The Roommate Game (Smithton Bears #3)

Chapter 1

RAFE

“Winners never quit and quitters never win.”—Vince Lombardi

Rain battered the coffee shop window, rattling the casing and streaking the glass.

The forecast called for thunder too, but if there was any, it couldn’t have been heard above the hiss of steamed milk, grinding beans, and general chatter in Coffee Cave.

The group in the corner was in the midst of a boisterous debate regarding the hottest video-game heroes, and there was definitely an “it’s not you, it’s me” breakup happening at the next table over.

My woes ranked somewhere in between. More serious than cartoon cuties, but certainly nothing to cry about. Well…okay, I had felt a little weepy when I’d realized my chicken parmesan had gone MIA from the fridge.

“He ate my leftovers. Again,” I groused. “Even the green beans, and Gus doesn’t even like green beans.”

Celine scowled. “Monster.”

“He’s a human vacuum.”

“He can’t get away with that.”

“Oh, really? ’Cause he’s been getting away with it for five freaking months.”

My friend reached across the table to give my hand a supportive squeeze. “Poor Rafey. Did you yell at him?”

“We had words,” I hedged.

“What did he say?”

“Same as always.” I rolled my eyes before lowering my voice to mimic my giant hockey roommate’s stoner dude affectation. “ ‘Oh, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours. I got you, though. Double the chicken parm tomorrow, and I’ll do you an extra solid…no green beans. They kinda sucked.’ ”

Celine’s lips twisted with humor. I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh at my plight. “You’re getting too good at imitating him.”

I shook my head mournfully. “I must have done something truly terrible in a past life, like poisoning a well that fed a village or stealing my neighbor’s cows on the regular.

Karma might be seeking judgment in arears by saddling me with a roommate who drinks my milk straight from the carton and helps himself to my eggs.

And stealing food is the least of Gus’s sins.

If I come home to yet another party, I may have to call you for bail money. ”

Celine didn’t bother hiding her amusement this time. Her long, golden locks cascaded over her shoulders as she threw her head back and guffawed, capturing a few admiring glances.

Listen, I wasn’t attracted to women in the slightest, but one would’ve had to be blind not to notice that Celine was drop-dead gorgeous.

She was a petite blond with big blue eyes and a generous smile, who also just happened to be able to out-axel the competition in women’s figure skating at Smithton… hands down.

We’d been best friends since the day we’d recognized each other as schoolmates at the winter skate camp her parents ran in Pittsburgh.

We’d been ten years old, and other than the fifth-grade classroom at Hollister Elementary and an abiding love for figure skating, we hadn’t had much in common.

I was and always had been a bit of a dork, and Celine was the epitome of social grace.

Somehow, we’d clicked and become devoted amigos, battling all the ugliest aspects of adolescence like every other pimply-faced junior high and high school teen, then kicking butt in regional competitions on weekends.

While our classmates had dabbled in sex, drugs, and partying, we’d perfected spins, worked on choreography, and learned how to navigate the complex mid echelons of the world we’d hoped to make a lasting mark in one day.

Fun fact: we’d both medaled in several prestigious regional competitions and had made second team for the US Collegiate Championships twice.

Okay, fine…neither of us had seen ice time at the championships, and last year had been a total bust for me, but so what?

We’d been on the rink with some of the greatest in our sport—real Olympians.

And yes, we had high hopes to join their ranks someday.

It was a wild dream at this point, at least for me, but never say never.

Our season at Smithton had just ended, and I was pleased to report that I was highly ranked in collegiate circles and was in a good position to garner an invitation to the US Collegiate Figure Skating Championships this July in Illinois. Cue scream.

Could this possibly lead to a spot on the Olympic team one day?

No clue. But being sidelined with an injury last year had given me a dose of perspective and taught me that there was a kind of peace in learning the art of patience.

I was twenty-two. Not as young as some of the elite athletes competing, but I still had time.

Thankfully, I loved every bit of the ride. I’d made lifelong friends, like Celine, and had traveled all over the world.

Transferring to Smithton last fall had been a risk, but I’d needed a change of scenery after a season and a summer spent in physical therapy, coddling my busted right ankle. I’d fallen in love with my new home right away.

First of all, Celine was here. Secondly, the town was adorable, and the private college nestled lakeside on a tiny smidge of land in Upstate New York was a true hidden gem. And the ice skating program was one of the best in the region. Not as good as Dartmouth, but still amazing.

