The Roommate Equation

by Jillian Quinn

  “C’mon, Ash. You’re a smart woman.”

  “Is that all I am to you? Sex. A hookup. You want to fuck me one last time to get me out of your system?”

  He shakes his head. “No, you were never just sex for me. You’re unfinished business.”

  I stare at him in awe.

  I’m unfinished business.

  Is he that much of an egomaniac that he can’t stand that I broke up with him? Does he want to screw me one more time to gain the upper hand and walk away feeling like he’s the victor in this situation? No matter what, neither of us will ever win. We lost what we had a long time ago, and as far as I’m concerned, we can never get it back.

  Our conversation ends with Dylan parking in front of Nico’s long wrought iron gate, talking into the speaker when Nico’s voice booms through it. I lean over Dylan to speak to Nico, who buzzes us in, and the gates open inward for us, revealing his impressive mansion.

  “You can wait in the car if you want.”

  Dylan narrows his eyes at me. He blows out a deep breath, and a strand of his dark hair falls in front of his eyes. “Yeah, not happening, princess. Not after the way Nico treated you last week.”

  “You don’t have to step in for Sloan when he’s not around. I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

  He leans his elbow on the armrest between us, holding my gaze. “So, you’d be okay with Nico Chase pinning you to his couch and fucking you because he’s a movie star? Because he thinks he can? That’s what he wanted to do to you the last time we were here. And if I weren’t with you, he would have tried.”

  “Dude, what’s your deal? Nico Chase is not interested in me. I remind him of his sister. And, it’s not like he fucks fat girls.”

  “I don’t either,” Dylan snaps. “You’re not fucking fat, Ash. Stop saying that.”

  “Compared to the actresses Nico dates and the models you screw, I’m fat.” I pinch my love handles and make a good show of it, sliding my shirt up my stomach. “This is Los Angeles, Dylan. The standards of beauty are different here.”

  Not bad for a chunky girl, one casting director said. She’s too big-boned for the part, said another. No matter how hard I try to shake all of the nasty comments, I still can’t get them out of my head. For my sanity, I shoved the worst remarks into the dungeon of my mind, never to revisit them.

  I never had a problem with my body. I love the extra weight, and the big boobs Dylan’s eyes rake over every time we’re together. But in this city, it doesn’t matter if I love myself and my body. Because the people who matter, the people who can make or break a career, want skinny girls.

  They want someone who looks the part.

  Dylan clenches his jaw, staring at me for a long hard minute before the muscles in his face relax. “Ash, you’re beautiful. And if you want people to see you differently, then you have to stop talking about yourself like you have some disability. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “I was stating a fact. Guys like Nico Chase would never go for a girl like me. He might fuck me, but that’s about the extent of it.”

  “Why do you care if that asshole wants you, anyway?”

  “You didn’t want me,” I say without thinking and immediately regret it.

  “That’s not true.” He turns his head away from me as he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I don’t know why you would ever think that.”

  “You made it clear five years ago that Date Crashers and your friendship with my brother was more important than me.”

  “I fucked up,” he shoots back with venom in his tone. “Like you’ve never done or said something you wish you could take back? I didn’t realize you were so fucking perfect all the time. Give me a break already.”

  “Is that why you’re driving me around town to run bullshit errands?”

  Dylan presses his lips together, staring out the windshield at Nico’s mansion. “I like spending time with you.”

  “If you could go back to that night at MIT, would you do anything differently? And not because you know the result.”

  “Yes,” he says after a long pause. “I would do a lot of things over if I could. And I would have been there for you if you…”

  He can’t finish his thought aloud, and thinking about how much pain I went through because of him, makes me want to rip all of the bad memories from my brain, so I never have to relive them again.

  “You were never going to tell my brother about us.”

  “I was,” Dylan says in a hushed tone, leaning his head back against the leather headrest. “I wanted to wait until after we got funded before I started a fight with Sloan.”

  “We were together for almost two years, Dylan. You could have told my brother long before you coded the app. Every day, you had the opportunity to tell him the truth.”

  “I was a pussy,” he admits. “Is that what you want to hear?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Huh? Is it?” I’m frozen, unable to respond, and he continues, “I was afraid of losing you and Sloan at the same time. I didn’t know how to keep both of you without fucking everything up.”

  I never pushed Dylan to tell Sloan about us because of how my brother had overreacted in the past. We both knew what we were doing, sneaking behind Sloan’s back. I liked that we had our own thing that no one knew about. When we were together, Dylan was all mine.

  “Will you ever forgive me?”

  His eyes plead for me to say yes.

  The answer is simple.

  I nod. “I did a long time ago.”

  “Then, why do you keep holding the past against me? Why does it have to be like this between us?”

  “You coming in or what?” Nico’s deep voice cracks thought the awkward tension in the car.

  “We’re talking about this later,” Dylan spits back.

  “Do I have to come with you guys to a club tonight?”

  “This meeting is important.”

  “Then, why aren’t you meeting somewhere for dinner instead? Or in your office?”

