Chapter 11: Rinkmates: Chapter 11

The apartment was dark, save for the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds, casting amber shadows on the walls as I silently close the door behind me. I thud my gear bag to the floor, and peel off my jacket, wincing as my shoulder protests the movement.

Man, the game had been intense.

I was allowed to play, but our rival team, the North Carolina Thunderhawks, had a target on my back. Despite not throwing any punches (thanks to biting down hard enough on my tongue to draw blood), I still ended up in the sin bin more often than I wanted. But I didn’t let those assholes get the best of me. They wanted to get me back on the bench. But we won, and I scored, baby. Fuck the shoulder.

My stomach growls, reminding me I’m starving.

Yawning, I shuffle to the kitchen, my eyes set on my cereal like it’s the holy grail. It’s always been my thing. After a hard day, I earned myself some Fruit Loops. I just hate eating all that perfectly healthy food my dietitian organized for me. So every now and then I deserve my bowl of sugary cereal. But just as I yank open the fridge door, I almost knock myself out with it.

Because right there, sprawled out on my couch, sleeps Liora. My eyes inevitably drift to her bare ass, barely covered by a tiny blue ballerina dress that rides up those glorious cheeks. I let out a sigh and bite down on my fist, trying to will away the impulse to stare at her perfect curves as if I haven’t seen any before. I’ve seen them all. But hell, this is different. She’s my roommate. And damn, what an ass.

The moonlight streams in through the window, casting a seductive glow on every inch of her body, and I can’t help but stare for a moment too long before jerking myself back to reality. Thou shalt not ogle thy roommate’s perfect ass was probably carved somewhere in that silly contract.

But how am I supposed to resist when it’s right there, taunting me? It’s like trying to ignore a glowing neon sign that says, Look at me! Bite me!

Fuck it, it’s just an ass. A really fucking amazing ass. I grind my teeth and turn away. Something must be wrong with me. I’ve seen plenty asses before. But none have made me bite into my own fist like I want to take a bite out of hers. Shit, this could be a problem.

Trying—and failing—to be quiet, I rummage through the fridge for the milk. I just need to focus on something else. I’m a pro hockey player. I’m a focused person. I can avoid that ass. I can resist staring at a girl. What kind of thought is that, anyway? Like I am so weak-willed that I cannot resist the sight of a stranger’s bare skin. It’s pathetic and stupid, really.

I pour the milk into a bowl, then grab my cereal, dumping it in. Just as I’m about to turn around and go to my table, I freeze. I won’t admit it, ever, but I know that if I turn and see her again, I’ll be glued to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away.

Normally, I’m strict about eating at the table, but here I am, nibbling while standing up, trying to keep my eyes on the fridge. My mind spins with exhaustion from the game and…something else. Something intoxicating, electric, that I can’t quite name. It’s her. It’s always her. I want to stare at her so badly, but I do everything I can not to. I force myself to face the fridge, gripping the bowl, desperately trying to think of anything other than the pull I feel.

I grab my phone and text Jay.

Riley: I’m an idiot.

Jay: I know.

Riley: That’s all you say??

Jay: You’ve got so many problems, man.

Riley: I want to fuck my roommate.

Jay: You’re an idiot.

Riley: I came home and she flashes her ass, sleeping on my couch.

Jay: It’s her couch now too. Stop being a creep and go to your room.

Riley: Why do you think I’m being a creep? Maybe I am in my room.

Jay: Go to your room! You can fuck someone else. Not her.

I finish eating as quickly as I can, feeling nauseous from wolfing it down. Just as I’m putting the bowl in the sink, my eyes betray me and I look at her again. My stupid dick stirs. Seriously, fuck. I need to talk to Ethan and Nina. I can’t live with a woman without thinking about sex. When Jayce told me I can’t have sex with her, my brain wanted her more. Not even going to talk about my dick. That thing wants her all day. I’m going to mess this up. They can’t expect me to have her—and that ass—in my apartment and not think about it. It’s impossible to resist when they practically handed me my dream woman on a silver platter. I have to stay away from her or risk losing my career for good. Fuck. My. Life.

I quickly sprint to my room, refusing to even glance at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. But as I’m escaping to safety, I happen to catch a glimpse of her shivering legs and stop. She’s freezing. Not my problem, not my problem…but wait, maybe it is my problem. What if she gets sick? I trudge back and grab a blanket. And that, folks, is what we call being a responsible adult.

Yet, as I approach her, I’m paralyzed.

