He was supposed to be gone all night at some fancy event for the city. I was supposed to have time to clean my mess, get my clothes hung in the closet and my books picked up and piled neatly before he came home. This place is a disaster, and I was hoping to make a better third impression on Ryan Shay.
Kicking my piles of clothes into one, I try to take up as little space as possible, hoping he might not notice the bomb that went off in his home since I moved in two hours ago.
“What. The. Fuck?” His tone is dry and even.
Attempting to get myself together, I brush the stray, wispy hairs away from my face and plaster on my most charming smile. It works every time.
“Hi—” I turn around with a wave, but it dies in the air when I see the owner of this apartment standing inside the doorway.
I’ve met Ryan twice. Once he was shirtless and the other time, he was in casual clothes at a bar. But right now? In a fitted suit? Jesus Christ, I can’t live here.
It’s black with a subtle pinstripe throughout, and the dark color somehow makes his blue-green eyes that much more vibrant. His light brown skin and freckles match his twin sister, but I can guarantee I’ve never looked at Stevie the way I’m staring at her brother right now. Licking my lips, my eyes wander over his hair—chestnut and freshly faded on the sides with a bit of the Shay signature curls on top.
Ryan and Stevie’s mom is a white woman with freckled skin, blue eyes, and copper hair. Their dad is a black man, tall with a head of dark curls. The Shay twins are a combination of both their parents, but Ryan and Stevie seem to have inherited all the same attributes.
I’ve blurted it out both times we’ve met, but Ryan Shay is hot. He might be a robot, but he’s the sexiest robot I’ve ever seen.
“Indy.” He snaps me out of my trance.
Closing my mouth and crossing one leg over the other, I meet his eye. “Hmm?”
“I asked what the hell happened to my apartment?”
“Oh.” I awkwardly laugh. “You see, I’m organizing.”
“Organizing?”
“Yep.” Motioning to the chaotic mess I made on his living room floor. “My clothes.”
“If that’s your version of organizing, I don’t know if this arrangement is going to work out.”
I laugh at his joke before realizing, unfortunately, there’s no teasing in Ryan’s tone. He’s serious.
He hangs his keys on the small rack by the front door like the organized monster he is before quickly taking off to his bedroom without giving me a second glance.
This third impression is going to shit just like the last two.
“I was thinking maybe we could have breakfast tomorrow,” I quickly interject before he hides himself in his room for the night.
He doesn’t spare me a look as he reaches his door. “No.”
“It’d be nice to get to know each other, you know, since we’re living together now.”
“No.”
“Okay, no breakfast. You’re a busy man. Maybe lunch? Or maybe you don’t eat. Robots don’t eat.”
“What?”
That finally earns his attention as his head snaps in my direction, his aggressively ocean eyes locked on mine.
I swallow. “Kidding. It was a joke.” Another awkward laugh. “Coffee? It’d be nice to get to know the person I’m living with. Who knows, maybe we’ll even be friends?”
His eyes narrow.
“Okay, no friends.” I hold my hands out in defense. “No friends. No food. No fun. Got it.”
A soft chuckle vibrates in his chest and at first, I enjoy the sound, thinking he might find me funny, but then I realize the laugh is condescending.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t want you here. I didn’t ask for you to move in, and the only reason you’re here is because you’re my sister’s friend and I’m the reason she doesn’t have very many. I like my space, and if it were my choice, I’d be living alone. So, no, Indiana, we’re not going to be friends. We’re going to coexist in the same apartment until you can find yourself a different situation while I fulfill my brotherly duty.”
He closes the door behind him a little harder than necessary.
Fucking ouch.
The third impression was worse than the first two.
3
RYAN
Fuck.
Sinking my forehead to the back of my door, I close my eyes with regret.
That was mean and I didn’t intend to be. In fact, the entire walk up here I kept reminding myself to be nice, trying to come up with some stupid greeting to say to her for the first time.
Welcome home. No, that makes it sound like our home.
Happy you’re here. That’s a lie. I’m not.
Anything you need, let me know. Don’t let me know. Get it yourself.
Every phrase I rehearsed sounded exactly like that…rehearsed.
The plan I came up with was a simple, “I’ll get a spare key made for you,” before walking to my room where I could have a moment alone.
But then I saw her standing there barefoot in the middle of my living room, wearing a sweatshirt so oversized I’m still not convinced she’s got anything on underneath. Her blonde hair was in a braid flowing over her shoulder, but most of the pieces were pulled out in a frazzled mess. Her brown eyes were softer than I remember and that just pissed me off.
All night long, my teammates gave me shit about her moving in. They’ve met her once, about five months ago and I thought the lasting impression she left on them was because she threw up all over my shoes that night. But unfortunately, the only memory they have of her is that she was an absolute smoke show.
I knew she was pretty. I’m not blind, but there’s no way she was as beautiful as they recalled. I was certain they played it up in their minds.
They didn’t.
I walked into my apartment and realized my mistake. They were right—she’s stunning, and I hate it.
I’m not easily distracted, but if I could manifest my perfect distraction, it’d look a lot like her.
I can’t have someone like that living here. I don’t want anyone living here. I need my space. This apartment is my one reprieve from the outside pressures. I need to concentrate on my first season as Captain, and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to do that when my roommate looks like she just stepped off the beach with her sunkissed legs, golden hair, and her colorful clothes strewn around my apartment floor.
Fuck this. I need to go to the gym.
Maybe I’d be a little calmer if I had a moment to relax and prepare to come home to a new roommate, but I didn’t have a single calm minute tonight. I was being watched and therefore on edge every moment of the evening.
Typically, the stares are from fans and reporters, observing my every move, but ever since my promotion, Ron Morgan, the team’s General Manager has been watching me with more disdain than normal.
Ron liked me for the first three years I played for him, or at least he liked me as much as an employer can like an employee whose salary takes a large chunk of their yearly budget and has yet to lead the team to a championship, let alone the playoffs.