Roommates

by Erin Leigh

  Awkward.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  PFs unite

  Brady

  My high from winning the game and getting the only goal is killed instantly the moment I see her sitting at the table with Palfrey. Sami laughs and points at the shots around them on the table. They all grab one and drink it back. Nat shudders.

  She does that thing where she pulls her hair back, like she’s preparing for war. She does this every time I cook something that might not be tasty.

  “Is that an enemy player with your girl?” Dean leans in, nudging me.

  I give him a look. “She’s not my girl. I don't care that she’s here with him. He’s a friend from the rich circles I’m sure.”

  He nods, smiling wide. “We had a good night, buddy. Let’s not make it a bad night.”

  Mike cringes when he sees Nat and Zach. “Maybe we should drink somewhere else.”

  “You guys, stop. You’re making it something. Zach and I have hung out. We both know Mattie pretty well.” I roll my eyes and stroll over to the table where she is.

  “Hey!” She jumps up, hesitating and then jumping into my arms. The smell and feel of her comes back too fast. “Congrats!” She pulls back, giving me a funny look. She’s been crying, but she’s trying to hide it. Something’s wrong. If it’s that asshole Fairfield again I’m going to jail . . .

  “Thanks.” I tilt my head at the bar. “Wanna come get a round with me?”

  She smiles wide. “Yeah.”

  I give Zach a nod. “Hey, man.”

  “Nice goal tonight.” He stands and shakes my hand.

  “Thanks, Bro.” The rest of the team behind him sighs and starts coming for the table.

  Mitch’s server girl puts some tables together for us to make the huge one we normally have.

  “We’ll go get the next round.” I reach over and slide an arm around Nat’s waist. She doesn't stiffen or react the way she should. She melts into my touch and lets me lead her to the bar.

  “Can we talk somewhere quiet first?” I whisper in her ear.

  She takes my hand in hers and leads me to the back of the pub.

  We might as well start picking out curtains.

  I don't even want to fight it. I want to pick out curtains.

  She looks up at me, killing me with those red-rimmed eyes. “Why were you crying?” I stop near the bathrooms.

  She shakes her head. “It doesn't matter. It’s over.” Her eyes sparkle, even in the dark. I think light comes from inside her.

  “Is it Will?” I hate that I even said his name instead of calling him fuckhead or twatface or something else she wouldn't appreciate.

  “No.” She’s lying.

  “Seriously, what is it?”

  She sighs and passes me her phone. She presses down on her chat with her mom. I scan through the texts, going from angry to disturbed to actually doubting this woman raised this crazy awesome girl in front of me. “You must be a lot like your dad.” I can’t say anything else because if I do I’ll call her mom all the names I’ve silently given Will.

  “I used to think I was like her. But I don't anymore.”

  I press my lips together to stop myself from saying everything I want to, and look at her. I pass her phone back to her and shake my head. “There’s not a single thing true in there. Not one.” I step forward, releasing the huge sloppy mess I am inside. “She has spent a lifetime with you and hasn't ever seen you. People never see you. They see the friends and now the team and the people around you. But no one sees you.” I swallow the fear in me that's begging me to man up and not say the things on my chest, but I have to. I hate that she’s hurting. I hate it. “I see you.” I lift a hand and cup her cheek. “You deserve better than everyone in your life has given you.” Including me.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes start to shine but she goes easy on me. “But I assure you, there are plenty of people who have been amazing to me. My mom is just one of the people who has expectations and can’t see past her own goals for me.” She doesn't make it weird. She squeezes my hand and pulls me down to her. When I kiss her this time it’s worse than the first time.

  My entire chest aches, and I know nothing will ever be the same again.

  We kiss until I can’t take it anymore. I need her. “Let’s go home,” I whisper but she shakes her head and laughs.

  “No.” She runs a hand over the front of my jeans. “I like where you’re at. Besides, I have to differentiate myself from the usual PFs. I have to make it more fun.” She winks and leaves me there, hard and desperate.