I liked my coaches and my teammates. I even liked my classes and had taken a renewed interest in being a Biology major. Bonus: the campus was truly stunning—even on a rainy day when spring couldn’t decide if it was ready to make an appearance.

I was happy here.

Happy enough, anyway.

My only issue…and it was a big one—was Gus fucking Langley.

It hadn’t started out badly. I’d really liked Gus at first. He’d come across as a funny, engaging, and genuinely nice guy.

I’d obviously overlooked some serious red flags.

Such as, why would a popular jock in his seemingly twentieth year of college want to live with a stranger?

Shouldn’t his teammates be clamoring for a chance to share a nice house for a reasonable rent on the outskirts of town with their captain?

Because I was an idiot, I’d gone out on a limb and assumed that Gus was too mature for them. Older, wiser, and uninterested in being around testosterone-laden undergrads off the ice.

Can you believe that boloney? Oh, poor na?ve me.

Truth: Gus Langley was an overgrown man-child with Peter Pan syndrome who wanted to be a college student for the rest of his life. Or at least party like one.

“I thought he’d been better recently,” Celine said, wrinkling her nose in a manner that suggested her latte was too warm or she was lying through her perfect teeth.

“Everything is better when Gus isn’t in town,” I snarked. “Mercifully, he’s had a lovely string of away games, but his damn season is ending soon, and he’s going to be home. All. The. Time. How will I cope? I’m going to go mad. I just know it.”

Celine snickered. “God, I love your drama.”

“Buckle up. I have a feeling it’s going to get ugly.” I slumped dejectedly in my chair.

“Enough about your turdy roommate.” Celine shifted in her chair and leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Tell me all about our resident hottie.”

My face flushed and no doubt turned an alarming shade of pink. Embarrassing.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I admitted.

“What do you mean? I thought Eli asked you out.”

“Not really. We had coffee after jump practice because we happened to be on our way here at the same time. Yes, I had butterflies, and I was quieter than usual, but Eli didn’t seem to mind, so maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.”

Celine batted her long eyelashes. “Did you kiss?”

I rolled my eyes. “It was coffee, Cel. Like what you and I are doing right now.”

“Oooh.” She slumped in her seat theatrically. “Why didn’t you make a move? You’re not shy.”

“I am with Eli. He’s intimidating, you know? His quads are a thing of beauty. He skates like he’s part angel, part devil, and I’m a mere mortal with—”

“A fucking amazing triple axel,” she finished for me, holding her hand up for a high five.

“True.” I grinned and slapped her outstretched palm. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not alone in this. I think Eli is attracted to me, but…nothing ever happens between us. Nothing sexy, anyway. Though he did sort of hold my pinky finger across the table.”

Celine’s lips formed a perfect O. “That sly devil is edging you.”

“You think?”

“Oh, yeah. Step up your game, Rafey. Be the aggressor. Some guys like that, and you need a positive distraction in your life. This is your last hurrah before graduation. Don’t you dare spend it fretting over roommate.”

“You’re right. I can see myself losing my mind after waking up to yet another beer can pyramid on the coffee table and taking out my aggressions out on a willowy Adonis who glides on frozen ice like a dream and who likes me for my excellent pinky game.” I wiggled said pinky with a laugh.

“That’s the spirit. We make our own reality, honey. If you don’t want the next three months to be a rinse and repeat of the past five, you have to change the game.”

I wholeheartedly agreed, then wisely diverted conversation away from moi. I’d rather hear about my friend’s romantic exploits than conjure a survival plan for dealing with my daily blahs.

Life seemed infinitely easier for my beautiful, talented bestie. Uncomplicated, handsome men sought Celine’s attention, women admired her, and she was a gorgeous skater.

Of course, Celine had her own challenges and insecurities, but hers were prettier than mine.

Like Taylor Swift lamenting a broken heart in sequins and killer heels versus the dweeb singing an off-key rendition of a ’70s ballad in a honky-tonk karaoke bar.

I was the dweeb in that scenario, by the way.

Don’t get me wrong—I was confident enough, but I was better on the ice than on land.

I was skinny, average height with boring brown hair, a meh shade of green eyes, and an acerbic tongue that got me in trouble more often than not.

Hot guys didn’t notice me. In fact, I had a feeling that the only reason Eli had given me a second look was because I’d scored higher than him at our last competition.

One measly point, but it had gotten me on his radar.

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.