by Lexi Ryan
Mason returns my smile and rocks back on his heels. “Not at all. Please, carry on.”
“His ego doesn’t need to be inflated any more than it already is,” Chris says.
“Everything about Mason is big,” a feminine voice calls from the dark hallway. A blonde walks into the room wearing a bikini top and cutoffs. She’s short, with long hair that hits her ribcage and a build pretty similar to mine. When she sidles up to stand next to Mason, I stiffen, wondering if I just put my foot in my mouth. I don’t expect to make friends here this summer, but I don’t need my roommate’s girlfriend to hate me either, and I’m pretty sure she just came from Mason’s room. Then again, she doesn’t have the face of a jealous girlfriend. Instead, she’s grinning at me as she takes Mason’s arm. “His ego is no exception.” She slings an arm around his waist, then, as if to answer my unspoken question, she says, “You can stop looking so uncomfortable. I’m not the girlfriend.”
Mason cuts his eyes to her and frowns. “Not for my lack of trying, though.”
She grins and nudges him with her elbow. “I’m Bailey,” she says. “You must be the new stepsister.”
“That’s me. Are you a roommate?”
She shakes her head. “No, just a friend. But you don’t need to worry about me being in your space too much. Honestly, when we all hang out, we tend to go to Arrow’s house. He can’t come to us, and his house is a veritable resort with the pool and theater and everything else.”
“Arrow is . . .?”
“One of the guys from the team,” Mason supplies.
“And why can’t he come to you?”
Bailey looks at Chris, who shrugs, and then she looks back to me. “He’s on house arrest. Drugs. It’s a long story, but I’m sure you’ll get all the dirty details before you head back home.”
I frown at Chris. I was so offended when he asked me about drugs last night. It never occurred to me that Mr. Perfect might have friends who have issues.
Chris shakes his head. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Arrow’s a good guy. He just had a rough patch.”
“Sounds like a winner,” I say, sarcasm making my voice brittle. I don’t have a great love for football players, but I’m downright weary of guys who do drugs, rough patch or not. They say “rough patch” and I hear that another entitled rich boy got caught.
Chris lifts one hand and gestures around the room. “So, this is our apartment.” His phone buzzes, and he looks at the screen. “It’s Mom. They must be in New York on their layover. I’m gonna take this. Mason, want to help her get her bags to her room?”
Mason shrugs. “Sure,” he says as Chris swipes his phone’s screen to accept the call.
I pick up two of my bags, and Mason grabs the big, heavy one before leading me down the hall. There are three doors, and the one to the left stands open to a small bathroom.
Mason gestures to the door opposite the bathroom. “That’s my room.” He points to the door at the end of the hall. “And you and Chris are in there.”
I stop in my tracks, but he continues on. Me and Chris?
I knew I was living with him this summer and that it would probably be cozier than I was comfortable with, but sharing a room with Chris isn’t just outside of my comfort zone—it’s in a whole new zip code. Hell, it’s not even the same planet as my comfort zone.
Mason seems to realize I’m not following, and turns and cocks his head. Numbly, I follow.
“Isn’t there another bedroom?” I ask, my voice small.
“Other than mine?” Mason asks. “No. I’m sorry.”
The room is small and, like the rest of the apartment, neat, clean, and tidy. There’s a small desk under a window, and against the far wall is a lofted twin bed with a full bed underneath it sticking out at a perpendicular angle.
Maybe seeing two beds instead of one should help me breathe a little easier, but it only reinforces that this is really happening and not some nightmare.
Did no one think to pass this by me? Did no one think I’d need to know we’d be sharing a room? It’s not just about sleeping. It’s all the other things you need your own room for—changing, hiding from the world, listening to music. I was counting on having a little space of my own where I could avoid Chris Montgomery of the sexy eyes and big hands all summer. I was planning on taking the awkward and mortifying “when he remembers” moment out of the equation by never spending enough time with him to give him the opportunity.
And then there are the things I’d only assume he would want to be able to do in here. I mean, he’s a twenty-one-year-old charmer with the body of Adonis. And even if he’s not bringing girls home, won’t he require a little privacy for other left-handed activities?
My cheeks heat, and warmth rushes low in my belly. I’m not going to get turned on thinking about things Chris might need privacy for. I’m immune to those sexy dimples and thick biceps. I’ve decided.
I spin on my heel and march back to the living room. As Chris slides his phone into his pocket, I prop my hands on my hips and announce, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Is there something wrong with the room?”
I gape. “Seriously?”
Mason’s behind me. “I’m guessing you didn’t mention that she’s sharing a room with you?”
“She’s not sharing a room with me,” Chris says.
“Then where do you expect her to sleep? On the couch?” Mason asks.
“In your old room,” Chris says.
“If by my old room, you’re referring to my current and only room in this apartment, then fuck no.” He turns to me, grimacing. “No offense. I just need my space.”
You and me both. “None taken.”
Chris shakes his head. “Mase, I specifically asked you if it was okay for her to stay here. You said you were cool with it.”
Mason’s eyes go wide. “Of course I did. Because I’m not a self-centered asshole.”
