And now, I have to call my brother.
Sloan will give me a place to stay without a second thought. Even if he brings women home, the house is large enough that I would never see them.
But there’s one problem.
A massive issue I can’t escape.
I will have to live under the same roof as Dylan Banks. After what he did five years ago, I can’t stand to be in the same room as him, let alone share a house, sit in the same kitchen, and eat the same food.
No, I can’t deal with him.
And they live in Malibu.
That would mean sitting in a shit ton of traffic to get to work every day, which would also mean more money for gas. But I guess there’s an upside. They live on the beach, so at least I would have a nice view after a hard day at work. I could soak up the salty sea air and sit in a hammock by the pool.
I remove my cell phone from my pocket and call my brother.
Sloan has no clue about Dylan and me.
And now, everything is different.
We can’t even look at each other.
We barely even speak to each other.
Because a lot more than a kiss occurred that night, and what happened afterward changed everything.
Chapter Three
Dylan
I nudge Sloan in the side with my elbow and laugh at the idiot on the opposite side of the bar. The stuck-up suit is trying to pick up a woman who has been ignoring him since he walked into the bar. By the looks of it, she could use our help.
I point a finger at the woman. “Think we should save her from him? She looks like she could Date Crashers right about now.”
A man dressed in a sleek, tailored suit leans over a beautiful blonde, unaware of the signals she’s giving him. She shifts her weight on the stool and scans the crowded bar. Her eyes dart toward the front door and then to the bartender.
Sloan glances in their direction and rolls his shoulders. “I’d hate to break my own rules. If she wants to get rid of him, she can use our app.”
Sloan Riley has been my best friend since we were eight years old, and we have been an inseparable duo ever since. I’m the tech mastermind behind the app Date Crashers. Sloan came up with the idea after saving our friends from one too many bad dates in college.
One of our fraternity brothers said, “Dude, we need an anti-dating app to get rid of clingers,” and from there, the idea was born. We launched the app five years ago, and since then, our brand has only grown stronger.
Most people turn to online dating now, which also increases the risk of sitting through awful dates. When our customers open our app and hit the Crash My Date icon, a Crasher receives an alert with the GPS location from the Ditcher’s cell phone and comes to their aid. It’s that simple. I thought it was a ridiculous idea when Sloan first mentioned it to me. But his idea turned out to not be so silly after all.
“Isn’t this why we started Date Crashers?” I ask Sloan. “To help people get out of bad dates.”
The blonde woman entered The Pit Stop about fifteen minutes ago, alone and here to drown her sorrows in a glass of red wine. Until the suit approached her, wearing a shit-eating grin, the blonde hadn’t looked at a single person in the crowded bar. She kept her head down, staring into her wine glass as if it could communicate.
Sloan looks at the couple across the bar. “How hasn’t he noticed that she’s not interested? It’s so fucking obvious.”
Sloan is responsible for teaching our Crashers, the people who break up bad dates, how to spot the signs, and know when to intervene.
Leaning against the brick wall, Sloan laughs and then takes another sip from his beer. “This guy has it all wrong. He thinks he can flash his Rolex and get the girl, but he has no clue what he’s doing.”
“But you do,” I say with a sly grin. “Why don’t you go over there and show him how it’s done?”
“Nah, I’m good right here.”
I chug the rest of my beer and then slide the bottle along the bar. The bartender tips her head in acknowledgment. She knows us well. Every Thursday after work, I come to The Pit Stop with Sloan. It’s the only day of the week we get the chance to catch up and shoot the shit. Since we moved our company from San Francisco to Los Angeles, we’ve been so damn busy that we barely have time to breathe.
The Pit Stop has a rustic vibe, with the original brick walls covered in car posters and an open ceiling that shows the exposed beams, reminding me of an old car garage.
Sloan turns to me, his elbow on the bar and his gaze shifting between the woman in desperate need of saving and me. “I could help him get the girl,” he says with a cocky smirk. “Or I could steal her away from him.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re good, but not that good. This dude needs a miracle.”
“I helped you once, didn’t I?”
I shake my head. “If you say so.”
“Your shitty attempt at picking up girls senior year had a lot to do with us starting Date Crashers. How many times did I have to bail you out?”
“Whatever, keep telling yourself that. Your ego is already overinflated enough.”
“Did you not get laid the night I crashed your date with the girl from Zeta Beta?” He finishes his beer, throws it into the trashcan to his left, and pushes off the wall.
No, I was with your sister that night.
The girl from Zeta Beta was my cover.
But you’ll never know that.
Because I’m an asshole.
I tap Sloan on the arm. “If you’re such a big shot, then prove it.”
Sloan is incapable of turning down a challenge.
He winks. “Game on.”
“Drinks on me if you succeed.”
He cocks his head at me. “What if I can convince the girl to leave with me instead?”
Sloan could talk a woman into giving him head with her husband standing next to her. I have never seen anyone sweet-talk their way through life the way Sloan does. He’s one of those lucky bastards who has that magical touch when it comes to the opposite sex.
“If you leave with her,” I point out, “technically, you would break a Crasher Commandant.”
