Page 31 of The Roommate Subtext

Maggie stifled another yawn behind her hand. “That sounds good. Maybe I’ll join you.”

Join him. Blake’s brain momentarily short-circuited at the thought of Maggie climbing into bed with him.

She seemed to realize what she’d said, cheeks coloring and mouth opening into a small O shape. They locked eyes, and he saw … something. Interest, maybe? Her tongue darted out to brush her upper lip, a small movement that drew his eye, and he stared, mesmerized, until she laughed shakily and the tension broke.

“Not what I meant.” Her voice sounded louder than usual, and she got to her feet quickly. “I’m—I have laundry to do.”

Still off-kilter from that moment, Blake got up and went to his room.

The late afternoon breeze drifted in through the window, and he put Maggie from his mind as he stripped down to boxers and climbed between the crisp, fresh bedsheets.

Blake awoke slowly, then all at once, the pleasant pre-waking doze jolted away by confusion about where he was and what time it was. Right. Nap. He sat up, sheets slipping to his hips, and blinked a few times. His phone said it was after nine. More than a nap. That was a pre-sleep sleep. He pulled on a T-shirt and some loose pajama pants, legs wobbly. After a stop in the bathroom, he went to the kitchen for some water.

Maggie’s door was ajar, light streaming through the thin opening. He was actually hungry now, even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t be hungry again, and got a plate of cheese and crackers before settling down on the couch.

He returned a few messages: a couple of friends sharing memes; a note from Andrew asking him what he thought of Zane. They chatted for a while, Blake letting Andrew share all the niceties from his day. Then, right as he was wrapping up his chat with Andrew, another message popped up.

Whatcha doin?

Rose’s name and icon, a small purple rose, stared up at him from the screen, and his heart did a little skip. Hanging out, he replied. How about you?

I was hoping to play again. A second message came quickly after that one. If you’re interested.

Oh, he was interested. Plus, he was still somewhat hung up on that silly exchange with Maggie earlier, and playing with Rose would be a perfect way to put Maggie from his mind. I’m interested. Give me a few minutes. He scarfed down his snack, then returned to his bedroom and closed the door.

Last time had been incredible, a perfect synergy of his interests and hers, the kind of sexting that he replayed in his mind over and over again. He’d relived all of it, imagining her hovering at the edge of climax, waiting for his command. Not only was it the best of his kinky fantasies, but it had all been underpinned by her delightfully wry sense of humor. She felt like someone he would enjoy getting a beer with, who didn’t take herself too seriously, who liked kink but didn’t make it her whole personality.

It was hard not to think they already had so much in common.

Andrew would tell him that he was projecting, and Blake would have to agree. But since they were only spinning fantasies together, what was the harm?

He stared at the phone for a few minutes. If this was going to be a regular occurrence—and he really hoped it was—they needed to talk first. I think we should set some expectations and ground rules, he wrote.

Seems smart.

What did you like about last time?

I liked the edging, she wrote. And not being in control. Little dots indicated she was typing again. Obviously I can stop whenever I want. I don’t have to do what you say.

It’s a mutual agreement, he typed, imagining her nodding.

I liked that I got to use the toys. And that you didn’t ask anything personal about me other than what I liked in bed.

He settled back against the pillows. He was warm, even though he hadn’t done anything yet. Even though the room was cool, he pulled off his T-shirt and folded it neatly beside him. You don’t want to share deep intimate secrets with me? He followed it up with a winking emoji and imagined her rolling her eyes.

Only about how I like to be fucked, thanks.

No personal talk. Got it. That was probably easier. Let’s not make this mean more than it had to.

I don’t mind some personal talk, like how my day was. Small talk. Nothing bigger or deeper. She sent that all as one message, followed with Haha. Some things bigger and deeper are fine.

He smiled at the phone. What else? Do I get to know what you look like? He desperately wanted to know. He consciously tried to vary his mental image of her—she could have rich mahogany skin, or olive with bronze undertones, or milk-white; she might have a blonde pixie cut or glossy black braids or loose red curls. But each time he closed his eyes and saw her stretched out on her bed, she had dark hair that spilled over the pillow, peach-pink skin, a light dusting of freckles across her nose … and he couldn’t shake that image of his roommate.

No pictures, she replied, which yeah, he understood. You can know I’m a brunette and I’m physically average.

Physically average. He grinned. You’re really selling me on the whole image.

You think this is a porn story? she typed. “I stared at myself in the mirror and pouted, looking at my ginormous perky breasts and my tiny waist and hourglass figure.”