The Roommate Equation Page 3

  I don’t see the problem. Why is Sloan making a big deal out of where his sister sleeps?

  I blow out a deep breath, knowing I will never win this argument with Sloan. “I thought it would be more practical. Ash would have a kitchen and bathroom to herself with private access to the beach.”

  “We have seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms,” Sloan challenges. “And a personal chef that can make her whatever she wants to eat. She doesn’t need a kitchen. Ash would end up burning down the house if I let her cook.”

  “Hey!” Ash throws a couch pillow at Sloan’s head. “I can cook. I’ve lived on my own for years, thank you very much.”

  Sloan snickers. “Right. If I’m not mistaken, you set off the smoke detector making eggs.”

  Ash frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “That was one time. And it was an accident.”

  My eyes fall to her cleavage that spills out from her red tank top. She loves that color, and it suits her. Her nails are painted crimson to match her plump lips that are still imprinted into my brain after all these years. I can still recall how they felt against mine, how she tasted like cherries and summer.

  Some things you never forget.

  For me, Ash is one of those things and a constant reminder of how much I can lose control. How much I need to stay in control.

  “The guesthouse is fine with me,” Ash says with a defiant expression on her beautiful face. “I’d rather not see the skank parade you two bring home with you, anyway.”

  Sloan chuckles. “I’ll be on my best behavior while you’re here.” He holds up three fingers and says. “Scouts honor. And you’re not staying in the guest house.”

  “How long do you plan to stay?” I ask and come off sounding rude as fuck.

  Well, in my defense, this is my house. Is it rude to want to know when our guest is leaving? I don’t think so. This is an imposition for all of us. Sloan or I are not used to having a woman in the house for more than one night.

  Ash presses her lips together.

  Fuck, those sweet red lips could kill me. I want them wrapped around my cock, taking every inch of me. Making me come so hard I see stars.

  Get your shit together, Dylan.

  Head in the game.

  “This situation sucks,” Ash says, her eyes fixed on me. “But we can make the best of it, right?”

  She glides the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, knowing how to work every nerve in my body. We hate each other, or at least strongly dislike each other. I’m not sure what to think when it comes to Ash. I have to stay as far away from her as humanly possible while she’s eating, sleeping, and bathing under my roof.

  Fuck, the thought of her naked and wet, with the water running between her perky breasts…

  I need air.

  And a beer.

  Lots and lots of beer.

  And a fucking lobotomy.

  I stuff my hands in my pockets and nod. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

  “And to answer your question, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I’m homeless until I can get enough cash to pay my rent.”

  “I’ll write your landlord a check in the morning,” Sloan says with authority.

  “No you won’t,” Ash snaps. “I don’t want or need your charity.”

  “It’s not a big deal, Ash.”

  “It is for me. So leave it alone. Let me pay my own bills.” She shoots him a nasty look. “Okay?”

  A concerned look crosses Sloan’s face. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

  She nods. “Thank you.”

  “You can stay here for as long as you want.”

  Ash smiles in response.

  “Now that we have that settled,” Sloan says, somewhat annoyed, “let’s have a drink.”

  He moves into the kitchen in search of beer. We have an open floor plan where the kitchen, living room, and dining room are all one floor. I stand in the center of the living room, several feet behind the couch, unsure of what to do next. Even in my own house, Ash makes me uncomfortable. No amount of space or distance between us will ever take that away.

  Ash looks at me, her top lip raised an inch. She should hate me. I handled things like shit five years ago.

  “Hey, D,” Sloan says to me as he uncaps a bottle of beer. “Can you take my sister’s bags to her room?”

  When did I become the butler?

  “Yeah.” I glance over at the pile of crap Ash brought from her apartment and groan. “Sure. Where am I putting it?”

  “I’ll do it,” Ash announces. She slides off the couch and strolls past me. “I don’t want anyone touching my stuff.”

  “Whatever,” I deadpan.

  She bends forward to lift the large plastic container and whines, grabbing her lower back in pain. Annoyed with her independence, I close the distance between us, stopping a few feet behind her. I throw my hands onto my hips, willing my cock to calm down because she’s wearing the tightest spandex shorts ever made.

  Fuck, I need to get away from her.

  I haven’t had sex in a while, not with how busy we are with Date Crashers, and Ash is not helping the situation.

  “Now, do you need help?”

  Wincing, Ash rises to her full height and glares at me. “Like I would ever ask you for help. You would have to be the last man alive, and even then, I would rather die trying before I came to you for anything.” She lowers her voice. “We both know how well that turned out the last time I needed your help.”

  “Can you not do this right now?” I lean into her, my voice low. “How many times do I have to apologize? It’s in the past. Leave it there.”

  She grits her teeth. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

  “Don’t get on my bad side, or I’ll have to spank you,” I say under my breath.

  Ash gasps, while I laugh on the inside. She holds her breath for a few seconds before she rolls her eyes and snorts.

  “Like I would ever let you touch me.”

  Again.