Chris draws back as if Mason struck him. “I’m self-centered now?”
Mason turns to Bailey. “You can head to Arrow’s without me. I’ll catch up.”
She scoffs. “And miss this? As if.”
“We had a plan,” Chris says. “You’ll bunk with me, and Grace will—”
“That was not the agreement. You asked if she could stay with us for the summer. You never said anything about me giving up my room.”
“You thought I was planning on sharing a room with her?” The horror is so thick in his voice that I’m launched back in time five years, listening to Chris and Isaac talk in the room next to me.
“You want her for yourself or something, Montgomery?”
“As if I’d put my dick near that.”
“It’s just for the summer,” Chris tells Mason.
I feel like a piece of trash, and they’re fighting over who has to live with the smell beneath their bed. I want to tell them both they can have their precious rooms and I’ll find somewhere else to stay, but I’m feeling so vulnerable I know the words wouldn’t come out without a stutter, so I keep my mouth shut.
“The whole point of renting this apartment was for privacy,” Mason says. “I’m not giving that up a few weeks after we moved in.”
“Stop.” Bailey’s voice is hard, and the boys stop their glaring match and turn to her. “Stop fighting about this in front of her. Jesus. For nice guys, you’re acting like assholes. She’s your guest, and you’re making her feel like crap.”
I’d be grateful that she put a stop to it, but I’m too embarrassed that it was necessary.
I never thought about the roommate part of the equation for this summer. In my mind it wasn’t that big of a deal for Chris to take me in. The bigger embarrassment there was that he needed to. That my dad doesn’t trust me to be on my own, and that beyond my financial dependence on my father, I rely on his approval so much that I didn’t find a way to stay in my own city for the summer, his approval be damned. But now I realize I never really thought about Mason. If Willow and I shared an apartment fo
r the summer and she suddenly brought home a roommate—some relative I’d never met before—I wouldn’t like it. And if she thought I’d give up my own bedroom for it to happen? Hell no.
I take a breath and measure out my words. “It was n-n-nice—” I wince, but Chris and Mason are too busy glaring at each other to notice my stutter. “I don’t want to be in anyone’s hair. I’ll sleep on the couch until I can find somewhere else to stay.”
Chris’s face softens. “Grace, you don’t need to find somewhere else to—”
I stare at him. Does he have any idea how it feels to hear him scramble for a way to get me out of his room? I feel so dirty. All I want is a good long cry in the shower, and I know that’s irrational. My hurt feelings over this whole thing are unreasonable. It’s just old Gee-Gee poking her head into my consciousness and reminding me that no matter what sweet things Chris said to me on Thursday night, what happened at Willow’s is evidence that you can change your name and your hair and even the way you talk, and everything remains the same. His horror over being too close to me now makes me feel cheap. The fourteen-year-old me is scraping her nails down the chalkboard of my consciousness, screaming, “I told you so. He doesn’t like you. You’re not special. He was taking what you were offering. Easy Gee-Gee being easy.”
Chapter Fourteen
Chris
Grace looks at me as if I’ve smacked her, and I feel like such a piece of shit for screwing this up. Surely she understands I can’t share a room with her. Surely she gets that whether or not her father is out of line in asking me to watch out for her this summer, I take that responsibility seriously, and that means keeping my hands to myself.
“Can I talk to you in private for a minute?” Mason asks.
I tear my eyes off Grace to see Mason already heading to his room. “I’ll figure this out,” I say to Grace before following him. I step inside the small room and shut the door behind me.
Mason rubs the back of his neck as he studies the ceiling. “I’m feeling like a dickbag here, man.”
You and me both. I draw in a deep breath. “It’s my fault. I thought we talked about it, and since we’ve shared in the dorms, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
He looks at me with an arched brow. “And have you forgotten why you switched with Arrow?”
I clear my throat. I haven’t forgotten. It seemed like there was an endless line of girls going in and out of Mason’s room, and I got sick of coming home to see that damn sock on the door. “That’s different now,” I say. Then I flinch. It’s only different because he’s completely hung up on a girl who refuses to be more than his fuck buddy. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think it through.”
“When we decided to get this apartment,” he says, pacing between the window and door, “the appeal was in having my own room. Some real privacy.”
“For Bailey.”
Staring at the closed bedroom door, he draws in a deep breath. “She’ll come around eventually, but that’s not the only reason I need a room of my own.”
“It’s not?”
“I failed A&P.” He points to the fat anatomy and physiology book on his dresser. “Prof agreed to give me an incomplete and let me retake the final this summer because of all the shit that was going down with Arrow. But I get one shot. I need to spend this summer studying my ass off, and I need a quiet space of my own to do that.”
I had no idea. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble in your classes?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Like me, Mason’s going into his senior year at BHU, and like me, he’s hoping to be drafted in the spring. But you need some attention to get drafted, and you need to play to get attention. And if you don’t have the grades, you don’t play. “That’s not good.”
“I fucking know that, but I’m working on fixing it.” He rolls his head from side to side and digs his fingers into the muscles at the back of his neck. “Listen, I’ll do it. I don’t want to be an asshole. If you need her to have my room, then we’ll make it work.”