She looks so peaceful, and all I want to do is touch her. No, I need to stop this. I need to get it together. If I could, I’d punch the shit out of me right now.

Her breathing is slow and even, and I can’t help but notice how soft her skin looks under the pale moonlight streaming in through the window. My heart starts to race as I reach out to gently push the blanket over her body. My fingers brush against the smooth fabric of her dress. She makes a soft sound in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent, and turns over slightly on the couch. And I think my soul just left my body. My heart is hammering up to my temples and I seriously question my sanity.

Her head tilts to the side, and a strand of blonde hair falls into her face. Acting on instinct, I gently tuck it behind her ear, my fingers grazing against her cheek. I quickly look away, trying to ignore the burn on my cheeks as I realize what I just did.

Enough.

I finally rush back to my room.

In my bedroom, I lie down under my covers, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazily above me.

I try to shift my thoughts away from her velvety skin. Those rosy cheeks. The way I wanted to bite into her ass. I know I need sleep—tomorrow will be a new day and everything will be back to normal. I count sheep.

But those damn lambs just keep transforming into Liora’s perfectly sculpted ass, causing me to let out a sigh. Fuck. Sheep-induced arousal is not something I ever thought I’d have to deal with.

Don’t fuck your roommate.

Don’t fuck this up, Riley.

All kinds of people are yelling in my brain right now, screaming at me for seeing her this way. But I’ve always wanted to fuck her. And I have several times in my mind before. Why stop now? I run my hands over my face.

My cock throbs against the tight fabric of my underpants.

I’ve fantasized about her countless times. Her lips pressed against mine, her clothes slipping off under my touch.

My cock is rock hard now, aching for release.

She’ll never find out. It’s only me and my hand.

I groan again and throw off my blanket in frustration as I slip my hand in my pants. She has no idea what I’m doing. She’s sleeping. Nothing will change if I imagine this one more fucking time.

In my mind her curves get closer and closer until they’re tangled up with me, until she sits on my face. I fist my cock and it twitches against my hand. Fuck, this feels good.

Without pausing to consider, I firmly grasp my cock and begin stroking it slowly at first, savoring the firm texture against my palm as I envision her hands gliding through my hair and down my chest while we kiss on my couch. In my mind, I didn’t return to my room. Instead, I fuck her right there as she lies before me. And she craves it. Enjoys it. Oh, she wants it so much. Wants me.

I just know her pussy would taste sweet like cotton candy.

I know my hands would greedily grab onto her plump ass cheeks.

Something primal escapes my lips.

Yeah. I just know her mouth would be so plush and needy against mine.

And when I come, I come so hard I have to promise myself to forget this naughty image of her. To straight up delete her out of my mental system and remind myself to do everything I can to never see her like this again.

It’s going to be six months. Fuck. It’s going to be a challenge.

I watch the empty cereal box clatter into the trash can, remnants of Fruit Loop dust mocking me. She ate them. She fucking ate my cereal. The one thing I hid from her. She can have anything. Anything but my cereal.

I never thought I’d say it, but living with Liora has been the absolute worst.

I messed up, and she’s not giving me an inch of slack ever since. She’s even punishing me with emptying my cereal.

Fantasizing about her the other night caused an intense orgasm that left me wanting to shout from the rooftops. And then I couldn’t help but snap at her for sleeping on the couch. I know, I know. Major asshole move. But when I met her in the kitchen the next morning, I just panicked, as if she knew what I had been up to.

I thought it’d be better to make it clear she needs to stay in her room, locked away from me because, hell, I can’t get obsessed over her again. I just can’t. If we fuck, I’ll ruin it, and she’ll quit. It’s better to set boundaries, make it clear this has to be professional, and we both need to stay in our fucking rooms.

It’s been three days ever since, and I’ve managed to avoid her for the sake of my sanity. But now she’s crossed a line—not one Loop is left. It’s the one thing that keeps me grounded after a long day. I storm down the hall, not bothering to knock before I burst into her room.

“Did you seriously eat all my Fruit Loops? What the hell, Liora? ”

She looks up from her laptop, surprise flashing across her face before it’s replaced by irritation. I barely register that she’s on a video call before she snaps something in Hungarian and shuts the laptop.

She stomps toward me. “First of all, you don’t just barge into my room like some crazy maniac! Ever heard of knocking, genius? And second, you said I could have anything in the apartment. Did you forget that or what?”

“I meant furniture and stuff. Not my freaking cereal. I hid it for a reason!”

