Page 46 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Doesn’t explain the chaos,” I noted.
She laughed, the sound warming something inside me. “Maybe the chaos is my rebellion. My bedroom was the one place they didn’t control, so I kept it messy. My work remained meticulous, but everything else...” She gestured vaguely to the papers around us.
“So we’re both fucked up by our parents’ expectations,” I summarized, surprising a laugh out of her.
“Pretty much. Just in opposite directions.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “You know what’s ironic? We both ended up in high-pressure careers where precision matters.”
“Except you can be precise about bacterial cultures while living in complete disorder, and I need control over every aspect of my environment.”
Kate’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “We’re like complementary disorders.”
“Is that a scientific term, Dr. Ellis?”
“Absolutely. I’ll write a paper on it someday.”
Our laughter faded into comfortable silence. I found myself studying her profile—the slight upturn of her nose, the curveof her lips, the constellation of freckles across her cheeks that I’d only noticed up close.
“What?” she asked, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I said, then reconsidered. “Actually, I was thinking that I don’t mind the chaos as much as I thought I would.”
Her expression softened. “And I’m finding that a little structure isn’t the end of the world.”
“Progress for both of us,” I murmured.
She shifted closer, her thigh pressing against mine. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“More personal than my childhood trauma?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Fair point,” she conceded with a smile. “I was wondering...Do you ever wonder who you’d be without hockey?”
The question hit like a body check I hadn’t braced for. “Why would you ask that?”
CHAPTER 11
KATE
The university department mixer was in full swing, but my mind was somewhere else entirely—specifically, in an apartment eleven floors up in a downtown luxury building with a certain brooding hockey player. I swirled my mediocre white wine in its plastic cup while pretending to listen to a postdoc ramble about grant applications.
“Kate! There you are.” Angel appeared at my elbow, looking fabulous in a dress that somehow managed to be both professional and sexy. She’d flown in from Arizona just for the weekend, insisting she wouldn’t miss a chance to support me—even if it meant enduring lukewarm wine and academic small talk. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’ve been hiding,” I admitted, gesturing to my corner position. “These things are torture.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “This is networking gold, and you’re sulking in a corner?”
“I’m not sulking. I’m observing. Very different.”
“You’re thinking about Hockey Hot Guy, aren’t you?” She nudged me knowingly.
I felt my cheeks flush. “His name is Austin, and no, I’m absolutely focused on advancing my career through awkward small talk and cheap Chardonnay.”
“Liar,” she said with a laugh. “Your face gets this dreamy look whenever you’re thinking about him. It’s disgustingly cute.”
“I do not get a dreamy look,” I protested, but even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
Angel grabbed my elbow, steering me toward a cluster of faculty members. “Time to mingle, Dr. Ellis. Dr. Barnes is over there with the department chair—go dazzle them with your bacterial brilliance.”
“I think I might have screwed things up with Austin,” I blurted, stopping Angel in her tracks.
