Page 1 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
Chapter
One
PARKER
Ihate weddings.
And love.
And tuxedos.
Okay, fine! I love weddings and love, and I’m honored to be one of my best friend’s groomsmen. I’m just cranky about romance at the moment.
And I look incredible in a tux, butfuck…couldn’t Grammercy and Elly have had this renewal ceremony indoors in the air conditioning instead of out in Maison Monteleone’s courtyard?
I get that this is where they met,yada yada, but we’re only two days into June, and Louisiana is already as hot as my big, saggy balls after a five-mile run.
I’m probably tremendously fertile and will make super-talented, good-looking babies someday, but my balls reallyaretoo much.
At the moment, they’re flat-out swampy, right along with the rest of me.
Sweat pools at the base of my spine, soaking through my dress shirt and into the tux jacket that feels like a torture device in this heat. Even with fans set up to stir the air, the humidity is intense.
But of course, Blue isn’t sweating. Not a fucking drop. The Voodoo’s star defender is built like a refrigerator and stays just as cool. He’s probably meditating the perspiration away. Or justwillinghimself not to sweat with the force of his Yoda vibes or something.
“Why aren’t you sweating?” I mutter. “Are you an alien?”
“Stop fidgeting,” he murmurs, barely moving his lips.
“I’m not fidgeting,” I whisper, tugging at my bow tie. “I’m suffocating. There’s a difference.”
I’m also suffering.
Because right there, across the aisle, the woman I’ve been dying to share air with since October is completely ignoring me. Probably because I’m sweaty and gross, but I can’t help it! I’ve always been a sweater. Allegedly, my mother took me to a dermatologist when I was just four months old. She wasthatconcerned about how sweaty my feet were, especially considering I didn’t wear shoes at the time.
But I have talcum powder and very good deodorant.
Even for my balls.
Ball deodorant is a thing these days.
When this drip fest is over, I will still smell fresh as a fucking daisy—a fact I could explain to Makena, if she would speak to me.
Or look at me.
Or acknowledge my existence in any way.
I narrow my eyes across the aisle, willing her to glance my way, to see that I’m still hot and kissable even when drenched in sweat, but she’s locked in on the happy couple.
I follow her gaze to see Grammercy beaming down at Elly like she hung the moon and discovered the cure for cancer, all while giving him the best blow job of his life. Beautiful, sure, but so over the top it’s enough to make a chronically single man set things on fire.
And isn’t a vow renewal a little much? Considering they’ve only been married eight months? But since their actual wedding was just them and the justice of the peace, they wanted to celebrate with friends and family. Hence, a hundred of their nearest and dearest packed into this courtyard, sweating through formal wear, while Elly and Grammercy stare at each other like there’s no one else in the room.
“Eloise Thibodeaux Graves,” Grammercy says, his voice carrying easily through the hushed crowd. “How to tell you what you mean to me? I worked for hours on these vows, but couldn’t find the perfect thing to express how grateful I am to have you as my best friend, my partner, and my girl. Not in English anyway, so I’ll just say…C’est toi. Toujours toi. La vérité de ma vie, et la gardienne de mon cœur.”
Fuck.
French.
