Page 30 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Yeah, and he didn’t even get a nosebleed from the fun.” I laughed. “For like five minutes, he wasn’t NHL star Austin ‘Stone’ Callahan with all his walls and rules. He was just...Austin.”
Angel reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “That sounds like more than a potential hookup, Kate.”
“Which is exactly why it’s terrifying,” I admitted. “What if I’m reading too much into it? What if he just wants to scratch an itch? Or worse, what if he doesn’t even want that anymore now that he knows it’s messy, chaotic me on the other end of those texts?”
“If he didn’t want anything to do with you, he wouldn’t have danced in his living room today,” Angel pointed out reasonably. “And from what you’ve told me about Mr. Control Freak, dancing is pretty far outside his comfort zone.”
She had a point.
“So, what do I do?” I asked, desperate for guidance.
“Stop overthinking everything, for starters,” Angel said firmly. “You’re approaching this like one of your experiments, trying to control all the variables. Relationships don’t work that way.”
“They should,” I grumbled. “It would be so much more efficient.”
Angel laughed. “Listen to yourself! You sound like him now.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. So, your advice is...?”
“Follow your instincts. Stop analyzing and just feel.” She signaled the server for another round. “And maybe wear something other than those bacteria-covered pajamas to bed.”
“They’re microbes, not bacteria, and they’re cute,” I protested.
“They’re not getting you laid, Kate.”
I slumped in my chair. “God…Nothing is getting me laid at this point. I’m pretty sure I’ve friend-zoned myself with all my science rambling and coffee spilling.”
Angel’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You never know. Sometimes all it takes is the right moment.”
By the time we settled into the backseat of our rideshare three hours later, I was pleasantly tipsy and oddly optimistic. Angel always had that effect on me.
The car stopped first at Austin’s building. Angel gave me a teasing grin. “Text me details,” she whispered loudly as I opened the door. “Every. Single. Detail.”
Laughing, I waved goodbye, the icy Minnesota air quickly clearing my head as I hurried into the warm lobby. Angel’s advice echoed reassuringly through my mind as the elevator rose to the eleventh floor.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was overthinking this.
I leaned back against the elevator wall, rehearsing casual greetings in my head. I was determined to act normal—like someone who definitely hadn’t spent three hours discussing him with her best friend.
“Hey, how was your team thing?” Too casual.
“Evening, Austin. Lovely weather we’re having.” Too formal.
“Ready to pick up where our texts left off?” Absolutely not.
The elevator dinged, and I still hadn’t settled on an approach. Typical. I fumbled with my keys, eventually managing to unlock the door and step inside.
The apartment was mostly dark, save for a lamp in the living room casting a warm pool of light. I assumed Austin had already gone to bed until I heard a grunt of pain from the direction of the light.
I dropped my keys on the entry table and moved toward the living room, curiosity overriding my anxiety about seeing him.
What I found stopped me in my tracks.
Austin was in the center of the living room, dressed only in basketball shorts, his muscular torso gleaming with sweat as he attempted to stretch his injured knee. His face was contorted in a grimace of pain as he tried to extend his leg at an angle that was clearly causing him discomfort.
“You’re going to make it worse doing it that way,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked up, startled, then immediately straightened, as if caught doing something forbidden. “I thought you’d be out later.”