  If only she knew how I felt and how different she is from the girls who just like the hockey.

  The night is more painful than any I can remember having in a long time.

  She laughs and tugs at all my heartstrings. She smiles and I feel like I’m on autopilot and smile with her for no reason. The torment lasts a couple of hours before I decide to man up.

  At some point I come out of the haze and somehow get my blue balls back from her keychain and get my drink on.

  The boys toast me as more of the guys from Syracuse make their way into the pub.

  It goes from awkward with Zach and Nat to all of us singing and laughing. We might as well be in a real Irish pub.

  I stumble out of the bathroom, ready to get another drink but a hand grabs me, dragging me through the back, past the kitchen and through the back door into the alley.

  Natalie doesn't kiss me. She smiles wide, reaching up her dress and pulling her underwear off. She puts them in my pocket and starts undoing my pants, dragging my sidearm out of my jeans. It’s been in various stages of erect all night. Reaching into my other pocket she laughs, biting her lip and pulling out a condom.

  I shrug, having no defense, apart from I like to screw and I like to be prepared to do it.

  She slides it on with a firm grip, making me groan as I scoop her up, pressing her back against the wall of the pub. She weighs almost nothing, maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds. She’s not even my warm-up weight so bouncing her on my thighs isn’t hard. She lowers herself onto me, taking it slowly until her legs are wrapped around mine.

  She digs her nails in, gripping me as I thrust increasingly harder.

  The way she clings and the feel of her wrapped around me, brings a sensation I don't like. The alley isn’t good enough for her. My brain starts to rifle through the regret hitting me hard.

  I close my eyes and see the girl from the employees only room. The brunette I Clintoned.

  She moans and arches, moving her body the way she needs to.

  There’s desperation in her for me to keep the pace I’m going, which is easy. I couldn't come now if my life depended up on it. I’m stuck with the fear someone will see her. Someone will think she’s a PF.

  She reaches back, grabbing onto a pipe above her. The way she rotates her hips, bites her lip, and closes her eyes has me mesmerized.

  She comes, writhing and jerking her body onto mine.

  It’s time to Clinton and I can’t do it. I’m choking.

  I fake my orgasm, staring at her.

  She sighs as I put her down, handing her back her underwear.

  “You don't want them?”

  “No. I want you to wear them far more.” I don't sound like I had an orgasm. She’s sweaty and satisfied and I’m dying. I drag her dress down and steer her toward the pub, ripping the condom off and tossing it behind me. I zip up as she walks in. “I don't want anyone to see you out here.”

  “You’re far more of a gentleman than I expected.” She shakes her head, walking into the bathroom for the ladies as I enter the guys.

  It was the worst sex I think I’ve ever had.

  The look on my face is troubling.

  I couldn't pull out and Clinton her.

  I need to drink more.

  Heading back out, I earn looks from her the whole night, but I avoid her. I don't know what to do about her. I can’t drink too much because she’s here. Because we live together, I can�
��t let her know I like her—a lot.

  It’s the worst post-game celebration ever.

  Thankfully, at some point Nat, the brunette, and Sami all leave, but we stay out.

  We end up at a party after the bar with PFs and a few wives. The wives hang in the corner, not dressed anywhere as revealing as the PFs. Some of them used to be puck fucks and have classed it up. No doubt they've been asked to do it.

  No guy wants everyone else thinking his girl is on the market, and unfortunately for girls, men are visual creatures. We assume if you’re showing a lot of skin, you want us to look. I don't buy into the whole girls dressing a certain way deserve to get raped. But at the same time I wouldn't want my girl showing the merchandise off while she walked down the street at two in the morning or coming to a sports party with a bunch of knuckle-dragging meatheads, as Nat calls us.

  Dress for success I say. If you are looking for love in all the wrong orifices, show me those orifices. When I see no underwear on a girl in a dress, I assume she wants me to talk to her, and by talk, I mean fuck. If she winks and walks to the bathroom, even better. We don't even have to talk to get to the fucking.

