Page 25 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
Scrunching her nose, she swats my wrist this time before pointing a finger at my face. “Stop judging me. I told you—I was lonely and tired. I’m sure you’ve fucked less-than-ideal people in moments of weakness.”
I shake my head. “Not that I can remember, no.”
“What about that influencer with the fake boobs as big as my entire head when you were in North Carolina?” she says. “I’ve seen pictures of you two together. What were you two up to, huh? Studying the classics? Starting a murder mystery book club? I bet she didn’t even know how to read!”
“Because her boobs were so big?”
“Yes!”
“That’s disrespectful,” I say, giving her stick another sharp tap with mine. “Not to mention anti-feminist. Where’s your loyalty to the sisterhood?”
Makena wages a full-on attack as she grunts out, “I am not loyal to all sisters, only the ones who deserve it. She didn’t deserve it.” Swat, swat, parry. “Her eyes were mean and squinty, and she wore furs that weren’t vintage and talked shit about you after you broke up.” She hits my wrist, my cheek—making me bleat in surprise—before returning to our heated verbal battle. “Which is bullshit, because you’re precious and no one shouldtalk shit about you. Especially for wanting to go to couples’ therapy, because that’s great. And you’re great. And…I can’t do this anymore, Parker.”
The battle ends as quickly as it began, both of us breathing fast as our eyes lock over our empty drinks.
“Can’t do what?” I whisper, really hoping she means…
Praying that she means…
Nix makes a sound like he’s choking. “Look at the time.” He scoots out of the other side of the booth. “I should get my name on the karaoke list before it fills up. Don’t want to deprive the people of my silky-smooth singing voice.”
Blue follows. “And I should go pack.”
We all glance his way.
“For Nepal,” he says simply. “Tomorrow.”
“Nepal?” Makena cocks her head to one side. “Like…the country?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, wedohave ten days off before summer conditioning starts,” I say. “Be safe out there, big guy. Don’t get too enlightened and join a monastery or whatever. We need you on the ice.”
Blue nods once, then he’s gone—moving through the crowd like a glacier through the ocean: big on top, but even bigger, deeper under the surface.
“Later, meat stick weirdos,” Nix says, snagging his stank drink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
And then we’re alone. In our cozy corner booth. In the bar where we first kissed. Breathing fast from a heated meat stick battle, with alcohol in our systems, unspoken feelings thick in the air, and the clock well past five.
“Can’t do…what was that again?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, her hand disappears under the table, and suddenly there’s warmth on my thigh. Just her palm, resting there through my shorts.
Not moving. Just…there.
My brain short-circuits for a second before I mirror her, sliding my hand under the table to find her leg. The denim of her jeans is soft under my palm, worn in all the right places. I squeeze gently, and she squeezes back.
It’s the weirdest, hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.
We sit there, staring at each other, not speaking, just…touching. Her fingers start moving, tracing little patterns on my thigh. I respond by dragging my thumb along the inseam of her jeans—slow and deliberate. Her breath catches, and her hand slides higher.
This is insane. We’re in public. In a bar where we’ve already gotten into trouble for making out in public once before, playing a silent, under-the-table game of chicken while Cobb’s husband is literally three feet away, delivering a tray of Platypus Surprises.
But I can’t stop.
Won’t stop.
Her fingertips are curling into the muscle of my thigh now, kneading gently, and I’m getting hard. So fucking hard, just from her hand on my leg through a layer of fabric like a Victorian virgin touched for the very first time.
