Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
RYKER
I paced the length of our kitchen, rehearsing different versions of the same announcement under my breath. “So, funny story. Harley and I are—well, we’re kind of…” I groaned, running my hands through my hair. “No, that sounds stupid.”
Harley leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. One corner of his mouth was hitched up in a smirk. The bastard had been enjoying my nervous breakdown for a solid twenty minutes.
“What about this?” he suggested, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Attention, friends! I’ve finally succumbed to Harley’s irresistible charms and incredible sexual prowess. Please direct all congratulations to him for his persistence in seducing me.”
I shot him a withering glare. “Not helping.”
“Or we could make out in front of everyone. Actions speak louder than words, snookums.”
“I swear to god, I’m going to harvest your organs and sell them on the black market to fund my revenge scheme,” I growled, wearing a trench in the floor with my frantic pacing. If I didn’t stop, I’d dig myself a direct tunnel to Satan’s living room before midnight.
Our friends were due to arrive any minute for our post-spring break get-together.
We’d planned it weeks ago, before the seismic shift in my relationship with Harley.
Now, I had to explain to our entire friend group that the guy who’d insisted he was straight for years had started dating his male roommate.
“They’re going to think this is a prank,” I complained. “Jagger will never let me live this down. Remember last Halloween when he kept saying I looked at you like you were a snack? And I denied it so hard I knocked over the candy bowl?”
Harley’s laughter filled the kitchen. “To be fair, you were checking out my ass in those leather pants.”
“I was not—” I stopped myself, because what was the point of denying it now? “Fine. Maybe I was. But that’s why this will be a disaster. I’ve spent years telling them I wasn’t into you.”
“And they’ve spent years not believing you, so you’re even.
” Harley pushed off from the counter to close the distance.
His hands settled on my shoulders, his touch soothing my frayed nerves.
“Ryker, they’re our friends. They’ll be thrilled for us.
And if they give you shit, which they absolutely will because they’re assholes, I’ll make you feel better after everyone goes home. ”
My cheeks flushed at the memory of how good Harley was at making me feel better. “You’re not making this easier.”
“Who said that was my goal?” He brushed his lips against mine in a teasing kiss. “Now, go get one of your fruity space-themed hard seltzers and try not to explode.”
The knock on our door made me jump like a cat who had just realized cucumbers were secretly snakes in disguise.
“Showtime,” Harley whispered, giving my ass a playful smack as he sashayed to answer the door.
I took a sip of my Galactic Grapefruit hard seltzer to calm my nerves.
The drink tasted like someone had conveyed the experience of eating a grapefruit telepathically to a medieval plague doctor who then had to recreate the flavor using only candle wax and the powdered bones of the last guy who asked, “Are you sure this is medicine?” The flavor was interstellar levels of weird, but I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Hey, man!” Fenway’s voice carried from the entryway when he stepped inside our apartment. “I brought that blueberry wheat ale you mentioned.”
I emerged from the kitchen to find Fenway handing Harley a six-pack of craft beer. His gaze landed on me, and his brow immediately furrowed.
“Damn, you look like you’re constipated with anxiety,” he said, striding over to clap me on the shoulder. “What’s up? Did your mom set you up with another walking red flag during break?”
A laugh scraped its way out of my throat. “It wouldn’t be a trip home if she didn’t.”
Fenway plopped onto our couch and cracked open a beer. “Is your sister still with that hot girlfriend of hers?”
“Gia? Yeah, they’re good,” I replied, grateful for the safe topic. “They’re talking about moving in together after Sawyer graduates.”
Another loud knock was followed by what sounded like singing.
“That’ll be the drama queens,” Harley joked, heading for the door.
Jagger strutted in, holding an expensive bottle of tequila aloft like a trophy, followed closely by Bryce, who declared, “The party has arrived!”
“And we brought the good stuff,” Jagger added, shaking the bottle, “because we’re not animals who drink whatever swill you usually serve.” His family was loaded, so he always supplied the top-shelf alcohol to our get-togethers.
Harley accepted the bottle with an exaggerated bow. “Your contribution to civilization is duly noted.”
Bryce’s eyes swept over me, his expression turning sly. “Looks like someone’s sexual drought ended with a flood. You’ve got that ‘my dry spell is officially over’ glow, honey.”
I reflexively began to deny it. “What? No, I—”
“Leave him alone,” Harley chided, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “He’s nervous enough already.”
