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“I know a lot of things. I’m not some stereotype.” I fold my arms in mock anger, until I remember that sometimes I can’t find two brain cells to rub together and produce a spark of rational thought. “Scratch that. I’m not as smart as I pretend.”
She sets her laptop aside. “Like I said, I’m bored. Let’s do that roommate bonding you’ve so clearly wanted.”
“You knew?”
She snorts through her nose. “It was obvious. I just used to ignore you.”
But there’s no bite to her words, so I jump to sit at the edge of my bed. “How good are you at keeping secrets?”
“Moderate.” The admission is fresh but concerning. “I don’t run in your circles, though. The risk is small.”
I nod while I mull it over. “Okay, but just so you know, if any of this spills to the public, I know where you live.”
“And I know just how big your biceps are. Proceed.”
“You’re very weird, but I like you, Lynn Davis.” It feels weird to use her name for the first time just now. To strike the point, I stretch out my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Luz Rodriguez, your roommate this semester.”
For a second, she glances at it as if it’s gross, but she ends up shaking it. “Sure, now tell me all your secrets, Luz Rodriguez, before I keep entertaining the murderous thoughts in my head.” She motions at me to begin the tale, and I’m only too happy to oblige.
“Okay, so…” It already feels like a weight is lifting from my shoulders as I start. “You know I’m the captain of the Thunder Strikes, the women’s hockey team, right?”
“Now I do.”
I snort a little. “Yeah, and that there’s a men’s team called the Thunder Bolts. It’s packed full of Neanderthals.”
“Oh, that I do know. There’s a douche named Boucher in one of my classes. Hate that guy.”
“Ugh, everyone does. I feel bad for you.” I cringe, remembering how the crap spilling out of his mouth made me lose my cool today. Max must be a saint to put up with him. Or he ignores him altogether. “He’s solely responsible for our collective bad reputation.”
“I hope he’s not your boy problem.” Lynn cocks an eyebrow.
I gag, and it’s not even fully exaggerated. “He’s a problem, but not mine.”
“Whew.”
It’s funny to hear it in such a monotone.
“The problem boy is their captain.”
Her eyes pop, and she interrupts. “Oh. Yeah, I also know of him. He’s the semi-naked guy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
I sigh. She sighs. We sigh. This is what we call bonding, all right.
“But the actual problem is that he’s a freaking cinnamon roll.”
“I am literally not seeing a problem right now.”
“He’s the captain of the Bolts. The enemy of the Strikes. For which I’m the captain.”
Slowly, her mouth opens into a perfect O shape. “Ah. It’s an enemies-to-lovers type of thing.”
“Except we’re forced to stick to the enemies part. The teams would flip a gasket if we started dating.”
“What’s the big deal?” She shrugs, hands up as if this were the simplest issue. “Just bang him in secret. Or date him in secret, whatever.”
I bark a laugh.