Sloan wrote the rules our Crashers and Ditchers have to follow when using Date Crashers.
“Never go home with a Ditcher,” Sloan groans.
“You can’t break your own rules.”
“You’re such a buzzkill,” he grunts. “But you’re right. My morals are a little loose, but even I won’t cross that line.”
“How are you going to do it this time?” I lift the fresh beer the bartender places in front of me and tip my head to thank her. “He needs a Hail Mary even you can’t throw.”
“Watch and learn, my friend.” Sloan pats me on the shoulder and winks. “You stick to number crunching and algorithm writing, and I’ll show you how date crashing is done.” He tugs at the collar of his oxford and then buttons his suit jacket. “You’re buying the next round.”
“Teach me, Jedi Master,” I deadpan with a cocky grin. “I want to see you earn those drinks.”
Strolling over to the couple, Sloan removes his cell phone from his pocket and holds it up to his ear, pretending to talk to someone. He makes room for himself next to the blonde woman, pushing a stool out of the way as he invades her personal space.
The blonde doesn’t move an inch. Though, even from my vantage point, she tenses up, as if whatever Sloan is saying into the phone is making her uncomfortable. Sloan glances over at me and grins.
I shake my head and laugh, tipping my beer to my lips. He leans over the woman’s shoulder to grab a stack of napkins and spills her drink onto the bar on purpose. What a dick. She jumps off the stool with a squeal and turns her back to Sloan, now facing the suit she was ignoring.
Sloan wipes the liquid with the napkins in his hand, they exchange a few words, and then the suit swoops in to whisper something to her. Her mood changes, and now she’s angling her body toward the man she once found repulsive. Whatever Sl
oan said to her must have been awful to turn this situation around.
Sloan raises his hand to mimic the motion of drinking a beer. As usual, this asshole has proved me wrong. I order another round of beers as Sloan makes his way through the crowd.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Sloan says, “is how it’s done. Pay up, bitch. I’m drinking my weight in beer tonight.”
Our bottles clink. We drink to the future of our company and to all of the people we have helped. The sole mission of Date Crashers is to save people from bad dates, but tonight, Sloan helped two people come together. We’re in talks with a dating app called Exact Match. If the deal works out, their app will integrate with Date Crashers.
Sloan’s cell phone rings. “Hey, Ash.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. Every time memories of Ash enter my mind, all of the guilt and pain from the past resurfaces. A long moment of silence ensues as Sloan listens to his sister ramble on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, you can sleep in one of the spare rooms,” he tells Ash. “Use the keypad. You know the code to get into the house. We’ll be home soon.”
Ash is staying at our house...
I. Am. So. Fucked.
They talk for another minute, and then Sloan pockets his phone with an annoyed look on his face.
I clutch his shoulder, afraid to look him in the eye. “What’s going on?”
When it comes to Ash, I can’t think straight, never could. I still hate myself for sneaking around with Ash behind Sloan’s back. Even after five years apart, I still think about her. I still want her. I’m fucked-up, what can I say?
Sloan sighs. “Ash needs a place to stay for a while.”
I can’t sleep under the same roof as Ash, not after everything that went down five years ago. Not without Sloan discovering the truth.
Chapter Four
Dylan
My heart crashes into my chest when I pull into the driveway behind Ash’s beat-up Kia.
She’s here.
At my house.
Fuck. Me.
I stare at the license plate in front of me that reads NOT2DAY. Ash has an interesting sense of humor. She’s weird and quirky, and despite all of her flaws that drive me crazy, I still care about her. I still miss her.
Since our breakup, nothing has been easy for Ash. And a part of me will always feel responsible for her bad luck. That’s why I made sure she got the interview at Brenton-Lake. Even Sloan doesn’t know that I pulled a few strings to help Ash get the job. Don’t get me wrong, she deserved it, earned it. But I made sure Vinnie Sax hired her. I owed her that much after everything I put her through.
Bile rises from my stomach. I swallow hard and kill the engine of my Maserati. My dream car. With its perfect blue paint and cream interior. The one toy I wanted when I made my first million dollars.
“Please make Ash feel welcome,” Sloan says, looking at me with his hand on the door handle.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He laughs. “Are you kidding me? You guys are always at each other’s throats.”
If you only knew…
“No, we’re not,” I challenge.
“Ash sounded upset on the phone. She’s homeless until she can save up enough money. Don’t be an asshole.”
“What are you talking about?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re a control-freak. You clean up after me like you’re my mom. Don’t do that to Ash, okay? Let her do her thing.”
I’m a neat freak and a germaphobe, and when you combine the two, it’s not a pretty sight. I like a particular order in my life, where Sloan and Ash live on the wild side. They’re both slobs who drop their shit wherever it lands without care.
Act normal, Dylan.
It won’t kill you.
Ash living here is not the end of the world, even though my world feels like it’s crashing down on me. Because having Ash here, this close to me will fuck up everything I have built with Sloan. I made a mistake seven years ago. If I had a time machine, I would have stayed at the party with Sloan that night. I would have let my feelings for Ash fizzle out.
But I didn’t.