Bryce raised an eyebrow, looking between us with growing interest. “Nervous about what?”
Thankfully, another knock saved me from answering. I scrambled to answer the door.
Senna waltzed in with a container. Her dark hair was piled into her signature messy bun.
“Surprising no one, I came home and stress-baked after surviving a week with my mother,” she explained, setting the box onto the coffee table.
“Enjoy my triple chocolate chunk cookies with sea salt. Each one contains approximately four hours of repressed familial trauma and a dash of passive-aggressive comments about my career choices.”
Harley reached for one. “Ooh, the trauma makes them extra yummy.”
She turned to me, narrowing her eyes. “What’s up with you? Your energy is all over the place.”
“Nothing,” I denied too quickly. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” She grabbed a beer from Fenway’s six-pack. “But I’ll wait until everyone’s here to pry it out of you.”
Gage arrived last, looking exhausted but happy.
“Sorry I’m late.” Gage held up a bag of chips as a peace offering. “Training ran long.”
“How many lives did you save today?” Jagger asked, already pouring tequila shots.
“None,” Gage answered, dropping into an armchair. “Unless you count Ace when he almost passed out while I practiced sticking him with a needle. He’s brave enough to run into a burning building to save someone’s life, but he’s not a fan of minor pain, apparently.”
Everyone laughed, falling into the easy camaraderie of our friendship. They sprawled out across our living room, occupying the couch, love seat, and floor space with the familiarity of people who’d shared countless nights hanging out at our home base.
Jagger launched into a story about a guy he’d hooked up with over break, complete with dramatic reenactments that had everyone in stitches. Bryce kept interrupting with increasingly outrageous questions while Senna rolled her eyes and provided snarky commentary.
“Speaking of weird shit, you won’t believe what else happened to me,” Jagger continued.
“Did you go one whole day without having sex?” Bryce asked, snagging one of Senna’s cookies.
“Ha ha,” Jagger said sarcastically. “No, I came back to the dorm after break to discover Tyler moved out while I was gone.”
“Your roommate?” Fenway asked in surprise. “He didn’t give you a heads-up before you left for break?”
“Nope, he didn’t say a word to me.”
Gage wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Maybe he’s late coming back for some reason?”
“No, he’s gone-gone. All his stuff has disappeared, his mattress is bare, and his entire closet is empty.” Jagger looked more thrilled than upset about the development. “That means no more passive-aggressive notes about dishes in the sink or complaints about my ‘nocturnal activities.’”
“Oh my god, the possibilities,” Bryce sighed dramatically. “Think of all the guys you can bring home now without worrying about traumatizing your roommate.”
“Bold of you to assume he ever worried about that,” Senna said, making everyone laugh. “I’m pretty sure traumatizing Tyler was half the fun for him. How many times have we heard about him stumbling in on you in compromising positions?”
Jagger smirked. “Fourteen, but who’s counting? Besides, he should have knocked.”
“In the kitchen?” Gage asked incredulously. “How? You don’t have a door there.”
“There’s a wall.” Jagger shrugged, completely unashamed. “But now I can indulge in my newfound freedom. I’ve got the whole place to myself.”
“Are you getting a replacement roommate?” Fenway asked, popping open another beer.
Jagger groaned. “Ugh, I hope not. I’d love to turn his room into a second closet. Do you know how cramped my wardrobe situation is? I’ve been living like a peasant.”
“A second closet?” Bryce perked up, his expression turning wistful. “That’s my ultimate dream.”
“You’d need more than two closets for all your clothes,” Gage pointed out. “You’d need at least one just for your shoes.”
“Don’t tease me with such beautiful fantasies,” Bryce swooned, pressing a hand to his chest.
“The real question,” Senna interjected, “is what are you going to do with all that extra space, Jagger? Because we all know it’s not just going to be storage.”
Jagger’s smile turned wolfish. “I’ve already drafted a list of potential christening activities for every surface in the apartment.”
“Gross,” Fenway laughed, tossing a wadded-up napkin at him.
“What?” Jagger raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not my fault I’ve suddenly been blessed with all this freedom. It would be a crime not to take advantage of it.”
“You could always get a pet instead,” Gage suggested. “A dog would be good company.”
Jagger snorted. “Why get a dog when I have plenty of men who come when I call? The only difference is my pets beg with their asses in the air, and their ‘treats’ come from a very different kind of bone.”