  “Because that’s not how these guys do things. Consider yourself lucky we’re not going to a strip club.”

  I shake with laughter. “Sloan would never let me go to a strip club with him. And not like I’d want to go, anyway.”

  “I’d love to see that,” Dylan counters with a sly smile. “But, hey, you never know with these guys.”

  “And the guy’s wife has to come along too? I don’t see why.”

  “She’s very hands-on. He won’t make a move without her. We need you. Having a woman on our side puts us on an even playing field.”

  He needs me.

  “Yo!” Nico waves his hand above his head, a snifter of amber liquid in the other. “Get your asses in here or take a hike. I got shit to do.”

  I roll my eyes. “Such a charmer.”

  By the looks of Nico’s messy dark hair, black bathrobe, sallow skin, and tired eyes, I would say he has nothing to do today unless you count drinking himself into a stupor.

  Ever since Nico started binge drinking and getting himself in trouble with the press, Vinnie has struggled to get a studio to talk to him about Nico. No one is interested in a has-been star who can’t get his act together. I would kill to be in his position, and here Nico is wasting his golden opportunity on getting drunk and commiserating over who knows what in his Beverly Hills mansion.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Dylan says, opening his car door. “We have a long night ahead of us. Dealing with this dickhead is the last thing I wanted to do before the big meeting.”

  “You can stay in the car,” I point out. “No one’s forcing you to come inside.”

  “Not a chance.” His eyes meet mine, and the intensity and fire in them send chills down my arms. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dylan

  As I open the oven door to check on the chicken enchiladas, Ash enters the house. She slams the door behind her and drops something on the floor in the hallway, cursing under her
breath.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” I call out from the kitchen. “Get your butt in here.”

  No response.

  “C’mon, Ash.”

  Still no answer.

  What is her problem now?

  After our talk earlier, the tension between us softened, though we still have a lot more to discuss. I was honest with Ash and myself, for the first time in years, and finally admitted how I feel about her.

  Nothing has changed for me.

  She was my first and only love, and I screwed up. I put myself and the future of my company before Ash. I should have been more supportive when she told me she was pregnant. If I could take back that conversation, I would tell her I love her. And that I would be there for her and the baby. I would have told Sloan about us and promised to do everything in my power to make his sister happy. Before I could do that, she broke up with me, refusing to answer my calls until after she lost the baby.

  And that was the end.

  The final straw.

  We didn’t speak again until after Ash had moved to Los Angeles to attend UCLA Film and Theater School. For a long time, it was a hello in passing, which later led to snide comments and snarky remarks. I tried to apologize, but Ash blows me off every time.

  With a few minutes until dinner, I head toward Ash’s bedroom. Sloan is upstairs taking a shower. Ash said she would set the table, but she obviously forgot. Unlike me, Ash is irresponsible and flies by the seat of her pants.

  She goes through the motions, taking one day at a time, where I plan, organize, and coordinate every aspect of my life. There were only a few times in my life when I didn’t plan, and Ash was part of those moments. She makes my head foggy when I’m around her.

  Ash’s door is closed. I ball my hand into a fist and knock, and again, she ignores me.

  Whatever.

  This is my house.

  I turn the knob and slowly open the door. “Ash, you in here?”

  I fling the door open, now understanding the reason for her silence. Ash has earbuds shoved into her ears, the cords dipping between her cleavage. She’s hunched over on the bed, rocking back and forth. Ash clasps a pen in her hand, staring down at the notebook on the mattress. Her tits are practically falling out of the tight, red tank top, making me salivate.

  Fuck dinner, I want to eat her.

  Ash looks peaceful and happy, in the creative zone as she moves the pen across the page. She reminds me of myself when I’m coding. I get so easily lost in my head, envisioning the final product as I let the creative juices flow. In her spare time, Ash writes screenplays and has always loved to tell stories.

  I approach the bed, and she continues to write with fury, her focus so intense it gives me a new appreciation of her. From the outside, it appears we have nothing in common.

  The hot mess and the control-freak.

  A free spirit and a planner.

  But seeing her like this reminds me why I fell in love with her years ago. Why I still love her. Because despite our differences, we are alike in many ways.

  I press my palm to the mattress and lean down until she stops writing and looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and bluer than the ocean. She looks so damn pretty I want to kiss her. I want to hold her in my arms and tell her that I need her. That I miss her so much, my chest feels like it will cave in if I’m not around her. That’s why I drop everything I’m doing when she calls to run those stupid fucking errands.

  Ash removes one of the buds from her ear, pressing her glossed lips together. I can smell the cherries on her lips and have to stop myself from licking them.

  “We’re eating dinner in five. You said you would set the table.”

  With a groan, she drops her pen into the fold of her notebook and closes it.

  “What were you working on?”

  Ash sits up and rolls her shoulders. “Nothing important. A new screenplay.”

  “What’s it about?”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Why are you so interested in my silly hobby?”

  “Because it’s important to you.”

  Ash stares at me like I’m an alien. “It’s nothing, something I’m writing.”

