Page 1 of Triple Play
CHAPTER ONE
THE ROOMMATE
Elise
The townhouse kitchen smells like cheap vodka and bad decisions when I push through the door at eleven PM.
Three shirtless hockey players stand around the island doing shots. Because, of course, they are.
I freeze. They freeze. For one beautiful second, nobody moves.
Then the guy in the middle—broad shoulders, messy dirty-blond hair, ice-blue eyes that used to look at me like I was the only person in the room—turns around.
Grant Wilder.
The bottle in his hand slips and shatters on the tile, sending shards of glass and vodka flying, but nobody moves to clean it up.
Two years. Two years of silence, of wondering what I did wrong, of trying to forget the way his lips felt on mine.
And now he’s my roommate.
Perfect.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His voice is flat. Cold. Like I’m a problem he needs to solve.
My heart does this annoying thing where it forgets how to beat normally around him.Traitor.
“Surprise,” I manage. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
The other two guys are staring now. One of them—golden hair, dimples, the smile of someone who’s never met a problem he couldn’t charm his way through—steps forward with his hands up.
“Okay, uh, awkward. I’m Jordie.” He’s trying hard to diffuse the tension. “You must be the mythical fourth roommate. Welcome to Casa de Chaos?”
I don’t look at him. I can’t look away from Grant.
He’s bigger than I remember, more muscle packed onto his frame, like he’s been spending the last two years punishing his body at the gym. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jump. There’s a scar through his lip I don’t remember—a high stick, probably. Or a fight.
The third guy hasn’t said anything. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, dark eyes tracking my every move. Calculating. There’s something coiled about him, like he’s always ready to run or fight and hasn’t decided which yet.
“I didn’t know you lived here when I got the assignment from the campus housing office.” The words come out sharp. Defensive.
Grant laughs. It’s bitter and wrong. “Sure you didn’t.”
Heat floods my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means Crestmont’s a big school, Hart. What are the odds you just happened to end up in my house?”
The nickname hits like a slap. He used to say it differently. Softer.
I drop my duffel bag. It lands with a thud that makes Jordie flinch.
“I didn’t know,” I repeat. Each word is a bullet. “But I’m not leaving. So we’re going to have to figure this out, Captain.”
The title lands exactly how I want it to. His eyes flash.
“Grant—” Jordie starts, but Grant cuts him off with a look.
“Which room?” Grant’s voice is arctic now.