I shake my head. “No. You’re right. You need the space to study.” I drag a hand through my hair and suppress a shudder as I try to imagine the possibility of a season without Mason Dahl as my number one receiver. With Arrow out for the first half of the season, we’re already going to struggle, but without Mason, we’d be fucked. “I need you to pass that final. Keep the room.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can sleep on the couch. It’s not a big deal.”
He laughs. “God, you know, I thought it was weird—you sharing a room with your sister all summer. I guess I should have mentioned it, but I didn’t want to be that guy who makes everything about sex.”
“Stepsister. We aren’t related.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah?”
“What?” He looks way too fucking entertained.
“It’s interesting that the distinction is so important to you, that’s all.”
“It’s . . .” I take a deep breath. “It’s not important. I’m just frazzled.”
“And that’s interesting too, isn’t it?”
I frown. “Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s not like you, man. That’s all.” Mason slaps me on the shoulder. “Bailey and I are supposed to be at Arrow’s. I’ll catch you later?”
He’s right. In fact, I haven’t acted like myself at all since I saw Grace in Willow’s living room on Thursday night. She does something to me. Something that makes me so crazy for what I know I can’t have—what I shouldn’t even want—that I’m going to go through a summer of brutal two-a-day workouts while sleeping on a fucking couch.
Chapter Fifteen
Grace
I can’t make out anything more than low murmurs coming from Mason’s room, but I strain my ears to try anyway. If Bailey weren’t standing here, I’d probably sneak closer to the door to eavesdrop. Or not. Maybe I don’t want to know what Chris is saying.
“You okay?” Bailey asks. She watches me with her head cocked to one side, as if she’s afraid she might miss something if she doesn’t focus on my face. I’d rather she forgot I was in the room.
“I’m fine.” I walk into the kitchen and start pulling open cabinets for something to do with my hands, but when I find the cabinet with the food, I frown. “Egg-white protein powder is a thing?”
“They drink protein shakes like crazy. They work out too much and don’t have time to chew the number of calories it takes to maintain that kind of muscle.”
I open the fridge, and my frown turns deeper. Aside from some leftover pizza and a carryout box, the fridge is full of vegetables, fruit, chicken, and steak. “Where’s the real food?”
Bailey laughs and walks over to a cabinet beneath the sink. She sinks to her haunches and reaches in, pulling out a family-sized box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts. “This what you’re looking for?”
My eyes are probably the size of saucers and maybe I drool a little, because she laughs and hands me a foil package before tucking them back under the sink. “You’re my savior.”
“The guys eat healthy,” she says, closing the cabinet as I tear into my package of sugary goodness. “They take their bodies very seriously. They gorge on protein so they won’t lose muscle and avoid processed sugar so they don’t gain fat. It’s enough to give a girl a complex about her own body.”
I take a bite and moan around it. “Sugar is my drug of choice. If someone objects to the size of my ass, they can kiss it.”
At that moment, Mason steps into the room and laughs, letting his gaze dip to my hips before returning to meet my eyes. “No objections here.” Bailey nudges him hard enough to make him sidestep, and he holds up his hands. “What? I thought she might want my opinion.” He swings his gaze back to me. “If she doesn’t want me looking at other girls, she just has to agree to be my girlfriend. I’m not asking much.”
Bailey rolls her eyes. “I never said you couldn’t look. Now, wha
t did you and Chris figure out?”
Mason glances toward the dark hallway before shrugging. “I’ll let him tell her. You and I are late.” Grabbing keys off the island, he heads to the front door.
“Thanks for the Pop-Tarts,” I tell Bailey. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Any time.” She studies me for a beat. “Do you have plans tonight? Mia and I are going out for drinks. You could come.”
“I’m not twenty-one.”
She snorts. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll pick you up at eight?”
Chris has yet to emerge from Mason’s room, and it feels a little weird to make plans when my fate is up in the air. On the other hand, Bailey’s been the best part of my Blackhawk Valley experience thus far, and I’d really like her to be my friend. “That would be awesome. Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” She smacks Mason’s ass and heads out the door.
He flinches and then shakes his head. “See you later, Grace.”
“See you.”
They close the door behind them, and I take another bite of my Pop-Tart. I’ll have to go to the grocery store. From the looks of their refrigerator, Chris and Mason are one leafy green salad away from being complete carnivores. I, on the other hand, don’t eat meat and hate vegetables. Unless you count chocolate, of the sacred cocoa tree, which of course I do.
“Oh, good. You found something to eat.”
I look up from my sugar-frosted sugar bomb and bite back a whimper. For whatever reason, even a few brief minutes outside of this guy’s company, I forgot the magnitude of his hotness. I think it’s a real possibility that his shoulders got even broader during his time in Mason’s room. His hair’s all mussed, which isn’t surprising, since it gets in his eyes all the time and he can’t keep his hands out of it.
I take another bite of Pop-Tart to muffle another whimper.
“What is that?”
“Food,” I say around my double bite.
He steps forward and inspects the contents of the foil package. “That’s not food. That’s diabetes with sprinkles on top.”
