten a place of your own.”

Dylan groans dramatically. “Eh, I’ve never lived alone. I’m not sure I would’ve liked it.”

Not a stranger and preferable to total loneliness. At the speed things are progressing, he’ll propose by the end of the week. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you from turning into a crazy cat lady.”

Dylan chuckles, which makes me giggle. We dissolve into laughter, and it feels like it has always been us—playful, effortless, pulsing with… togetherness .

When our chests stop shaking, his gaze holds steady on mine, and I can’t handle it. I look away first. “I’ll let you finish. Call out if you need anything else.”

“Sure thing. Thanks again for the keys.”

I nod and start to walk away, then turn back, pretending a thought just entered my mind and that I haven’t been strategizing this move for days. “Hey, I was thinking of throwing something together for dinner.” My voice pitches only slightly higher than normal. “You want to share?”

Dylan’s face lights up. “Yeah, would love to. Need help cooking?”

I shake my head, pointing at all the unopened boxes littering his floor and thinking of the ones still scattered in the living room. “No, no, you’ve already got your hands full.”

“Okay, thanks.” Dylan tilts his head and studies me for a few electric seconds, giving me the unsettling impression he can see right through me. But then he nods and opens a new box. “I’ll try to get finished fast, then.”

With one last wistful glance at his biceps, I exit the bedroom and head for the kitchen, zigzagging through the boxes strewn in my path.

I open the fridge and throw myself into making lasagna. I stocked all the ingredients to make his favorite dish yesterday, after obsessively scouring cooking blogs for the best lasagna recipe that’ll win me his heart. Dylan will love my food and then he’ll love me .

As I layer the sheets of pasta with the sauce, another daydream takes over. I imagine him having his mind blown by how good the lasagna is. I picture heated glances across the dinner table that will once again inevitably lead to our first passionate kiss. But then my practical side intrudes into the fantasy as I try to envision the logistics of how we’d kiss across a table. Would he wipe the surface of everything, same as it happens with desks in movies? Set me on the table, push between my legs, and kiss the living daylights out of me? Or would he scoot closer and go for a more understated side hug where the food and dishes are spared a trip to the floor?

Which bears the question if making out with someone after eating lasagna would be more sexy or gross. I should’ve gone easier with the garlic in the sauce. Whatever. Dylan could eat raw onions, and I’d still want to kiss him.

I’m pushing the pan into the oven when the man himself emerges from the hall, looking sweatier than ever—and good thing I turned the thermostat down because the room immediately feels ten degrees hotter.

“All unpacked?” I squeak.

“Nah, but I’ve decided I’m done for the day.” He sniffs the air. “Hey, smells delicious. What are you making?”

“Lasagna.”

His eyes widen. “That’s my favorite.”

“Oh, really?” I laugh a little too hard. “I had no idea.”

“Do you mind if I take a shower before dinner, or is it ready?”

“Go ahead, I just put the pan in the oven. It’ll be done when you come out.”

He goes, and I fan myself. Perhaps making a dish that requires firing up the oven in mid-June wasn’t the best idea. But the things we do for love.

I lay the table, focusing on the familiar routine instead of the fact that Dylan is down the hall, in my shower— naked .

Our shower now, I suppose.

Another wild vision takes over, and I let myself get lost in the mindless dreaming of Dylan and me showering together. No risks of woodland creatures showing up this time because it’s not the kind of wholesome fantasy that’d take place in a fairytale—unless it was the after-dark version.

A while later, the oven timer dings, jolting me out of my reverie. The lasagna’s cheesy aroma fills the kitchen as I pull it out. The crust looks just right—golden brown and bubbling.

I’m setting the pan on the table when Dylan walks in, and a lump of air catches in my throat. He’s wearing basketball shorts and nothing else. I’m blinded by an expanse of flat muscles and pale skin so perfect it belongs between the pages of Twilight .

At least he doesn’t glitter.