  She turns her head away from me, fisting the notebook in her hand, and slides off the edge of the bed to avoid me. I come up behind her as Ash stuffs the notebook into the top drawer of the dresser.

  “You should show someone your work,” I say, pressing my chest to her back.

  She spins around and leans back against the dresser. “No one wants to read my stuff.”

  “I do.”

  Ash blows out a deep breath and then forces a smile. “No, you don’t. This script isn’t very good.”

  I hold out my palm. “Let me be the judge.”

  She purses her lips. “You’re not in the business.”

  “I read five books a week. I was the Valedictorian of my class in high school and college. And I run one of the fastest tech startups in the country.”

  She runs her teeth along her bottom lip. “You can read one page, okay?”

  I nod, and she takes the book from the drawer, flipping the pages. Ash shoves the book in my hand and points down at the beginning of the screenplay. I’m not used to reading in this format with stage and camera directions and nothing but dialogue and basic descriptions. But immediately, Ash’s writing captures my attention.

  Her screenplay is about a boy king who cares more about bedding women and partying until he learns that his kingdom is about to be invaded by a noble army who has a claim to the throne. The dialogue is interesting, and the way the king’s advisors speak to him with sarcasm and humor makes me laugh.

  She tears the book from my hand after I laugh a second time. “I’ve had enough people laugh at me in this town, and I don’t want to hear it from you.”

  “I’m laughing because it’s funny. Your writing is good, Ash.”

  I clutch her shoulder, and she turns away from me to hide the book in the top drawer.

  “You’re saying that to make me feel better.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not. I would tell you if it sucked. Have you shown it to anyone else?”

  “You’re the first person to read my writing.”

  “Why hide it when you could share it with the world?”

  “I’m not like you, Dylan. My writing is my passion, but it’s only for my enjoyment.”

  “Well, you should consider it. At least let me read more of it.”

  She throws her hands onto her hips, pushing her chest out in the process. Our eyes meet, and she stares at me with a strange expression on her beautiful face.

  “After we have our talk,” she says in a hushed tone. “I’ll consider letting you read more.”

  Relief washes over me. Ash refuses to share anything with anyone, and now she’s agreed to let me in again.

  When we enter the kitchen, Ash tips her nose up, her eyes wide as she glances over at me. “Smells good.”

  “You can thank Rosie. She made it last night before she left for her vacation.”

  Ash glances around the kitchen and dining room. “When does she come back?”

  “Next week.”

  She strolls across the kitchen and hops up on the counter next to the stove. Her eyes travel up and down the length of my body. Either Ash doesn’t care that she’s blatantly checking me out or she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

  The timer on the oven sounds, and I grab two potholders from the drawer next to Ash. My fingers lightly graze the side of her thigh, which earns me a groan in response.

  Ash licks her lips when I set the casserole dish of chicken enchiladas on the burner. My stomach growls from the scent of herbs and spices assaulting my senses.

  “It smells amazing.”

  After I set an enchilada on a plate, I cut into it with a fork and hold it up to Ash’s mouth. “Try it.”

  Her eyes widen at my gesture, but she follows my order like a good girl, sinking her teeth into the cheesy tortilla.

 
She moans so loudly, my cock springs into action, and I have to focus on something other than her mouth as she licks sauce from her lips. I stare for a second too long, now thinking about how good her lips felt against mine.

  Sloan is upstairs, I remind myself—because I need a reminder when it comes to Ash. I have to focus, keep my head in the game. The meeting tonight with our possible investors is too important to screw up.

  “Dylan Banks made me dinner,” Ash says with a cheeky grin that reveals her teeth. “You’re the first man to make me dinner.”

  “I tried once,” I say under my breath. “Remember that one time in my dorm?”

  She chuckles at the memory. “I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to make chicken parm in the toaster oven.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to have a toaster oven in my dorm. Too much of a fire hazard.”

  “And you almost setting your room on fire proved that point.”

  “You were distracting me that night.”

  “Blame me,” she says with laughter in her voice. “You always do. Whenever you mess something up, you say I’m distracting you.”

  “Because most of the time, that’s true.”

  She holds my gaze, heat flickering in her eyes as her lips part for me. She wants me to kiss her, and I have never wanted anything more.

  I’m inches from her, and with her thighs spread, practically begging me to move between them. She moans when I pull her legs apart and slide my fingers up her inner thighs.

  We both want this.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about having Ash on top of me, under me, and on her knees one more time. But once will never be enough, and we both know it.

  Leaning forward, I move my palms to the counter on both sides of Ash. Her chest rises and falls, drawing my attention to her chest. It’s hard not to notice her when she insists on wearing low-cut tops that show off way too much skin. But Ash could wear a turtleneck sweater, and I would salivate at what’s beneath.

  She breathes on my lips. For a split second, I consider testing to waters to see if she will kiss me again until a door slams shut upstairs, followed by footsteps. Sloan pads down the stairs, dressed in an Armani suit and Italian loafers, his blond hair gelled into tiny spikes.