RoomHates Carmen Black (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📖

girl we fucked, we’d send her number to the other guys afterwards. There’s no fighting over a girl when we’re all getting a piece. Hell, after a while we even started leaving reviews for the other guys to know who was worth it or not. Gymnast girl, Mitzi or Millie or whatever, had gotten five out of five.

Then Matt had gone and kept one for himself and he was living with her like a happy fuckin’ family. And now instead of it being a bro house we have to live with some weirdo bitch.

More sounds in the corridor: it’s Mitzi, or Millie. Flexible girl. She’s wearing a dress she wasn’t wearing yesterday. I lean forward and watch her as she leaves. The fabric’s low-cut: her boobs look great. She glances over at the kitchen as she closes the door: sees me, does a half-salute, and closes the door behind her. Class act. Some girls get weird about the bro code.

Lucas has been watching too. He raises an appreciative eyebrow.

“That’s Millie,” he says.

“Yup.”

“Psycho roommate has a better ass,” Lucas decides, “But Millie has the better tits.”

“You’re crazy,” I say. I think back to psycho roommate. Had I checked out her ass? Maybe I should, just to get something out of the experience. She wasn’t bad to look at, in general. The freckles were cute enough.

“What’s psycho’s name, anyway?”

“Rachel.”

“Huh,” Lucas says. He’s looked back to ESPN, but he’s clearly not giving an opinion on the football. I turn to face him properly.

“What?”

Lucas’ mouth twitches up, just a little. “Nah, it’s just… you don’t usually remember their names.”

For some reason, this really gets me riled. I glare at him. “Well, yea-a-h! I’ve been the one emailing the bitch all week about the fucking rent agreements! Bills!” This does nothing to make Lucas’ infuriating smirk lessen, and I up the ante. “Money, Lucas! Not that you give a shit, leaving your sneakers on the counter, kayak on the very expensive TV! Moneyed rowing asshole!” I flop back a little into the couch, anger dissipating. I’m not sure why that got me so mad.

Lucas leaves his plate on the couch as he stands up and wanders around the kitchen, looking for, presumably, a cup that isn’t full of swamp water.

“I bought the TV,” Lucas says. “And I bought the kayak. I like keeping my stuff together.”

“That’s a new one,” I comment as I watch him now hunt around the room for two matching shoes. Lucas is just careless with all of his stuff. He doesn’t worry about anything that isn’t the next conquest. Get on his wrong side, and he can be scary, but anything that doesn’t stand between him and his next rowing match, or his next girl, he’s the Dalai Lama about it.

Lucas finds two shoes that match and hops around the floor pulling them on. Lanky fuck. I’m not short, I’m 5’10”, which is statistically average, thank you, but Lucas is 6’6” and his hair, when he gels it up, is practically an extra two. I know you need to be tall for rowing, but he’s being excessive about it.

“You gonna lie around here and act like a bitch all morning?” Lucas asks, smirking over at me. “You didn’t even go out last night.”

“I just ran a 5K! What have you done this morning?”

“Gotten some sleep, Seth, try it sometime.” Lucas seems uncharacteristically bothered about something when he looks over at me. “How early were you up?”

“Five,” I say, and I follow it up quickly because I know he’s about to point out that I was still awake when they left the house at two in the morning. “What do you care how my sleep schedule is? Are you my coach now?”

“I just think you’d be less of an asshole if you slept consistently. It’s like the first rule of college athletics,” Lucas says, before pausing and gesturing at himself. “Look at me.”

I sputter. “You’re not an asshole? Was that a joke, Lukie? Did you just make a joke?”

Hunter comes into the kitchen just too late to have witnessed, effectively, a miracle. I point wildly at Lucas.

“Hunter! He made a joke! He’s finally done it!”

Hunter, who’s to his credit funnier than I am, immediately grabs Lucas and slaps him on the back. “You did it! Your parents are gonna be so proud, bro, so proud!”

Lucas pushes Hunter away, rolling his eyes, and walks for the front door. He yells over his shoulder as he picks up the backpack he’d left there. “I have class, you do too, go do something productive!”

“This is a turning point for you, Lukie!” Hunter calls after him, grinning wide. Lucas slams the door even harder than Rach-psycho roommate had. Hunter snorts, brushing hair out of his eyes.

If Lucas is our humorless tall rowing freak, and I’m the smart and handsome track and field guy, Hunter’s the muscle-bound quarterback. That is to say, he’s not just the quarterback stereotype, he really is the quarterback. Works hard and plays hard. I’ve never seen him go to any of his classes, but he doesn’t get kicked out because he’s too much of a campus icon to be touched. Everyone knows he’s going places once he’s done playing college football.

He’s clearly just got out of the shower: Hunter’s usually crazy about his hair looking Thor-like and shiny, but right now it’s wet and hanging in strands over his face. He’s also only wearing a towel, which has helped me with the shower deduction. I think he must have lost the feeling in his feet or something, because he’s wandering around the kitchen barefoot: I would want a whole other shower if I stepped on this sticky-ass floor. Hunter makes himself a PB&J while glancing over his shoulder at ESPN, and I try to pretend that I’m not going to be late for the first lecture of the day if I don’t leave.

Hunter breaks the silence.

“So,” he says, “Millie was definitely a good call, bro.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m giving her ten outta ten. Whole