And there’s nothing I can do about it now.
When I slide out of the car, the salty air smacks me in the face. I drink it in, loving the scent of the ocean that floats through my windows every night. I never expected to become a multi-millionaire before I turned twenty-five. All of this wealth was part skill but mostly luck. I wrote the code because I liked it. We created Date Crashers because it sounded like fun.
Neither of us ever dreamed our college venture could turn into a multi-million-dollar company. We never thought we’d own a mansion on the beach or a fleet of exotic cars. Now, we have women dropping to their knees, thinking our cocks are a direct link to our hearts and bank accounts.
They’re not.
Unlike my best friend, I never got that kind of attention from women. Throughout high school and college, I was always Sloan’s ‘cute nerdy friend.’ He was the life of the party, and the one everyone wanted to hang out with. So, when he came up with the initial idea for Date Crashers, I thought Why not?
I stare up at the three-story home that boasts floor-to-ceiling windows, comprised mostly of glass and stucco. Until now, we never had much use for the guest house that has an incredible view of the ocean. The extra space should make my new living situation more bearable. At least with Ash on a different floor, I won’t have to see her… or get the urge to kiss her.
“Ash,” Sloan calls out. He cups his hands around his mouth as we walk into the house. “Where are you hiding, sis?”
My stomach tightens as I drag my feet across the smooth tiled floor, dreading seeing Ash on my couch. Or in my kitchen. With her feet propped up on a table. Every time she visits the house, I have to clean up after her. She’s more of a mess than Sloan.
“In here,” Ash yells from the living room.
We walk past two suitcases, several brown boxes, a laptop bag, three garment bags with dozens of hangers sticking out, and five plastic containers filled with shoes and miscellaneous items. Her entire closet is on my floor, randomly thrown into a pile that matches Ash’s personality. I have to stop myself from organizing her stuff.
Ash raises a remote above her head and then stands on the couch, facing us. What the hell is she doing? I hate when she jumps on the furniture like a child, and she damn well knows it.
“How do you work this thing?” Ash extends her hand with the remote in her open palm. “There are like fifty buttons. How do you keep track of all of this shit? I hit the blue one, and the lights came on. I tried another one that I thought was for the TV, and some lady started talking through the speakers.”
Sloan takes the remote from her hand and laughs. “You can thank Dylan for that. He automated the entire house.”
She shakes her head. “It’s seriously annoying. Why do you need your lights connected to Wi-Fi?”
“Because it’s more efficient,” I shoot back with an angry snarl in place.
Ash holds my intense gaze. We exchange a heated look laced with frustration and sexual tension. I have to fight my attraction to Ash, which is why I avoid our house whenever she comes over. I sleep on the couch in my office, pretending to need space to work on a project. And when Sloan drives into the city to have lunch with her, I find something else to do.
Anything to stay away from her.
Like I should have done a long time ago.
“What were you trying to do?” Sloan asks Ash to end our staring competition.
“I want to watch TV. But I didn’t realize it was such a production to turn the damn thing on.” Ash flicks her dark curly hair over her shoulder. “Can you turn on Criminal Minds for me?”
“Is that wise?” Sloan gives her a challenging look. “Do you need another thing to obsess over? Watching a show about serial killers is not a good idea when it gives you nightmares.”
She rolls her eyes and groans. “I don’t tell you to stop
watching porn. So, would you stop being an annoying older brother and turn on my show?”
Sloan blushes at her mention of him watching porn. A few times in high school, Ash walked into her brother’s room while he was looking at some nasty shit. He didn’t have his hand on his dick, but he was still pretty embarrassed when she caught him.
Ash gives him a sweet smile that is not as sweet as it looks. “Please, Sloan. I don’t want to miss the show.”
With that, Sloan melts into a puddle on the floor and complies with her request. He treats Ash like she’s his daughter. And now that she’s living with us, he will expect me to show her the same special treatment.
“Okay.” Sloan clicks the buttons to turn on the eighty inch flat-screen television in the living room. “But if this shit gives you nightmares, don’t wake me up.”
Ash loves scary movies. When she was a kid, she had vivid dreams after watching them and would wake Sloan up, freaked out and demanding he check for intruders. Ash was such a pain in the ass that eventually, Sloan hid all of her horror DVDs though he should have known better. Because when Ash wants something, she will do anything in her power to get it.
After Sloan turns on the show, Ash plops down on the couch and curls her body into the cushions. She looks happy, peaceful, with her hair fanned out around her face. Like the girl I kissed seven years ago. The girl who drove me to the point of madness. Years of thinking about her, imaging how she would taste and feel, made me act like an idiot.
Irrational.
Uncontrollable.
“Where am I sleeping?” Ash kicks her feet up on the cushions, peeking up at Sloan with those pretty blue eyes that slice right through me.
“Down the hall from Dylan,” Sloan says.
I clear my throat. “You would be more comfortable in the guest house.”
Sloan angles his body toward me, one eyebrow raised. “Dude, no way. My sister isn’t a guest. She’s family. Ash isn’t staying in the guest house.”
The Roommate Equation Page 2
