4. Miller

Ryan opens the door, glares at me, and then drops his bag beside his desk.

Not going to lie. I was a little bummed when I found out I was getting a roommate. Who wouldn’t be? I’ve never had to share my space with someone else for more than a few days at a time, and I thought it would cramp my style.

Especially when it came to getting laid.

Which I like doing.

A lot.

So yeah, I was bleak, but I cheered right up when I met him. Right up. All the way up. He had bags hanging off both shoulders and a huge box of books in his hands. He kicked the door open and held it ajar with his foot as he struggled to make his way in. I was looking at him, right in his eyes, when he saw me for the first time. His face was a picture. I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like that before. Disgust. Pure and unfiltered. Straight-up contempt without any attempt to hide it.

I was weirdly into it.

I’m weirdly into him too. He’s grumpy as hell and awkward as fuck, but he’s something to look at. Something unusual. He’s tall, not quite as tall as me, but close to six feet, I’d say, and he’s dark. Dark chocolate hair that spends most of its time falling into his face and being batted angrily out of the way, and rich olive skin. Brown eyes with crazy flecks of yellow and green near the pupils. Eyes that seem permanently narrowed when I’m around, teetering dangerously on the brink of being rolled every time I open my mouth.

“Where’ve you been?” I ask.

He lowers his chin and blinks hard as if that’s an incredibly rude question.

He’s not what you’d call classically handsome. He has this wild animal that’s been caged and is angry about it look about him. There’s something asymmetrical about his features and his nose is big. It has a high bridge and it’s hooked. Is he imperfect? Hell yes. But throw all that together the way it got thrown together when this guy was made, and damn. It makes it hard to look away. I can’t tell if I want to reach out and soothe him or if I’m scared to turn my back on him in case he drops fangs.

“Student Services.”

He looks angrier than usual, and it takes me a minute, but I get there eventually. “Housing department, huh?”

“Yep.”

“You ask them to move you?”

“Yep.”

He doesn’t even look embarrassed or sorry about it. I laugh out loud from the pure joy of finally having met someone even more of a dick than I am.

“Want me to help you pack?” I tease.

I can tell from his face that he’s going nowhere. He’s stuck with me big time. He sits at his desk without answering and opens his laptop, staring at the screen without typing anything, the same as he did yesterday.

I sit on the sofa and watch him for a while. His shoulders are raised and his head is tilted slightly to the left. It looks like he’s waiting for something. Bracing for impact. His T-shirt is worn, faded khaki with tiny bobbles on it. Though he’s tall, he’s lanky, and he could easily get away with a T-shirt that’s at least one size smaller. He has broad shoulders and narrow hips. His clothes hang off him in a way that looks high fashion but is more likely a product of not having a clue how to dress for his body type.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask in a sing-song voice I’ve been told is annoying. He blows a hard breath out his nose. It makes me smile. “You seem in a worse mood than usual.”

“Look, I’ve just spent half a day helping Emily move. I’m behind on my socio paper, and I have to go to work in a couple of hours.”

“Who’s Emily?”

“Emily Parker.”

“You know Emily?”

His shoulders tense, traps tightening. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I met her this morning.”

“You just met her, huh? Well, then, it’s awfully good of you to help her move.”

“Don’t say words like awfully. You can’t pull it off.”

I smile. I can’t help it. “Once you get to know me better, Ryan, you’ll see I can get away with all kinds of things.”

He chooses not to engage and makes a big show of reading his notes and underlining what he’s read with a yellow highlighter.

“Why’d you work so much anyway? Isn’t the point of being here to get a well-rounded education? Socialization is as important as studying. In fact, the networking we do here might be even more important than the piece of paper we end up with. How will you do that if you’re always working or studying?”

That does it. I had a feeling it would. He spins around in his chair, eyes flashing with rage.

“Newsflash, Miller, some people have to work. It’s how they get money.” He drags the last word out, lips tight, teeth showing. “For food and shelter and shit like that. Not everyone has a father who bankrolls everything, okay?”

“Oh,” I say as if that’s awfully interesting. “So what do you do?”

“Serve.”

“Where?”

He sighs very loudly, and his head tilts slightly as he looks at the ceiling. “Pepe’s.”

“Is it any good? I’ve been meaning to try it out.”

“Don’t.”

A low chuckle leaves me. “You don’t want to wait on me, huh? How come? I serve you coffee every morning, and you don’t see me getting weird about it.”

He spins his chair back to face his screen without answering. He’s had it up to here with me, and I’m not sure why, but I kind of love it.

He keeps his head down for ages. Doesn’t move or make a sound. I sit for a while and watch the back of his head. His hair is over-long, curling into the gentle curve of his neck. If he’s trying to maintain a particular style, three or four weeks ago would’ve been the right time to have it cut. His skin is tanned, smooth, and clear but fades a few shades as it disappears into the collar of his shirt.

I’d love to tell you about the rest of his body. I really, really would. Can’t, though, because, for some reason, my boy is cagey as hell about it. Pulls his covers right up to his armpits in the mornings and scurries back and forth to the bathroom, closing the door—and locking it—when he gets changed.