  Here at the after-party, there’s a lot of talent and most of it’s on the market.

  I, however, am not on the market.

  I’m still rocking the remorse sidearm from earlier. It comes and goes with my shame of not being able to use her like a fuck toy, combined with thinking about using her as a fuck toy.

  Mike passes me a beer and nods at the girls in the corner all sitting and laughing amongst themselves. “The wives club looks extra annoyed tonight.”

  “First party with the PFs. They loosen up as the year goes on.”

  “That one on the end doesn't look like she’s going to mellow out.” He tilts his head at the girl with the bright blonde hair. She looks plastic. We’re all young twenties and she’s already plastic.

  “She must be pissed about something. Who’s she here with?”

  “Not a clue. I’ve never seen her before. I don't know any of the wives.” He says it and turns, spitting some of his beer on the floor. “Oh shit.”

  I follow his eyes to the three girls who just showed up with Zach. “What the hell?” I start in that direction, but Mike grabs my arm, gripping hard.

  “Stop and breathe first. Take a couple of deep ones in. Then decide the right thing to do. He’s taunting you. He brought the girl you like, regardless of what you say, to a puck-fuck party. You’re angry. I’m angry. I don't want any of those three girls here. Everyone assumes it’s open season on anyone but the wives. I don't even like the wives here. I think an after-party with a bunch of drunk hockey players who are hyped up on the win is a terrible place to have a girl you like.” His eyes are earnest and wide. “I get it, Bro. I just don't want you to get into trouble for something stupid like punching out Zach.”

  I take three deep breaths. “Why would he bring them here? Why are they even still with him? I thought they went home.”

  “Two reasons. One, he’s brought them to be the big man on campus here, show us who he hangs with. It’s likely to make up for the fact he lost the game.”

  “What’s the second reason?” My eyes don't leave her.

  “He knows you have a thing for her, and he wants to torment you and draw out a fight to get you suspended or get you some charges. He wants the fight.”

  I take two more breaths. “Okay. So she’s a pawn.” I want to kill him, but I agree and I’m smarter than to fall for this. I did actually graduate from college, and I had to maintain my grade average. My daddy couldn't buy my way into Ivy League. “Then I guess I just have to make her come to me.” I give him a grin.

  He sighs. “I didn't mean that you needed to stoop to his level. I meant avoid it altogether.”

  “Not a chance.” I head for the pool table where a couple of guys are playing with girls draped across them.

  “I’ll play the winner.”

  Chuck, one of the forwards, gives me a nod. “That's me. Corner right.” He bends forward and sinks the eight ball in the corner right.

  Dean wrinkles his nose and hands me the cue. “Kick his ass for me.”

  “Oh I will.” I give Chuck a rogue smile. “Ready to get spanked?”

  He laughs. “Yup, let’s see what you got, Coldwell.” He racks and breaks, sinking nothing on the break and the balls are spread evenly. “Fuck.”

  I beam and point at the orange stripe ball. “Thirteen, side pocket.” I lean in and sink it with a thwack. “Ten in right corner.” I hardly even have to bend forward to send it sailing straight into the pocket.” I grab my beer and chug the entire thing. “Nine in the left corner.” It is a bit of an angled shot, banking it off the opposite wall, but that doesn't matter. It lands with a thud in the pocket.

  “Holy shit, Brady!” Chuck glares at Dean who’s laughing. “You knew, didn't you?”

  “Yup.” Dean grins wide.

  “Fourteen, left pocket right here.” I nod at the pocket next to me.

  “Pshhhh. Whatever.” Chuck shakes his head.

  I glance back at Nat and wave. “I need my lucky charm.”

  Her lips spread into a big smile. “What?”

  “Lucky charm. Come on.”

  She makes her way over, scowling at the balls. “What’s the shot?”

  “Fourteen in this pocket.”

  She scoffs. “If you don't get it I can finish the game for you.” She winks. “You can be my lucky charm.” I wonder if everyone else in the room knows we’re screwing. She has zero poker face.