I throw up my hands, my frustration mounting. But it’s not just the cereal; it’s everything. It’s the way she’s always in my head, making my pulse race when she’s supposed to just…not.

Her eyes narrow, and there’s that dangerous spark again—the one that both infuriates and excites me. “I need that cereal. It keeps me grounded.”

“I’m sorry. Will you forgive me, Your Majesty? I had no idea your sacred cereal was off limits. Next time, I’ll make sure to consult the almighty Riley Huntington before I dare touch anything in this holy place!”

I try to keep my cool, but it’s hard when she’s so close. “Like I said. You can have anything. Just not my fucking cereal. It’s not that complicated!”

“You’re such an ass, you know that? It was the only thing we had left,” she says, her voice sharp, but it’s the way her eyes lock onto mine that makes my breath catch.

“All right, but if you use something up, make sure to replace it, okay?” I say, but all I can focus on is that anger in her gaze—it’s fiery, almost magnetic. Fuck, it’s so hot. A heated pull that makes my pulse race.

We’re standing so close now that her warmth radiates back from her.

“Fine. You’re— It’s just—” she stammers, her gaze darting to my lips.

Something in the moment makes her trail off, and I find myself at a loss for words as well. I look at her chest rising and falling with each breath, hoping it’s a subtle sign of her own racing heart. The space between us feels so fucking charged and I catch myself leaning in slightly. In just a moment, she flipped me from boiling mad to feeling genuinely sorry. What the actual hell is going on?

Liora tilts her head up, her plump lips parting just enough to make me wonder how it would feel to kiss them. There’s a visible struggle on her face, her breath catching as if she’s fighting the urge to move closer too. I can’t do this. I can’t kiss her now. We need to live together for six more months. I can’t mess it up now.

Just as I’m about to bridge that damn gap between us, she turns away abruptly, her face flushing. That’s when I notice what she’s wearing—a white silky top and shorts, no fucking bra underneath. My heart skips a beat, and I quickly turn around, trying to focus on anything other than how soft her skin looks, how close she is, how close we were to fucking kissing. Shit. This is ridiculous. I planned on hating her, not kissing her.

The second I turn she says, “Fine. I won’t touch a thing in your apartment anymore, okay?”

She still glares at me, but there’s a flicker of something softer in her eyes now, something I’m not sure I can handle.

“Well, that’s gonna be tricky considering we’re stuck here for the next six months.”

For a second, we’re just standing there, probably realizing at the same time that we’re indeed going to live in this limbo for months.

She breaks the tension by flipping her hair and huffing, trying to act like she’s not affected. “It’ll be fine. Just do me a favor and get over yourself.”

“Get over myself?”

“You’re throwing a fit over Fruit Loops like it’s the end of the world, Riley. Living with you would be a lot easier if you’d stop being such a hothead. I’ll replace it and never touch it again, okay?”

I cross my arms, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. “How about you just say sorry? Or is that too much for you?”

“I’ve already apologized! How many times do you need me to say it?”

“It was sarcastic as hell.”

“Fine. Sorry I ate your cereal. Why would you even yell at me like this over fucking cereal?”

“It’s not just cereal.” This. Woman.

She rolls her eyes. “Then what is it? Tell me. Please.”

“Maybe it’s because it’s the only thing in this apartment that’s not driving me up the wall!” I shoot back. “And the way you’re always right there, just—” I pause, pointing at her, at the way her boobs are just so fucking perfect “—just making everything so much harder.”

“Well, why don’t you just kick me out then, huh?” she snaps.

“Maybe I will!” I yell back, but my voice lacks the conviction. The truth is, I couldn’t kick her out even if I wanted to. The idea of her leaving makes my chest tighten.

For a moment, we’re both silent, breathing hard.

With a defiant glint in her eye, Liora sighs deeply and says, “I’ll get you another box. Just…just leave me alone now.”

That’s the problem—I can’t. I open my mouth to apologize once more because yes, I acted like an idiot again, but before I can say anything, she marches over to her speaker and cranks up a Hungarian pop song at full volume.

“Oh, real mature!” I shout over the music.

“Since you’re so bad at reading the room, I figured this would make it clear that I’m done talking to you,” she yells back.

Unbelievable.

If she wants war, fine. She can have it.

I head back to my room and blast a rock song loud enough to shake the windows. As I relish the way she yells at me, calling me immature, too, a nagging thought won’t leave me: I can’t help but wonder if we’re both just waiting for the day when hating each other isn’t enough anymore.