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He holds up his hands again, laughing under his breath. "No problem, roomie. I'll be sure to stay at least six feet away from you at all times." His narrowed eyes say he's enjoying this just a bit too much.
I resist the urge to flip him off and instead stalk away to my room—my escape from the chaos he brings. I slam the door louder than necessary, even though the satisfying bang does nothing to expel the turmoil roiling inside me.
How the hell am I supposed to focus this season with him infesting the one place that's supposed to be mine? It'll be impossible to relax or concentrate knowing he's on the other side of that wall.
This won't stand. I'll call the office first thing tomorrow and fix this, no matter who I have to bribe or threaten.
After a sleepless night spent listening for any sounds of London destroying my space, I'm up and dialing housing at eight a.m. sharp. Twenty infuriating minutes later, I'm informed in the politest, least helpful terms that no accommodations can be made. Transfers get limited priority and apparently the athletic and residential departments failed to coordinate like they should’ve, according to their bullshit apologies.
Useless, all of them.
I resist the urge to put my fist through the wall and take a few deep breaths instead. So he's staying. Fine. I'll find a way to manage because I refuse to be driven out of my own home. If I have to start locking my bedroom door and scheduling my time to avoid all interactions, so be it.
A knock sounds and I wrench open the door, ready to eviscerate whichever waste of space RA dares to bother me. But it's Tris's grinning face that appears, holding two cups of coffee.
"Morning, sunshine," he says breezily, sliding past me. "Figured you could use a caffeine infusion after the bombshell yesterday."
I grunt in response, but accept the coffee. Tris perches on the arm of my couch, sipping his own latte. His expression grows serious, which immediately puts me on guard.
"So about this new roommate situation..." he begins. Imayhave rage-texted him all the details last night.
My hands tighten around the cup involuntarily. "It's ridiculous, I know. But the office claims there's nothing I can do."
"True, bureaucracy sucks." Tris shrugs. "But is it really the worst thing in the world? Having London right here might be just what you guys need to bury the hatchet."
I stare at him in disbelief. "Have you lost your goddamn mind? This is Lancaster we're talking about. You know, the bane of my existence since freshman year? What could possibly make you think this is a good thing?"
"Hear me out." He lifts his hands placatingly. "You and London have mad chemistry on the ice, right? All that intensity and grit. But with him on our side now, just imagine how unstoppable you'd be if you weren't always at each other's throats."
When I continue glaring, Tris sighs. "C'mon Riot. Is holding onto the rivalry worth compromising the team? Think how much stronger we'd be if our forwards could sync up."
My instincts rebel at the thought of "syncing" with someone who's been a thorn in my side for years. But reluctantly, I consider Tris's words. As much as I hate to admit it, he makes a fair point about team cohesion. And my skills, combined with London's raw aggression and unpredictability, would make us a force to be reckoned with on the ice.
Still, after years facing off as bitter rivals, that kind of trust won't come easily, if ever.
Tris seems to read my thoughts. "No one's asking you to be best buds or anything. Just... consider loosening the death grip a little. You might find you have more in common than you think."
I refrain from pointing out everything we have in common could likely fit in a shot glass.
Before I can form a rebuttal, another knock sounds. This time it's Eli slipping in with a sympathetic smile.
"Come to check on the new roomies?" Tris asks with a smirk, completely fucking unapologetic about spilling my secrets to his best friend. "Don't worry, Lancaster’s still breathing. Though how long that lasts is debatable."
Eli flashes me an understanding look. "I know this living situation isn't ideal—"
"That's putting it mildly," I mutter.
"But the team comes first, right?" Eli finishes. "If we're gonna defend our title, we need unity. And like it or not, London is one of us now."
“Not you, too.” I grit my teeth, irked that he's echoing Tris's points. "Fine. For the team, I'll try. But I'm not holding my breath for some magical bromance, no matter how much you two seem to hope for it."
Tris grins and claps my shoulder. "That's the spirit. Just put that famous Riot charm to use and I'm sure you'll soften him up."
"I'd rather swallow glass."
"Baby steps then." Tris chuckles. "Now come on, we've got a PR event on campus this morning and that star player smile of yours needs to be in top form."
As we head out the door, I brace myself for surviving today. PR, practice, and now forced cohabitation with my biggest rival—it's shaping up to be my own personal version of hell. But at least on the ice, I can hit back. And that satisfying crunch against the boards might be the only thing to keep me sane if forced to play nice with Lancaster.
