Pucking My Grumpy Roommate (The Pucking Pros)

Chapter 1

KATE

I’d always believed in science’s beautiful predictability—hypothesis, experiment, result. Life had patterns you could study and master, just like bacteria in a petri dish.

But Minnesota wasn’t following any of my protocols.

“You’re sure this is all yours?” The taxi driver’s eyebrows shot up as he surveyed the mountain of luggage I’d brought. Three suitcases, two duffel bags, and four boxes of research materials.

“I promise the papers are lighter than they look,” I said, pulling my scarf tighter as another blast of frigid wind whipped snowflakes into my face. “It’s mostly lab notes and equipment I couldn’t ship ahead.”

He grunted, lifting the first suitcase. “Lady, you know we’ve got stores in Minneapolis, right? Could’ve bought a winter coat when you got here.”

“Oh, I have one! Somewhere...” I gestured vaguely at my luggage mountain. “I’m from Arizona originally, so I wasn’t exactly prepared for—” I squealed as my boot hit an ice patch, sending me sliding straight into a snowbank.

The driver sighed, extending a gloved hand. “First time in Minnesota, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” I accepted his help, brushing snow from my completely inadequate jacket.

“Only to everyone with eyes.” He chuckled, loading the last of my boxes. “So what brings you here in January? Most folks with sense are heading the other direction.”

“Research fellowship at the University of Minnesota. I’m studying antibiotic resistance in gram-negative bacteria, specifically focusing on how plasmid-mediated resistance transfers in hospital settings, which is fascinating because—”

“Whoa, whoa.” He held up his hands. “English, please.”

“Sorry.” I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m trying to help stop superbugs that don’t respond to antibiotics anymore.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say that?” He gestured for me to get in the cab. “Important work. My cousin got one of those infections after knee surgery. Nasty business.”

“Exactly!” I beamed, relieved to find common ground. “That’s why my research is so critical. Did you know that by 2050, antimicrobial resistance could kill more people than cancer? The evolution rate of these bacteria is—”

“Fascinating, I’m sure.” He flicked on the windshield wipers as the snow intensified. “But maybe save the lecture for the university folks.”

I sank back in my seat, mentally kicking myself. Classic Kate Ellis move—over explaining until people’s eyes glazed over. My parents, both professors, had always encouraged my scientific talents. The rest of the world, not so much.

“University housing, right?”

“Yes, please. Ridgewood Apartments on University Avenue.”

Forty minutes and one near-accident later, we pulled up to a modern building with snow piled high around the entrance. I paid the driver, adding a generous tip for dealing with both my luggage and enthusiasm.

“Good luck with those superbugs,” he called, helping unload the last box.

“Thanks!”

I turned toward the building, dragging my first suitcase through the snow. The wheels caught on everything.

“Hi, I’m Kate Ellis? The new microbiologist?” I announced at the reception desk, where a bored-looking student barely glanced up from his phone. “I have an apartment reserved. Should be all set up.”

He tapped at his computer, frowning slightly. “Ellis...Ellis...don’t see you here.”

“That can’t be right. I submitted all the paperwork months ago. Check again, please?”

His frown deepened. “Oh. Yeah, here you are. Oof.”

“Oof? What does ‘oof’ mean?”

“There was an administrative error.” He winced. “Your apartment isn’t ready. Construction delays or something.”

“Not ready? As in...not ready today?” I clutched the edge of the desk. “Or...”

“Not ready for at least two weeks, looks like.”

“Two weeks?” The words came out as a squeak. “But I start my fellowship on Monday! Where am I supposed to live?”

He shrugged. “Says here they emailed you about it yesterday.”

I pulled out my phone, scrolling frantically through emails I’d ignored during travel. There it was—a tersely worded notice about “unforeseen circumstances” and “sincerest apologies.”

“This can’t be happening.” I felt my shoulders slump as I looked at my heap of belongings. “Can you recommend anywhere nearby? A hotel? Anything?”

“Everything’s booked because of the hockey tournament this weekend.” He actually looked sympathetic now. “But we can store your stuff until your place is ready.”

I nodded numbly and made my way outside for a bit of privacy, my mind racing through options, finding none. With frozen fingers, I pulled up Angel’s contact and pressed call. If anyone could talk me through a crisis, it was my best friend.

“Angel? It’s me. I need help. I’m homeless.”

“Slow down, Kate. What do you mean homeless? In this weather?”

“Exactly what I said. Administrative error. Two-week delay. Me, stranded.” I kicked at a snow pile, immediately regretting it as slush invaded my woefully inadequate boots. “I’m literally standing in the snow with all my worldly possessions.”

“Breathe, honey. First things first—get somewhere warm. Find a hotel room.”

“Already tried. There’s some hockey thing happening. Everything’s booked.” I lowered my voice as the desk attendant glanced out the window at me. “I’m seriously contemplating building an igloo out of my research papers.”

Angel laughed. “Your dissertation would make excellent insulation. But maybe let’s try something else first. What about online housing groups? There’s always someone looking to sublet.”

“In the middle of winter? On zero notice?” I was skeptical, but pulled up the university’s housing page anyway while putting Angel on speaker phone.

“Just check. People go on sabbatical and take extended vacations. You might get lucky.”

Twenty minutes and numb fingers later, I’d created profiles on three housing sites and was scrolling through listings while huddled in the building’s lobby. Most were for the next semester or required year-long commitments.

