The Roommate Equation - Jillian Quinn

Chapter One

Ash

He’s home.

The sound of Dylan’s engine forces my eyes open, and I slide off the bed, my skin tingling as if it’s on fire. After years of ignoring me, Dylan stuffed a note into my pocket last night before leaving my house.

Lake.

Tomorrow.

Midnight.

I have been a giant ball of nerves, on edge and unable to think of anything other than Dylan. He’s home fifteen minutes early, but that’s not much of a surprise.

Dylan is a control-freak.

He’s never late for anything.

I sit on the bench in front of my window that faces Dylan’s bedroom. All of my life I have had the pleasure of seeing right into his room, wishing I could become part of his world, dreaming we were together.

Dylan kills the engine of his father’s Camaro and gets out of the car. I watch him stumble up the driveway, and when he looks up at my window, I can’t breathe. He raises his hand and waves.

Shit.

Now, I can’t pretend that I’m not a total loser, waiting around for him on a Saturday night. I should have gone out with my friends. No good can come from sneaking around with my brother’s best friend.

Not like he wants to date you, Ash.

He probably needs my help with something. Dylan would never go for a girl like me. I’m too curvy, too average, and so not his type. Plus, he would never betray Sloan. He’s been friends with my brother for as long as I can remember. Most of my childhood memories of my brother include Dylan.

I give Dylan a quick wave.

He stares up at me, holding my gaze for a few seconds, and then tips his head to the side. There’s a lake behind our houses. My brother and his friends drank there when they were in high school. But with the ground frozen from winter, we will have the lake all to ourselves.

Dylan pockets his keys and walks toward the edge of his property. Like an idiot, I sit here, thinking, panicking, trying to keep my heart from escaping my chest.

Dylan wants me to follow him.

He wants to talk to me alone.

Without my brother around.

What the fuck should I do?

I lift my beat-up copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare from the bench beside me and flip to Romeo and Juliet. Last night, I shoved Dylan’s note between the pages to remind myself that Dylan can never be mine, no matter how much I want him.

After a few minutes of debating, I take one last look at the page with Dylan’s perfect handwriting and close the book. I have to know what he wants, even if this is the biggest mistake I will ever make.

The house is dark, quiet at this time of night. My parents are sleeping, and my brother is still at the party Dylan left to meet me. I throw on a chunky sweater and a scarf before I leave the house. It’s early January, too cold to meet Dylan outside.

After I slip between the hedges, I use the moonlight to help guide my way. I’m no stranger to these woods, but knowing the trails doesn’t make it any less creepy this late at night. An owl hoots from a distance, followed by other animals and sticks that make crunching sounds.

A chill runs down my arms as I approach the lake, where I find Dylan standing with his back to me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his North Face jacket.

“Where’s Sloan?”

Dylan turns around. His dark curly hair is cut shorter than usual, gelled to keep it off his forehead. He lets out a deep breath, his focus on his shoes as I stop in front of him.

“He’s at the party, probably staying the night with a girl.”

My heart hammers in my chest, making it impossible for me to catch my breath. We’re alone tonight, which terrifies me. I have never spent more than a few minutes alone with Dylan. A long, awkward silence passes between us.

“I hate myself,” Dylan says in a hushed tone that’s filled with pain.

“Why?”

His eyes lift to meet mine. “Because I’m an asshole for sneaking around behind Sloan’s back.”

“I can turn around and forget you asked me to meet you here. I won’t say anything to my brother.”

Dylan clasps my wrist and a wave of fire dances along my skin from the simple connection between us. I inch closer, taking in the scent of the cloves on his breath and his spicy cologne that I have committed to memory over the