When I pull up to Ilmari’s condo, I pump the brakes in surprise. There are two cars parked in the driveway. I swallow back my frustration as the truth hits me: Ryan is home. I should have realized that the team wouldn’t make an injured player travel across the country just to not play in a game. After the epic shitstorm that was this day, I really have to go in there and pretend I’m not crushing on my roommate?
And did I mention the cars? He has company. So, after surviving my fights with Mars and Bea, I now have to put on an Emmy-winning performance as the thirty-three-year-old hot mess of a soon-to-be divorcée who is most definitely not picturing her roommate naked.
Awesome. Love this journey for me.
I huff, glancing up and down the street, looking for somewhere else to park. Finding a spot a block down, I parallel park and trudge down the sidewalk towards the condo, readying myself for my performance.
The last several days have been oddly nice having Ryan Langley for a roommate. He behaves like a perfect gentleman, helping where he can given his limited mobility. He helped me with groceries yesterday, swinging around on his crutches with the bags on his wrists.
He always asks me if I want anything if he’s ordering in food. And he sends me little voice memos throughout the day. Yesterday he was bored doing his PT, so I got a string of rambling voice memos where he’s panting into the phone, rank ordering his favorite SOA characters.
At night I’ve been helping him get comfortable so he can fall asleep. Sometimes we lay on the bed and chat or watch TV. Twice now it was me falling asleep before him.
Everything with him feels so easy, so natural. We joke together like we’re old friends. God, he’s such a big flirt. But he does it in a cheesy way that is so completely disarming, like his little pickup lines at the beach. He’s so charming that you can’t decide if you want to kiss him or slap him. You could almost write it all off as a tease…until you catch the heat in his eyes.
He wants me. Whether he wants more than sex is unclear. But I won’t deny that something about Ryan makes me nervous. It has since that first meeting on the beach all those months ago. He quite literally took my breath away. Part of that may have been the blow to the head with that stupid soccer ball, but it was at least a little bit due to him.
Rachel may be the bigger zodiac girl, but I know enough to believe that certain signs are drawn to each other. They share an energy. I googled Ryan after beach day, and he’s a Virgo, which means both our signs are ruled by Mercury, the planet of communication. Is that why I find him so easy to talk to?
I wanted to dismiss our connection, this feeling of opposites attracting, but then Ryan went and called me magnetic. I think he feels it too. He’s drawn to me, and I’m drawn to him. Part of me questions if we’re not meant to collide.
Taking a deep breath, I swing the door open and step inside. I’m immediately met with the thumping sound of loud rock music. I’m greeted by a scene like something out of a low budget frat boy porno. There are five buff shirtless guys lounging on all the furniture. A few have game controllers in their hands, their eyes locked on the TV, including Ryan. Two more are on their phones, manspreading in those sexy workout shorts that give a generous glimpse of cut thighs.
I’m just gonna say it—whoever is in charge of approving the designs for NHL team apparel deserves a raise.
The guys are so engrossed in their video game and their phones that they haven’t even noticed me yet. I turn, glancing over to the kitchen. “Oh my god.”
Heaven only knows what look of horror has just crossed my face. It looks like a bomb went off in here. There are dirty dishes everywhere. Someone made a mess using the blender. Scrunching up my nose, I count not one, not two, but four empty boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese. A big silver pot shows the telltale signs of being used to make a vat of powdered cheese noodles.
Lady boner gone.
“Tess—” Ryan’s eyes go wide as he takes me in. “Flash, cut the music,” he calls over to Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome stretched out in the reading chair.
The music cuts, leaving the video game as the only sound. I glance to the TV and see a split screen with all the Mario characters in little race cars. I was never hip enough to own or play video games growing up, but I’m pretty sure this one is called Mario Kart.
“Hey, you’re home early,” he calls, reaching for his knee brace that rests forgotten on the coffee table.
“Am I?” I say, suddenly noticing the mess on the kitchen table too. Someone ate cereal out of a mixing bowl and left out the milk…and the cereal…and spilled some of it.
