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My new apartment is on the top floor of the athletes' dorm. I sling my duffle off my shoulder, key already in hand, when my phone dings.
It's my mom—a text full of enthusiastic emojis congratulating me on surviving my first day. I smile as warmth spreads through me. No matter what chaos or prejudice I face here, I've got my family in my corner.
But as I scan the apartment number on my key fob, my smile fades. 719. That's not what we agreed on when I signed the housing contract and sent in my roommate requests.
Unease prickles down my spine as I ride the elevator up. Maybe there was a last-minute change. Miscommunications happen, especially with oversights between the athletic and residential departments...
The elevator doors slide open and I step out, searching for number 719. As soon as I see the plaque, my heart sinks.
Right next to 719 is another familiar name—one they promised me I wouldn't be stuck dealing with in my own damn living space.
Riot motherfucking Kensington.
Of course. Just my luck. Because clearly being new team rivals wasn't enough—now we've gotta share an apartment too.
I slump against the wall, all my optimistic energy seeping away. So much for sanctuary. My one place to get away from the politics and general assholery of Hollowgate's hockey scene, and now I have to share it with their pompous king himself.
Forget awkward team bonding. This year just went from complicated to near impossible.
Sighing, I straighten up and swipe my key. As the door clicks open, I make a silent promise to myself and my family.
I don't care if I have to barricade myself in my damn room. I'm not letting Riot Kensington get under my skin this year. On or off the ice, I'm here to play my game.
And no egotistical jackass is gonna trip me up before I get there.
3
RIOT
Turningmy key in the lock, I'm hit by an unexpected waft of clean linen and coffee as I step into the apartment that's been mine alone for over a year now. At first, I think Tris must've crashed here again after a night out, but then the smell of food grease underlying the other scents makes my stomach clench. There's only one person who reeks of cheap food and entitlement.
I round the corner to the living room and stop short. There he is, London Lancaster, sprawled on my—my—Italian leather couch, wearing that goddamn backwards black hat surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and bags of takeout. He's got headphones in, eyes closed, nodding along to some beat I'm sure features zero talent or creativity.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The words rip from my throat before I can temper my outrage.
London's eyes snap open, that infuriating grin already spreading across his face. "Oh good, you're back. I couldn't find the Wi-Fi info."
It takes every ounce of self-control not to lunge across the room and throttle him right there. "Let me rephrase that. Why are you in my apartment acting like you live here?" Each word drips venom.
At that, he sits up, finally looking mildly apologetic. "No one told you? I'm your new roommate." He lifts his hands in mock surrender at my murderous expression. "It’s not like I asked for this, golden boy. Apparently, there was some fuck up with housing paperwork for transfers and this was the only unit left."
I can feel a tension headache blooming behind my eyes. Of all the possible new transfers I ended up sharing an apartment with, it had to be him. There's not enough money in the world to make sharing personal space with this arrogant, undisciplined dick worth it.
"This is unacceptable," I grind out. "I'm calling the residential office first thing tomorrow to get this fixed."
"Be my guest." He shrugs, already turning back to his music. "But unless you know someone high up, I doubt you'll get them to kick me out. Contracts exist for a reason."
Hating that he's right, I bite back another scathing retort and rub my temples wearily. Fine. If I'm stuck with him, I'm damn well going to make some ground rules clear right now.
"Since you'll apparently be staying here, at least temporarily," I say, unable to keep the contempt from my voice, "we're setting some boundaries."
He cocks an eyebrow. "Boundaries?"
"Yes. First, the master is my bedroom."
"Wouldn't dream of trying to take your throne room, your majesty." He bends halfway into an ironic bow that makes me want to throttle him all over again.
I clench my jaw and continue. "Second, we split the shared spaces down the middle. You keep your stuff on your side, I'll keep mine on mine. Third, if you eat my food, use my things, or cross into my space without permission, I will end you."
