Page 1 of Pucked-Up Roommate Deal

One

Nash Higgins

“Nash, what are you doing on the fourteenth?”

I didn’t look up, despite my roommate Porter’s random question. Sitting on the floor, my back leaning against the couch, I finished writing the equation I’d been working on. Part of it anyway.

“Nash,” Porter repeated, his voice demanding. “What are you doingon the fourteenth?”

Sighing at the interruption, I glanced up from my calculus book and the notes spread out all over the coffee table before me and slid my gaze over to Porter. Fresh from the shower, skin still wet and dark hair standing on end, he stood in the doorway of his bedroom, with only a towel slung low around his slim waist. The position revealed his hard belly and the thin trail of hair that led toward his junk.

God’s sake, Porter.

Heat tingled through me, and I wrenched my attention back to my work before I got caught staring. That didn’t stop my dick from reacting. Thankfully, the situation in my jeans was hidden behind my makeshift desk.

“You mean on Saturday? Two days from now? Probably this,” I rasped, sweeping a hand toward my homework. “Or some version of it.”

What else did I do? I studied. I went to class. I did everything I could to stay under the radar and not fuck up my scholarships. I wasn’t like Port, whose parents seemed to own half of the East Coast. I wasn’t here on a sports scholarship and destined to play professional hockey. Pass or fail, he had a place here at Rustin University because his dad and the school’s president were old pals. Conversely, my father was in prison someplace on the other side the county. I didn’t know where, and I didn’t care. My brother, Knox, and I went into foster care when I was fourteen, and I’d ceased to have any family but him.

“I need you to be my date,” Porter said.

My head shot up, my gaze stumbling over his eight-pack abs on the way to staring aghast at his serious expression. He wasn’t joking, and I couldn’t form thoughts. I scratched behind my ear, trying to think. I was a smart guy yet my mouth opened and closed a few times before I managed words.

“What? I…um… I, uh, don’t really… You—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved away my incoherent babbled protest. “I know. I’m gay and you’re straight. Which is very boring of you, but whatever. I have to attend this thing, and I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.Please.”

“Thing?” I choked. Like a party for his hockey team? Why would he need me?

“A country clubsoirée,” he said, his tone mocking the word soirée, and I figured there was a story behind that.

“And…why do you need me? A date?” I asked, trying to parse through his announcement the same as I’d try to dissect a math problem or computer code. I’d have far more luck with the coding or equations. Porter had my brain twisted.

“I have to bring someone—IsaidI’d bring someone,” he clarified. “If I don’t, they’ll hook me up.”

“Who isthey?” I asked, distracted by the way his towel had dipped even lower while we’d talked. And truly, I was kind of stuck onI need you to be my date.Porter might think I had no interest, but he was wrong. I’d known I was bi for about as long as I’d been aware my dick was for more than pissing. I just wasn’t in his league. I was a computer geek with a proverbial nerd squad backing me. Porter was a jock on our nationally ranked hockey team that had gone to the finals of the Frozen Four for four years running and would be heading there again next month. We were as different as Pluto and the Sun, both existing in the same space, but having little else in common.

Besides, I was too busy doing everything I could to keep my head down and graduate with honors in April.

“Theyare my cousin and her terror posse,” Porter growled. “You know how they are: oh, you’re gay? You just must meet my cousin. Oh, you’re a serial killer? No problem.” He planted his hands on his hips. “And I’m pretty sure the last one really was a serial killer—I swear I saw him on an unsolved crime show.”

“Porter…” I sighed.

“Come on. Do me this solid. I’ve never asked you for anything.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, letting him fill in the blanks. He’d asked me for no fewer than a dozen things this week, and it wasonly Wednesday. He might be a force to reckon with on ice, but, damn, he was needy outside the rink.

“Okay, fine,” he went on with an exaggerated sigh. “I haven’t asked you anything likethis.”

“That’s true anyway.” Besides helping him with “emergencies,” like picking up energy drinks on my way home or actually rushing back here because he’d lost something or another, I tended to tutor him in math and help him with essays so he didn’t get benched or kicked off the team. And that would be a tragedy. Porter was a star left winger for the Rustin Loggerheads.

“I’ll pay you,” he blurted suddenly, mistaking my hesitation. “I’ll cover your half of the rent for the next three months.”

If we’d lived in campus housing, that wouldn’t be much of a deal since we were so close to graduation, but since we lived off campus and would be staying here…

“Deal,” I said.

“Really?” he gasped. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

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