But his chest is a work of art—broad and perfectly sculpted, with droplets of water still clinging to his body, tracing glistening paths down the planes of his abdomen. His six-pack abs are so clearly defined they could’ve been carved from marble. And his hair, damp from the shower, curls slightly at the ends, so casually sexy, it’s almost insulting.

“Oh, there it is.” Dylan grabs a T-shirt from one of his boxes still lying around and pulls it on, granting my brain permission to resume a few basic functions. “Smells even better than before.” He inhales deeply. “You’re going to spoil me.”

I laugh, ignoring the way my heart flutters at his words. “It’s only dinner.”

Dylan’s eyes meet mine, and I could swear there’s something—a flash of… interest? Curiosity? But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

We sit down to eat, and I have to admit, the lasagna is one of my best. Dylan moans appreciatively around his first bite, the sound landing a punch somewhere in my lower belly. I take a large gulp of water to distract myself.

“How does it feel to be officially moved in?”

Dylan grins. “Pretty great, actually. Thanks again for letting me crash here. I know it was kind of last minute.”

“I should be the one thanking you. Without you, I would’ve had to move out and I love this place. I hate change.”

“Change is good sometimes.” He winks, taking another bite of lasagna.

I almost choke on my bite. Change is good. Change is great . I am converted. Let’s shake up things right away. Delicious as the lasagna is, I’m ready for it to be thrown to the floor.

My head is spinning so fast with fantasies I’ve turned into Sleeping Beauty twirling in the woods, surrounded by singing birds and squirrels, ready to dance my dreams away with my prince.

“Oh, by the way,” Dylan interrupts my daydreaming. “I wanted to ask you something.”

My heart leaps into my throat. This is it. He’s going to say he’s always had feelings for me too, that even if it’s only been a few hours, moving in together made him realize?—

“I was wondering if it’d be okay for my girlfriend to visit sometimes?”

I nearly drop my fork, catching it at the last second with a clumsy scrape against my plate—my heart hammering as if I’ve just rescued something far more precious than a piece of silverware. Not that it matters as everything else shatters around me.

The singing in my head comes to a screeching halt. All the birds explode under the pressure of a shrill, too-high note like in Shrek . And I’m left shell-shocked, staring at my new roommate.

Girlfriend? When did he…? How did I not know…?

“Hunter? You okay?” Dylan’s looking at me with concern, and I realize I haven’t spoken for several long seconds.

“Yeah, sorry,” I croak out. “Just… surprised. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Then my voice turns unnaturally bright as I add, “A girlfriend—wow, Dylan, that’s amazing.” Amazingly devastating. “First Nina and now you. New relationships are the best! Like walking around with glitter in your veins.” Or push pins, in my case. I need to shut up.

Dylan’s face relaxes into a smile. “It’s pretty new. Her name’s Olivia. She’s great; I think you’re really going to like her.”

I think I’m really going to hate her. But I nod mechanically. “Oh, I’m sure I will!” My fake grin is wide enough to break my cheeks. The lasagna, which tasted sublime moments ago, turns to ashes in my mouth. But I force down another bite, determined to pretend everything is fine, super. A-okay!

“So, is it okay if she comes over sometimes?” Dylan prompts, still waiting for an answer.

“Of course,” I hear myself say as if from a great distance, my voice bubbling with forced enthusiasm like I’m a morning talk show host. “This is your home, too. She’s welcome any time—seriously, no need to ask.”

Dylan beams at me, completely oblivious to the way my world is crumbling around me. “Thanks, Hunt. You’re the best.”

I force another smile, but inside, I’m splintering. The fairytale I’ve been spooling in my head all day shatters, replaced by a grim reality where my Prince Charming has shown up at the castle gates with a different princess in tow.

As Dylan launches into the improbably romantic story about how he met Olivia, I nod along, making appropriate cheerful noises at the right parts. But my mind is elsewhere, counting those eleven steps again. Only now, they don’t represent the years of knowing Dylan. They symbolize the insurmountable distance between us, a chasm I foolishly thought I could bridge, but that has never been wider.

Eleven steps away. An entire world apart.