“Nothing, Angel. This is hopeless. I should’ve stayed in Arizona with the scorpions and cactuses. At least they were predictable hazards.”

“Cacti,” she corrected automatically. “And keep looking. What about that university faculty site I sent you?”

I clicked the link, not expecting much. And then—there it was. A miracle in the form of a two-bedroom sublet near campus, available immediately, utilities included, furnished.

“Angel! I found something!” I practically shouted, earning a glare from the desk attendant. “Sorry,” I mouthed at him before returning to the phone. “It’s perfect—pretty close to the lab, available now, and the price isn’t completely insane.”

“See? What did I tell you? Message them right away before someone else grabs it.”

I typed frantically, explaining my situation and practically begging for consideration. To my shock, a response arrived within minutes.

“They answered already!” I whispered excitedly. “Someone named Stone. Says the owner is out of town but he’s handling the rental. The place is mine if I want it!”

“Stone? What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t care if his name is Pebble as long as he has a warm apartment.” I quickly typed a response, agreeing to meet tomorrow to see the place and get keys.

“Ask for photos first,” Angel cautioned. “This seems almost too good to be true.”

“He’s sending some now.” I watched as images loaded of a surprisingly attractive apartment—modern kitchen, decent-sized living room, two bedrooms with actual furniture. “It looks amazing. Way better than university housing.”

“Well, aren’t you the luckiest disaster I know? But promise me you’ll be careful. Take someone with you to see it.”

“Who would I take? I literally know no one in Minneapolis.” I glanced out at the intensifying snowstorm. “Besides, I’ve got good instincts about people.”

Angel’s laugh was loud enough that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “Kate Ellis, you once dated a guy for three weeks before realizing he was only hanging around for free Wi-Fi.”

“That was one time. Look, I’ll FaceTime you during the viewing. Stone says it’ll be quick—just signing papers and getting keys.”

“Fine, but I want a live video tour, and if anything seems sketchy, you bail immediately.” Angel’s voice turned serious.

“Cross my heart and hope to—wait, that’s morbid for a scientist. I promise on the periodic table, okay?”

“Good enough. Now go find a hotel for tonight. There has to be something.”

After we hung up, I managed to book the last available room at an overpriced airport hotel, trudged back out into the snow, and flagged down another taxi. The driver was mercifully silent as I huddled in the backseat, watching the white city blur past through fogged windows.

The hotel room was bland but warm, with a bed. After a lukewarm shower that failed to fully thaw me, I ordered room service, changed into flannel pajamas, and spread my research notes across the bed.

I should have been reviewing my fellowship project, but instead found myself constantly checking my phone, rereading the messages from this mysterious Stone person.

The place is available through March if you need it. Owner’s a teammate who’s recovering elsewhere. Furnished, all utilities set up. Just need someone reliable.

A teammate? Maybe he was on a sports team at the university. The hockey connection would explain the timing.

My phone buzzed with a text from Angel.

You should go explore the city tonight! Meet some non-bacterial life forms for once.

I snorted.

In a blizzard? No thanks. Besides, I have work to review.

All work and no play makes Kate a dull microbiologist. This is your chance for a fresh start! New city, new you! Take a risk!

I stared at her message. Angel had always believed in me. I texted back

Maybe I will.

an unexpected boldness surfacing as I reached for the complimentary wine the hotel had provided.

One glass later, that boldness had morphed into something else entirely. I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at Jacob’s name. We’d gone on a few dates during grad school—nothing serious, but there had been definite chemistry before he moved to Boston for a research position.

The wine whispered that texting him would be perfectly reasonable. Just a friendly check-in that might turn into something more.

I took another sip and began typing.

We’d parted on good terms—career-focused scientists understanding the reality of long-distance relationships.

I set my wineglass down.

Before I could second-guess myself, I typed in Jacob’s number from memory. I may have deleted his contact after our brief relationship ended, but my scientist’s brain never forgot a sequence of digits—whether it was chemical formulas or phone numbers.

Hey stranger. Remember that time in the supply closet when you showed me your...big talents? Minneapolis is freezing, but I’ve got some ideas for generating heat that would make even these winter nights feel like midsummer..

The message whooshed away into the digital ether. I giggled, shocked at my own forwardness. The wine was definitely doing its job. I’d never sent anything like this before. I tossed my phone face-down on the bed, my heart racing.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just did that,” I whispered to the empty hotel room, a mixture of horror and exhilaration washing over me.

I grabbed my phone again, half-expecting an immediate response, but the screen remained stubbornly notification-free. Of course—it was late, and Jacob was probably asleep or working. Or maybe this was too out of character, and he’d think someone had stolen my phone.

My phone pinged, and I nearly fell off the bed lunging for it.

But it was just Angel again.

Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.

I smiled, grateful for a friend who knew me so well.

I may have done something reckless. Tell you tomorrow.

Angel

Now I’m intrigued! Can’t wait to hear. Sweet dreams, future Nobel Prize winner.

I set my phone on the nightstand and tried to focus on organizing my research notes.

But my mind kept drifting to that text message. I hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Daniel, the doctoral student who’d used our relationship to access my research, then published it under his name.

Yet here I was, texting an old flame while tipsy in a hotel room.

Would he be shocked? Amused? Interested?

The wine was making me sleepy, my eyelids growing heavy as I stared at electron microscope images. I checked my phone one last time—still no response—before setting my alarm for early morning. I needed to be sharp for the apartment viewing.