“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess later,” calls the freckled redhead sitting next to Ryan.
“The guys just came over to make sure I was sticking to my PT routine,” Ryan offers.
“It’s fine,” I say, giving them all a little wave. “Hi, everyone.”
A round of deep hellos chorus back at me.
Ryan is distracted, strapping on his knee brace before he gets up. “Uh, guys, this is Tess,” he says gesturing at me. “Tess, these are just some of the rookies. That’s Flash in the chair there,” he says, pointing out the black-haired guy.
“Flash?” I repeat with a raised brow.
“Yeah, my last name is Gordon,” he replies with a grin.
I smile. “Cute.”
“And this is Jonesy and Westie,” Ryan adds point to the two guys on the couch. They’re both cute, with soft baby faces that contrast with their cut man bodies. Goodness, they look like they might still be teenagers, which makes me feel a little pervy for calling this a porno set.
“And I’m Patrick,” says the giant sitting in the chair closest to me. He gets up, unfolding what has to be his 6’4” frame, and turns.
Holy fuckballs.
My eyes go wide. He can’t be more than twenty years old, but he’s got the body of Apollo. And I swear to all the gods, he’s actually glistening right now. Like, baby oil glisten. It’s catching in the fucking sunlight. This must be his post-workout glow.
“Nice to meet you, Tess,” he says in that deep voice, dripping with the confidence of youth.
He gives me a once over, and it feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes. I clear my throat, dropping my gaze away from him. The cocky asshole smirks. Oh yeah, he wants me to look. He practically screams ‘fuckboy.’ I bet he has exactly two things in his pocket: his car keys and a condom.
“Go bench-press something, Patty,” Ryan says, stepping past him in a deliberate way that puts himself between us. “Hey, you have a good day?” he says at me.
His question is all it takes to catapult my mind back through time, reliving the utter chaos of this day. I feel suddenly breathless. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna cry in front of Patrick Abs-for-Days McHockey Boy.
“Yep, all fine,” I lie, quickly turning away from him. I fake looking for something in the fridge, though I’m not hungry or thirsty. It gives me a chance to just swing open the door and shove my head inside, taking a hit off the cold air.
“Hey, Tess, can you bring us some sodas?” calls one of the boys from the couch.
I jerk upright, slow turning to look that way.
“Fuck you, Westie,” Ryan says before I can respond. “She’s not your fucking maid. Get your own damn soda.”
“She’s standing right there,” he replies with a shrug, turning back to his video game.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Ryan says, facing me. He looks worried, nervous even. “I didn’t invite them over. This isn’t my scene, I swear.”
“It’s fine, Ryan,” I say, reaching out to touch his bare shoulder. My fingers barely brush his skin before I drop my hand away. “You can have your friends over. It’s none of my business,” I add with shrug.
“They’re not my friends,” he says, his voice lowering. “And they invited themselves over. But I gotta be there for them, you know? Guide them along a bit.”
I glance around at the mess on every surface of our previously clean house. “And this is you guiding along the next generation? Teaching them how to make boxed mac and cheese?”
“Don’t forget the cut-up hotdogs,” he replies with a smirk.
“No, we can’t forget the cut-up hotdogs,” I deadpan. “The cheese powder needs enough surfaces to congeal to.”
“God, I love it when you use words like congeal,” he teases, leaning in a bit closer.
I smirk, shaking my head as I snatch out a sparkling water from the fridge and finally shut the door. “When are you gonna let me expand that palate with some creamy lobster mac drizzled with black truffle aioli?”
“Wait—are you asking me on a date?” he replies, his tone more serious. “Is this an invitation to a stay-in date with the Tess Owens?”
My heart flutters before I roll my eyes. “In your dreams, hockey boy. If anything, it’s an intervention. Clearly, you need one,” I add, gesturing around at the mess.
“This place will be spotless, I promise,” he replies. “They just got a little carried away.”
“It’s really fine,” I say, placing my hand on his arm again.