I take my tank off and toss it into the hamper. I don’t have any real reason to do it other than the fact that I have a feeling it bugs Ryan, and plus, I don’t spend half my life in the gym not to show this shit off.

I think I might make it my mission to lead by example while we’re sharing a room. Body positivity, self-acceptance, and all that. He flinches, head whipping forward a couple of inches as I throw it, even though it misses him by a mile. I stand behind him and watch him for a bit longer, fighting the temptation to trace my thumb up his spine and outline the bony knobs of each vertebra in his neck.

I wonder if he’d punch or slap me if I did it?

Strangely enough, both of those options hold some appeal. That’s unusual for me. I’m not usually into that kind of thing. At least not when it comes to receiving. I bet he’d be furious if I laid so much as a pinkie on him. Bet he’d jump up, fists balled, all indignant and shit. Bet those gold flecks in his eyes would light up. Bet he’d look wild.

Bet he’d look even wilder than he already does.

Bet he’d make a pretty sweet sound if I sank my teeth into the meat where his neck and shoulder meet.

Bet he’d groan softly and roll his eyes back, even if he meant to kill me later.

Bet he’d taste so good it might almost be worth it.

“Table for four.” I hand the hostess a folded twenty. “Could we sit in Ryan’s section, please?”

“Sure,” she trills, widening her eyes significantly. “We have a booth open near the bar. Are you friends with Ryan? Know him from college? He’ll be so happy to have you here. It’s just what he needs because he’s not having the best day. His truck broke down on the way to work, so he was in a bit of a mood when he got here—”

She prattles on as Dean, Trip, and Sienna take their seats. I hang back to ensure I get a spot on the edge of the booth.

Ryan arrives at our table a few minutes later wearing a face one would normally expect to see on someone who recently stumbled upon the scene of a heinous crime.

He sets the menus down on the table roughly. “What do you want?”

Trip and Dean look at each other in bewilderment for a second, and then they ready themselves to turn on Ryan. I cut them off with a hard look and an easy smile.

“Holy shit,” cries Sienna, eyes flashing as she looks him up and down, “are you the guy who used to tend bar at Vibe Check?”

“Yep,” says Ryan, flipping his notepad open and readying his pen to take our drinks order and get the fuck away from us as fast as possible.

“Thursday and Friday nights, right?” Jesus, Sienna, don’t make me regret bringing you out tonight. “My friend, Lori, always used to try to go when you were working. She’s the little one with the dark hair who talks a lot.” Ryan shows little sign of hearing her, but she doesn’t notice. “Why’d you stop working there?”

“Got fired.”

“No!” Sienna is outraged on his behalf. She’s only just met him, but it’s clear she can’t fathom a reason an edgy bar like Vibe Check would let a face like his go. In fairness, she does have a point. “Why’d they fire you?”

Ryan blinks and looks down his nose at her. “Something about an attitude problem.”

Oh God, he’s not just hot.

He’s complicated and rude.

Dean and Trip bob their heads and Sienna shakes hers at the preposterousness of that.

“What can I get you to drink?” He over-straightens his posture, clicks his heels together firmly, and then immediately looks mortified.

Jesus. He has no idea how to behave. None whatsoever. That’s his thing.

And fuck me, I’m into it.

Trip and Dean’s faces are a picture of slow confusion. Sienna, on the other hand, is charmed. Utterly charmed. It seems like it’s only just occurred to her how sad it is that waitstaff don’t do this kind of thing anymore and she’s only too happy to be part of it.

Ryan returns a few minutes later and dumps a bowl of chips and some salsa on the table, setting them down with enough force to make the salsa slop onto the table.

“Whoopsie.” Sienna smiles, turning her face slightly to give him a view of her best side as she mops the spill up with a couple of paper napkins before Ryan has a chance to do it.

Sienna better watch herself.

The last thing I need is her hot blondeness deciding it has a crush on Ryan. I don’t know his orientation yet. I think I’ve felt him looking a couple of times when I get changed, but it definitely seems like he’s a little less angry with Sienna than he is with the rest of us, and I can’t say I like that.

I shoot her a warning look. She licks a little salt off the rim of her margarita like a kitten licking cream from a bowl and pretends not to notice.

Fuck.

I keep an eye on Ryan as he waits on his other tables, barely able to keep up with the conversation as I watch him. I manage a few well-timed hmms and mmms, but that’s about it.

Ryan is a terrible waiter. That much is clear. Forgetful and harassed in the extreme, all but ready to commit an act of violence against one of his patrons at any given moment.

Still, I have a good time. I learn something new about Ryan: it isn’t just me. The tension around his shoulders is perpetual, and so is his bad mood. I take comfort in that. Plus, the food at Pepe’s is excellent, despite the fact I get chicken enchiladas instead of the beef fajitas I ordered. The flavors are amazing. I’ll definitely be back. And soon.

There are only a couple of tables still occupied when we leave, and it’s pouring outside, so I call an Uber for the others and wait in my car for Ryan to finish his shift.