Page 7 of Shared by My Roommate

The bathroom is too small for the three of us, but we crowd in anyway. Nolan hands Sawyer a spare toothbrush, and Sawyer tears it open with his teeth. I end up at the sink first, squeezed between Nolan’s hip and the edge of the counter, and when I glance up at the mirror, all three of us are in it. Me, small and rumpled, flanked by two football players brushing their teeth in sync.

I catch my own eyes in the glass, still swollen and red at the rims. But the hollowness from earlier isn’t there anymore, and that’s entirely the fault of the man currently nudging me aside with his elbow so he can spit.

“Your sink etiquette is terrible,” I tell him.

“My sink. My etiquette.” Nolan rinses, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins at me in the mirror. His whole face changes when he smiles. I’ve always hated how much I notice that.

Sawyer spits, rinses, sets the borrowed toothbrush on the counter like he’s planning to stay a while, and the three of us file back out into the hallway.

“Let’s go to my room and watch it on my laptop,” Nolan says. “That couch is a crime against spines.”

“Works for me,” Sawyer says, and I say nothing at all, because the alternative is everyone going to separate rooms, and I don’t want that. I want to fall asleep between them with engine noise in the background and not think about anything.

Nolan’s bedroom is neat as always: bed made, clothes either in the hamper or the closet, a pair of cleats by the door, the smell of the same laundry detergent he’s used since he moved in. He drags the laptop off his desk, climbs onto the bed, and props it against the footboard on a folded blanket. Then he piles his pillows against the headboard and pats the space beside him.

“Finn, middle. You always get cold.”

I do get cold, though I don’t remember telling him that.

I climb in and the mattress dips under me, then dips again on the other side as Sawyer settles. The bed is a queen, which is generous for one person but intimate for three. I’m bracketed by them, and every place we touch goes warm.

Nolan kills the lamp, and the room goes black except for the laptop screen, where a menu loops in silence until he hits play. The movie is garbage and I love it. Cars fly, physics dies, as promised. I lose track of the plot almost immediately, because I’m tracking other things, the ones I’m not supposed to. Like the shift of Nolan’s leg, and Sawyer’s knuckles resting against my thigh where his hand lies on the bed between us.

Somewhere around the first race, Sawyer stirs. “Bathroom,” he mutters, and unfolds himself off the bed.

The hallway light cuts a blade across the room when he opens the door, then disappears with it. Nolan reaches toward the laptop and taps the spacebar to pause the movie, and the room goes quiet.

“Hey.” He turns toward me, up on one elbow, and the light from the frozen screen catches his face in blue and silver. His eyes search mine the way they did earlier. “How are you? Really. Not the doorway version.”

I think about it honestly. “Better,” I say, and it surprises me how true it is. “It still hurts, and it’s probably going to hurt for a while. But I’m not…” I gesture at the spot under my ribs where the ache sat all evening. “I’m not drowning in it anymore. Thanks to you.” My voice wobbles a little.

“It’s the least I could do,” he says simply.

He moves closer on the mattress, closing the space between us, and his hand comes up and cups my jaw. His palm is warm, and his fingers curve along the side of my neck, his thumb resting just below my cheekbone.

My stomach flips. “Nolan?”

“You deserve so much better than him.” His voice has turned low and rough-edged. “You know that, right? Drew was never in your league. Not for one day.”

“You’re just saying that because—”

He leans in and kisses me.

It’s not a soft, testing, straight-guy-curious brush of lips. His mouth opens and his tongue slides against mine, and he kisses me deep, slow, and thorough. Like he’s been thinking about it. A needy groan climbs out of my chest into his mouth, and he answers it with one of his own, and the sound of it goes straight to my groin. His hand slides from my jaw into my hair and grips.

I have wanted this for two years, ever since he moved in. I have buried it under a boyfriend and the iron law that you do not want the straight roommate who is kind to you.

Now I kiss him back with everything I have. My hands find his chest, fist in his t-shirt, pull him closer, and he follows, rolling half over me, his weight pressing me into the pillows. The kiss goes deeper, hungrier, his stubble scraping my chin, and the contrast with the softness of his mouth makes me dizzy.

I’ve been kissed plenty in my life, but this is different. Nolan kisses with total attention and commitment, like he does everything else. When I tilt my head, he follows. When I suck on his lower lip, he exhales through his nose and presses in closer, and his knee slides between my thighs. I make another one of those embarrassing sounds, and he swallows it and gives me one back.

A floorboard creaks in the hallway.

We tear apart so fast my lip catches on his teeth. My heart slams as I blink at the doorway, and Sawyer is frozen in it. He is staring at us. At me, flat on my back with my hair everywhere, and at Nolan, half on top of me, propped on one arm.

Nobody moves or says anything. My brain offers me no words, no plan, and I have no idea what the rules are here.

Nolan is the first to break the silence, clearing his throat. He pushes himself up to sitting, slow and unbothered, and says, “Hey. You were missing the good part, so I paused it.”