We both follow the line of my arm with our gazes, ending at where my hand is touching his bicep. I leave it there a second too long before dropping it away again.
“Is it weird that I’m not used to seeing you with clothes on?” he says, trying to break the tension.
I laugh. “I think it’s about time the tables were turned. Why don’t you give us a little spin?” I tease, twirling my finger.
The corner of his mouth is tipped up in a smile as he obliges me, making a ridiculously cute one-legged hop circle, keeping his weight off his bad knee. Like the other guys, he’s dressed only in those Rays logo workout shorts. He’s long and lean, built for speed more than making hard hits. Jake is the one with the body of a defenseman, and Shiny Patrick over on the chair.
“Those shorts should be illegal, by the way,” I say, unashamedly ogling his hockey butt.
It’s his turn to laugh, but I can see the heat in his eyes. “You like what you see, Tess?”
“It’s fine, I guess,” I reply with a disinterested shrug. “You’re not quite as impressive as Shiny Abs McBuff Boy over there,” I add with a nod to the living room.
The heat burns darker in his eyes. He steps in closer until I feel my hip press against the counter. “Oh, yeah? Well, which one of us has a starting spot on an NHL team, huh? Which one of us just got offered a four-year extension contract with a three million dollar signing bonus?”
I blink, eyes wide. “Ryan—wait, what? Ohmygod, that’s amazing! When did this happen?”
“Today,” he replies, smiling wide.
“Ohmygod!” Setting my drink can down on the counter, I step forward, arms wide, and wrap him in a hug. “That’s so great, Ryan. Really, I’m so happy for you.”
He hugs me back, his arms going around my waist. He drops his head down, tucking it in at my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck. I don’t miss the way he breathes me in. It raises the hairs on my neck and makes my stomach flutter.
I pull back, and he lets me go. My hands slide down his arms to his elbows. He cradles my elbows, too, and we stand there touching, enough space between us like we’re at a middle school slow dance.
“Well, are you taking the offer?” I say.
He nods. “Yeah, I think I am. My agent is going to negotiate a few terms, but I’ve honestly been waiting for something like this for a while.”
I give his arms a squeeze, still smiling. “That’s great news.” Then I glance around at the mess all over the kitchen. “Well, this is just silly. You can’t celebrate life-changing news like this with boxed mac and cheese and cut-up hotdogs. Let me take you out.”
He goes still, one brow raising in question. “Like…out out?”
I snort another laugh. “God, you are incorrigible.”
“I prefer relentless,” he says with a wink.
“You know what, fine,” I reply, flashing him a smile. It feels good to smile after the day I’ve had. “For one night, and one night only, yes, Ryan Langley. I’m taking you out on a date. Let’s go celebrate your big contract news.”
He just gazes down at me, his hold tightening slightly on my elbows. “You better not be fucking with me,” he warns.
“Puppy, go find some clothes,” I say, dropping my hands away from him. “I can’t take you out in public like this,” I say, gesturing to his short shorts.
He flashes me that All-American bubblegum smile, and then he’s turning away from me. “Guys,” he shouts into the living room. “Fun’s over. You gotta go.”
“Five more minutes,” Patrick calls without turning around. “I’m kicking Jonesy’s ass on Mount Wario—hey—”
As he spoke, Ryan snatched up the remote, turning off the TV. He rattles it down, giving them all a death glare. “You assholes have ten minutes to get this place looking spotless, and then you’re leaving. And if my girl finds even one Cheerio on the carpet later, I’ll be dragging you all over here to vacuum every inch of the floor with your mouths. Got it? Good. Get up and get out.”
The guys grumble, but they immediately start cleaning up.
I glance over at Ryan, not bothering to hide my smile. I love myself a cinnamon roll boy, but life is all about the sweet and the spice. Something gives me the feeling that Ryan thrives on control. One could even go so far as to call him bossy. I’m taking that little nugget of knowledge and storing it away on the shelf for later…right next to the memory of him calling me his girl.