  I have committed every part of Ash’s body to memory. She has a crescent moon birthmark on her side that every time I kissed it, she bucked her hips. She fisted my hair between her fingers and moaned my name. She encouraged me to keep going when I kissed my way down her stomach.

  She wanted it all.

  And I wanted to explore every inch of her.

  Feel her thick thighs in my hands.

  Grip her sweet ass as I fucked her with my tongue.

  Our first kiss turned into more than either of us had anticipated. We got carried away, desperate to shed years of pent-up sexual aggression between us. Ash wasn’t a girl anymore, even though she was still my best friend’s little sister. And after years of thinking about her in inappropriate ways, I couldn’t stop myself.

  Ash slings a garment bag over her shoulder. She has so many clothes stuffed inside that the weight of the bag forces her to lean forward to maintain her balance.

  I take it from her hand. “Stop being so stubborn and let me do it.”

  She laughs, following me down the hallway.

  “Which room do you want?”

  “Which one am I allowed to use?”

  “Pick a room, or I’ll choose for you.”

  “The one with the rock-and-roll wallpaper, I guess.” She smiles. “I like that one.”

  The designer Sloan and I hired suggested theme rooms to match each of our personalities. For the most part, the common areas in the house are pretty basic. The exterior walls are mostly made of glass, the ceilings high and vaulted. There’s a lot of white space and clean lines, simple but perfect for a bachelor pad. But the bedrooms each have their own identity.

  I push open the door. Inside, the bedroom looks like a replica of the Hard Rock Café interior. Our designer turned sheet music into wallpaper that’s covered with guitars owned by famous musicians and framed vinyl records. Ash’s eyes widen as she stares at the four-poster bed at the center of the room that’s overflowing with fluffy pillows that have
music notes on them.

  She darts over to the bed and jumps on it, making angels with her arms and legs. I almost laugh out loud and stop myself. Ash is still the girl I have known for most of my life. Not much has changed about her over the years.

  I hold up the heavy garment bag. “Where do you want this?”

  Ash sits up and tucks her hair behind her ears, her cheeks flushed. And now, my mind is drifting to that night. To the look on her face as I took her innocence, stripping her of the one thing I knew she saved for me. My mind always wanders back to that night when I’m around Ash… because it changed everything between us.

  She points a finger. “In the closet.”

  I hang her clothes on the rack, and when I emerge from the closet, Sloan is standing in the doorway with three bottles of beer in his hands.

  “You must have read my mind,” I say as I swipe a bottle and raise it to my lips.

  Ash takes a beer from Sloan. He taps his bottle against hers, and then all three of us at once.

  “To surviving you,” Ash mouths to me.

  Chapter Five

  Ash

  Slightly tipsy and not hating Dylan’s company, I sit on the couch next to him and sip from my beer. Dylan is drunk now, much less annoying than when I first arrived. More like the boy I once knew. Back then, Dylan was so chill. He had this nerdy coolness about him that always intrigued me.

  It made me want to know him.

  Sloan is lounging on the opposite side of the sectional couch, flipping through television channels as he drinks his beer. He speaks into the remote in his hand, and I can’t help but laugh. They have more technology at their disposal than Best Buy.

  Even the stove works through the Wi-Fi signal. I’d never heard of such a ridiculous thing until I accidentally clicked a button on the fancy remote, and the oven came to life, warming the house. It’s like I’m in a real-life episode of The Jetsons.

  “You can carpool with us tomorrow,” Sloan says.

  I cock my head at him. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Who else would I be talking to?”

  Dylan groans and then stretches his long body across the cushions, wearing a bespoke navy suit that perfectly fits his lean muscular frame. A silver tie hangs loosely around his neck. The top buttons of his white oxford are open, revealing a hint of dark hair on his chest.

  My eyes drift to him on occasion, though it feels like every second. He steals glances in my direction, keeping his cool around my brother. I do the same to maintain the charade. If Sloan ever found out about us, he would never speak to Dylan. He would never look at me the same way again.

  “What if I want to drive myself?” I ask Sloan.

  He gives me a bored look. “What’s the point? Our office is a few blocks from you. And you don’t have enough money to fill your gas tank for the rest of the week.”

  “How do you—"

  Sloan frowns. “Because you barely make it from one week to the next. You know I got you, right? If you need anything…”

  I wave my hand to dismiss him. “I’d rather saw off my arm than ask you for money. But thanks for the offer.”

  Dylan drinks from a bottle of vodka, acting uninterested in our conversation. He has upgraded in the past few hours to more potent alcohol, probably because he can’t stand being in the same room as me. But Sloan insisted we celebrate my first night in the house like one big dysfunctional family.

  “While you’re living under my roof,” Sloan says with an authoritative tone. “I don’t want you spending any money. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “I’m good.”

  “And if you can’t reach me, call Dylan.”

  I wouldn’t ask Dylan for help if I was bleeding out on the pavement and needed him to call 911.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say to end this conversation. “Whatever you want.”

  Sloan gives me a drunken smile. “You need someone to take care of you. I don’t like you living alone in Studio City in that shithole apartment.”

