CHAPTER FIVE #2
“Great.” I grab a glass, fill it with water, and take my time drinking it.
The silence is delicious.
“So.” Jordie is the first to crack, unable to help himself. “You settling in okay?”
“Mostly. Still getting used to sharing a bathroom with three guys.” I set my glass down and meet his eyes. “Hope that’s not weird for you.”
His gaze flicks away, then back. “Nope. Not weird.”
“Good. Because I’m not really the type to hide my stuff, you know?” I lean against the counter, feigning innocence. “I figure we’re all adults here.”
Wyatt makes a sound that might be a cough.
Grant’s knuckles are white on the sink edge.
“Totally.” Jordie’s voice is slightly higher than normal. “Adults. Yep.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” I push off the counter and head for the stairs. I stop, look back. “Oh, and I’m doing laundry later. If you need to use the machines, just let me know.”
I don’t wait for a response.
Back in my room, I allow myself to grin.
Round one: Elise.
I wait until after dinner—pizza that Jordie ordered, eaten mostly in silence—to move my laundry to the dryer.
All three of them are in the living room, pretending to watch some hockey game on TV.
I make sure to walk past them with my laundry
basket, ensuring the black lace thong is right on top.
Nobody says anything.
But I can feel them looking.
I can sense the weight of their attention like a physical presence.
I take my time, setting my basket right in the center of the living room floor before heading to the kitchen.
When I come back out, Wyatt’s eyes are fixed on the TV as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
Jordie’s scrolling through his phone—aggressive and focused.
Grant’s jaw is so tight that I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
“Laundry takes forever here, huh?” I settle into the armchair, pulling my knees up. My sleep shorts ride higher than I intended, the fabric pulling tight between my legs and outlining everything.
I should adjust them—pull them down, cross my legs differently, do something.
But I don’t.
Three sets of eyes track my movement, drop, lock on, and then snap away as if they’ve been burned.
Too late. They all saw.
Heat floods through me. Not embarrassment.
Arousal.
Because three very attractive men just looked at me like that, as if they’re starving and I’m a meal they can’t have.
My body responds without permission. A low throb between my legs. My pulse kicks up. My skin goes hot.
This was supposed to make them uncomfortable.
It’s backfiring.
Now I’m acutely aware of how long it’s been since I’ve had sex—eight months. Since before I decided to transfer. Since I decided to focus on school instead of mediocre hookups with guys who didn’t know what they were doing.
And now I’m living with three hockey players who definitely know what they’re doing.
My brain unhelpfully supplies images.
Grant would be intense and controlled. The way he gripped the edge of the table earlier—he’d grip me like that. Hold me down. Use that precision he has on the ice. He wouldn’t ask permission, just take. Make me feel it for days.
Jordie would be playful and teasing. That golden boy smile turned wicked. He’d make me laugh right up until he made me come. He’d probably talk the whole time, telling me exactly what he’s doing to me and why.
Wyatt would be rough and desperate. All that coiled tension unleashed. Quiet except for the sounds he couldn’t help. His hands everywhere, leaving marks.
My clit throbs.
Fuck.
“Machines are old,” Wyatt says, his voice rougher than normal.
I force myself to focus, to act normal. “Mm. Good to know.”
I grab my laptop and open it with hands that aren’t quite steady.
Grant’s knuckles are white around his beer bottle. Jordie keeps shifting, adjusting himself. Not subtle.
Wyatt’s jaw is so tight I’m worried about his teeth.
Good.
If I have to sit here throbbing and aching, fighting the urge to go upstairs and take care of this, they can suffer too.
Fair is fair.
Act normal, I tell myself. “You guys always watch hockey on Tuesday nights?”
“It’s the playoffs,” Grant says, still not looking at me.
“Cool. Don’t let me interrupt.”
I’m not interrupting; I’m existing. There’s a difference.
But my presence is clearly interrupting something. The easy male camaraderie that probably existed before I showed up has vanished.
Good.
They interrupted my life by making it difficult.
Now I’m returning the favor.
The game plays on. Someone scores. Jordie cheers half-heartedly.
I can feel Grant’s awareness of me like static electricity, the way he’s trying so hard not to look over.
Wyatt keeps shifting in his seat, adjusting, as if he can’t get comfortable.
Jordie’s smile is strained.
My dryer buzzes.
“That’s me.” I stand and stretch. My shirt rides up, exposing a strip of stomach.
Three sets of eyes track the movement again.
I take my time folding my laundry in the laundry room, making neat piles, lace on top of each stack because I can.
When I walk back through the living room with my basket, Jordie actually makes a choking sound.
“You okay?” I pause, feigning concern.
“Fine.” He coughs. “Great. Just—good.”
“Okay.” I head upstairs and stop halfway. “Oh, Grant?”
He finally looks at me, his ice-blue eyes dark and dangerous.
“Someone parked in my assigned spot today. Just thought you should know, in case it comes up.”
His jaw ticks. “I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks.” I give him my sweetest smile. “Appreciate you looking out for me.”
The words land just as I want them to.
Because he’s not looking out for me; he’s the reason I need looking out for.
And we both know it.
I finish going upstairs and close my door.
I stand there for a second, heart hammering.
That felt good.
Really good.
Let them stew in the awareness that I’m not some demure girl who’s going to tiptoe around them. That I’m not embarrassed, not ashamed, and not going anywhere.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Sarah.
Sarah: Update?
Me: Started a psychological war with my roommates.
Sarah: That was fast.
Me: I’m efficient.
Sarah: What’s the strategy?
Me: Make them uncomfortable. See who cracks first.
Sarah: My money’s on the golden retriever.
Me: Same.
I set my phone down and pull out my organic chemistry textbook.
But I can’t focus.
I can’t stop replaying the look on Grant’s face when he saw my vibrator, the way Wyatt couldn’t get comfortable on the couch, and Jordie’s strangled smile.
They wanted to make this difficult?
Challenge accepted.
I study until ten, until I can recite molecular structures in my sleep.
Then I get ready for bed, brushing my teeth in the bathroom where my vibrator still sits on the counter.
Nobody’s moved it.
Nobody’s said anything.
But I can feel the shift.
I can feel that I’m not just the unwanted roommate anymore.
I’m the problem they can’t ignore.
And I’m just getting started.
Back in my room, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling.
Through the wall, Grant is moving around, more restless than usual.
I wonder if he’s thinking about me.
I wonder if any of them are.
Probably.
Definitely.
I smile in the dark.
Tomorrow, I’ll escalate. Tomorrow, I’ll push a little harder.
But tonight, I let myself enjoy the win.
Small victories matter when you’re fighting a war.
And I intend to win this one.