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“Roommate agreement says you owe interest.” I smirked.
He clicked his tongue and sighed. “I’m going to regret signing this, aren’t I?”
“Hopefully.”
• • •
Brie: I think I’m dying.
I raised my eyebrows at the text that popped up on my phone screen. Picking up the phone, I unlocked it and hit the bubble to reply.
Me: Did you just wake up? It’s four in the afternoon!
Brie: No. I woke up, threw up the contents of my stomach, went back to sleep, threw up again, and just woke up from a second nap.
Me: You should have listened to me about drinking water.
Brie: Sorry, Mom. Maybe you should take my drink from me next time.
Me: I tried. You almost threw it over me, so I gave up.
Brie: Ugh. I’m sorry. It was a rough night. Hell, it’s been a rough day.
Me: What happened?
Brie: We fought last night, and he left for the gym without talking to me.
I frowned. They’d been okay all night at the bar after she’d stormed out—what the hell else happened?
Me: I’d call you, but I don’t want to hear you throw up. What happened?
Brie: I might throw up if I have to talk.
Brie: It was stupid. They had this new girl start at the gym, and I knew they’d all exchanged numbers, but she kept texting him all night.
Uh-oh.
Brie: Every time you guys were talking or left us alone, he was on his phone, replying to her. Like he didn’t want to be alone with me or something.
Me: Oh, Brie.
Brie: We got home, and he was texting even when I was trying to unlock the door. Keyholes move when you’re drunk, btw. I confronted him, and we had a huge fight. He slept on the sofa, and that’s it right now. He hasn’t come home yet, he ignored my calls, and won’t answer my texts.
I frowned. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the gym today. I knew that because there was no way either Sean or Jay would drink that late if they had to work the next day.
You couldn’t give someone a personal training session if you were hungover, could you?
Me: Let me ask Jay. He can probably get ahold of him.
I slid my chair out from under my desk, took off my headphones, and pulled open my door. “Jay?”
No answer.
That was a no, then.
Still, I poked my head into the living room and kitchen and gave a cursory glance toward his room. Nothing.
I pulled up the text thread again and detoured to the bathroom. May as well pee while I was up and all that. I told Brie that Jay wasn’t here, but I’d call him and see if he could find him.
It probably wasn’t the most soothing thing I’d ever said to her, but there was a reason I was never an agony aunt for my high school newspaper—or the college one, for that matter.
I wasn’t always the most sympathetic person in the room.
I pushed the bathroom door open and stilled as I slammed into a wall of moist air.
And there, standing in the middle of the bathroom, butt naked, was my best friend.
Jay froze, clutching the towel in his right hand, and my eyes did a quick flick up and down his body of their own accord.
I did the only thing I could do.
I screamed.
Slammed the door behind me.
And ran into my room and slammed that door, too, only just catching Jay’s shout of, “Shit!” from the bathroom.
My heart thundered against my ribs. I’d just seen Jay naked—completely naked. No pants or underpants or towels hiding his modesty. No, the towel had been firmly in his hand as he’d dried off his thigh, but that didn’t mean I’d missed everything else.
I hadn’t missed the way his dark hair had flopped over his forehead, dripping down onto his face and body. I hadn’t missed the way water droplets had cascaded down his body, using the dips and curves of his toned stomach as their own personal playground.
And I sure as shit hadn’t missed the way they’d run right down over the ‘V’ muscles that pointed to one very specific body part.
His cock.
His semi-hard cock.
And it hadn’t been because of the water temperature, because last I knew, hot water didn’t make cocks hard.
Then again, I wasn’t a man, so maybe they did, but still.
Part of me wanted to storm out of my room and demand he cleaned the shower, but the other half of me wanted to stay in here and only come out to forage for food when I knew he wasn’t home.
There was no way I could look him in the eye again.
Why was he semi-hard? Was he getting himself off in the shower? Why hadn’t he locked the door?
If he was getting himself off, who was he thinking about?
Oh, my God. Did it matter?
No.
It wasn’t my business. I didn’t care who he thought about when he fondled himself. He was a grown man who could think and tug any time he liked.