  “It’s not the Ritz Carlton. But it’s what I can afford,” I counter as I drink the rest of my beer. “Once you get used to it, the building isn’t so bad.”

  Dylan laughs under his breath.

  Sloan shakes his head. “It’s too much money for what you’re getting in return. The last time I visited you, I found a used condom in the stairwell.”

  “It would be nice if you’d stop nagging me while I live here,” I quip. “We all can’t be like you and Dylan and become millionaires overnight. Some of us have to work for a living.”

  “We work our asses off,” Dylan snaps, sitting up on the couch, his heated gaze fixed on me.

  I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, officer. Don’t shoot. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “We did luck out,” Sloan admits.

  “But we also bust our asses,” Dylan challenges. “Don’t discredit what we’ve done to make your sister feel better about her shitty life.”

  “Woah,” Sloan says.

  “Chill,” I add. “We’ve had too much to drink. It’s time for bed. I have to get up early, anyway.”

  “Good idea,” Dylan growls.

  He drops the empty vodka bottle on the table and storms out of the living room. Sloan watches him leave and then extends his hand to me.

  “Come on. I’ll show you how to work the alarm clock in your room.”

  “Oh, great.” I groan as he tugs on my hand and pulls me up from the couch. “More technology I have to figure out.”

  Sloan laughs. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  We enter my bedroom, and Sloan closes the door behind him, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Dylan doesn’t deal well with change.”

  I learned that from firsthand experience.

  “It’s okay.” I shrug. “I understand.”

  I tried to understand a long time ago.

  “He’ll come around,” Sloan promises. “Dylan needs time to adapt. But seriously, I meant what I said. If you can’t get a hold of me, I want you to call Dylan, okay? He thinks of you like a sister. He’ll help you out if you need it.”

  My brother has no idea how wrong he is about his best friend. There’s nothing familial about our relationship. I can still feel his lips on mine when I close my eyes and savor his warm skin pressed against mine. Sometimes, I imagine his hand dipping beneath my panties when I’m in bed at night. I hate myself for feeling something for Dylan, even if it’s only my sexual frustration.

  But it’s hard to forget your first love.

  Sloan gives me a one-arm hug. “Night, sis. We leave at six-thirty. Don’t be late unless you want to get on Dylan’s bad side.”

  I tilt my head back and laugh. “I’m already on his shit list.”

  Chapter Six

  Ash

  After I take a much-needed shower, I drop my towel onto the bed and slide open the glass doors that lead to the beach. I step onto the balcony, drinking in the salty air.

  This beats the hell out of my apartment and my view of a parking lot. I love it here, always did. If it weren’t for my issues with Dylan, I would visit my brother more often. But Dylan makes me feel so damn unwelcome. He makes it known that he doesn’t want me in his life… or anywhere near the precious world he has built for himself.

  I slowly make my way toward the end of the balcony, where a set of stairs lead to the beach. I’m dying to feel the crunch of sand between my toes and the wind in my hair as the breeze blows off the water.

  A soft light illuminates from the last bedroom. Creeping past Dylan’s window, I do my best not to make a sound as I take a quick peek inside his bedroom. If Dylan finds me outside of his room, he will think I’m snooping on him.

  I let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see him. He must have waited until he thought I was in bed before heading back into the living room.

  Dylan has always been a night owl. He likes to write code at night when he says his brain takes over, and he’s a slave to his creations. It m
ust be a creative thing because I also have my best ideas at night. I like to write my screenplays when everyone is asleep. But with my new job, I haven’t had as much time to pursue my art.

  At the center of Dylan’s room, there’s a California king mattress attached to a black metal headboard and footrail. The sheets look like black silk that I would love to roll around on after a hot bath.

  An entire wall is dedicated to a long computer desk with a handful of monitors and servers on racks. Dylan has a gamer chair in my favorite color, black with red stripes down the sides. Video game posters, covers of tech magazines, and pictures of Dylan and Sloan at Date Crashers events cover the walls.

  His room looks the same as when he was in college. Dylan might be sexy and somewhat irresistible, but he will always be a nerd at heart. That’s the boy I fell in love with. I loved him so damn much that I gave him everything—every part of me.

  When my bare feet hit the soft sand, I let out a moan that almost sounds sexual. Damn, this feels good. Smiling like an idiot, I rub my feet into the sand and stagger toward the water. This is my favorite part of Southern California. I love that you can drive almost anywhere and find the beach, dip your feet into the water, and soak up the sun.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump at the sound of the deep voice that booms behind me. I must have imagined it. No one’s on the beach with me, not this late at night.

  “Ash,” he says with a threatening tone. “Don’t ignore me. I know you can hear me. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  My heart speeds up, but this time, for an entirely different reason. Dylan. I spin around to face him. He’s on the ground, with a bottle in his hand and one leg propped up, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a comic book tee that hugs his chest. He changed since the last time I saw him. Now, he looks more like the boy I knew in high school.

  “I wanted to feel the sand,” I admit, now aware of how lame I sound. “And I wanted to see the ocean.”

  “You should be in bed. Sleeping. We leave for work in five hours.”

  I hover over him, staring down as he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”