  I give Chuck a look. He throws his hands in the air. “I might have better odds if she plays.”

  I hand her the cue and she bends across the table, flashing that sexy ass in that short skirt. I stand in the way of the view, unable to stop myself. She doesn't care that I’m there. She looks at the angle one more time before looking back at me and shooting without even looking.

  She grins, but I can tell she’s listening.

  When the ball lands in the pocket she jumps up and gives the table a look. “Eleven in the left side.” She points with the cue before bending across the table, drawing all the eyes in the room. She taps it, sending it gently into its hole.

  “Jesus, do you guys do this as foreplay?”

  She gives him a look. “We play Xbox.” She looks at me and winks. I laugh, but she points at the last striped ball on the table. “Twelve in the corner on the right.”

  It’s another bank shot.

  She holds her breath as she lines it up and exhales as she shoots, nailing it. She passes me back the cue. “You want the eight ball?”

  I give Chuck another look.

  “I don't give a fuck.” He snarls. He’s a sore loser. I love it.

  I look at the worst shot on the table, giving him a chance. “Eight ball this pocket here.” I point to the one beside me.

  He rolls his eyes. “You trying to lose after a great show?”

  Natalie looks confused. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiles wide, cocking an eyebrow and pulling her phone from her pocket. She texts and grins. My phone vibrates. I shake my head as I pull it out and swallow hard, staring at the words she’s written.

  Scratch and I’ll make it worth your while.

  I bend forward, shooting and sinking the eight ball in the pocket to my left instead of my right. Fuck it.

  “Dude, you said the other pocket! I win!” Chuck shouts, clearly missing the shit-eating grin on my face.

  I want her to make it worth my while.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Slut shaming

  Natalie

  He gives me a look from across the room, lifting his beer to his lips. I sigh and swoon over the fact he embarrassed himself without a single explanation to Chuck. He took the loss like it was nothing.

  He suspected I could play pool. But it was more like he guessed and knew because he’s getting to know me well enough to be able to do those things.
>
  No one has ever done that before. Except Sami and my dad, but they've known me forever.

  And the sex in the alley was oh my God awesome. I’ve never come like that, against a wall outside. It was exhilarating to be doing something so wrong.

  I repay him for his look with a leer as I too suck from the bottle of beer in my hand.

  His mouth toys with a grin as I contemplate the feel of him against my body. His hands digging into my hips, lifting and thrusting. The feel of him inside me.

  It’s weird but the best part was that he wanted me to put my underwear back on. That was a move I regretted the moment I did it. I need underwear. I’m that girl.

  I’m excited that we’re going to do it again, but in a bedroom this time.

  Excitement isn’t the right word. My eyes draw to the crotch of his jeans, remembering what’s in them. The feeling of him filling me up and making us one still gets me excited, but I also fear the fact that he’s Brady my roommate and I’m not the girl who does this. Yes, I flirt. I laugh. I joke. I’m human. But I don't wear tight dresses and lie across pool tables. I don't send sexy texts. I don't screw in alleys. I don't act risqué.

  He has me coming out of a shell I didn't know I had on.

  I don't fit into his world.

  But it’s not his fault. He didn't invite me into the world. I forced my way in.

  Looking around the room I can’t help but grimace at it all.

  The whole thing has Liz uncomfortable too, even if she’s laughing and joking with Zach and Mike. I can see her scowling at the girls in tiny dresses all giggly and ditzy. She’s slut shaming and I feel like I am too, even against myself. I want so badly to be that girl who wears whatever she wants and declares to the whole world she isn’t asking for a guy to hit on her. I want to be Sami.

  But I’m not.

  I wore this dress to a hockey game, expecting to be hit on. I didn't change, knowing I was coming to an after-party, even though I let Brady screw me in an alley. Actually, I forced him to do it.

  I wanted Brady to want me and he does. And now that I have him I can’t use him the way a dirty guy like him is meant to be used.