That’s it.
I step into the guy’s personal space and lower my voice. “Be careful what you say because thatnerdis probably going to be your boss one day. Now, where the fuck is he?”
The guy’s too high to be mad. Hell, he probably didn’t even register what I just said.
“Hell if I know. Check his room. Upstairs, first door on the left.”
The house gets worse the deeper inside I go.
There are empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and empty beer cans on the floor. It looks like a fucking frat house, which I know must drive Hanlon crazy. He’s a neat freak. I climb the stairs and realize his bedroom is right over the living room, and I get pissed all over again. No wonder he can’t sleep. Any sound from the TV or a Bluetooth speaker is basically right under his pillow.
I knock. “Hanlon?”
No answer.
I knock again. “HANLON!” I shout.
After a few seconds, I finally hear movement on the other side of the door.
When he opens it, he looks absolutelywrecked.
One eye is squinting like the grimy forty-watt bulb in the hallway is too bright; his usually silky, wavy hair is standing in all directions, andgodfuckingdammit,he’s only wearing boxers.
“Stone?” he rasps my name, and Ihatemyselffor noticing how it sounds rolling off his tongue. In his underwear. With all his stupid fucking muscles and smooth chest staring at me.
“Pack your shit. We’re leaving.”
I’m pretty sure that’snotwhat I meant to say, but I don’t take it back.
“What?” Hanlon asks, obviously confused as I look everywhere except at him.
“You’re not living with these idiots for another nine weeks. You’re either going to die in your sleep from an asthma attack or from exhaustion from not sleeping at all.”
I push my way into his room and am not surprised to find everything is in meticulous order.
It also smells like him, and the scent is strong. Clean, masculine, and a little like…home.
My stupid, traitorous dick is letting me know he’s here for it.So, the fucker can’t get interested in ANYONE else, but he’s gonna have a whole fucking conversation about HANLON?
Just great.
“Where’s your bag? I’ll help you pack.” I move toward his closet because that seems like a logical place to start, and the faster we get out of this bedroom, the faster my sanity will return.
I hope.
“You’re insane. I’m not moving in with you,” he argues, finally waking up.
“Please don’t fight me on this, Hanlon. I just met one of your charming roommates downstairs. I wasn’t a fan. I’m surprised he could even find the door, being as high as he is.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Stone.”
“I’mnot. If I were fighting your battle for you, I’d raise hell with the housing department and get those guys evicted and never say a word to you about it. Instead, I’m making a reasonable offer.I have more than enough space. It’s clean. It’s quiet. And there sure as fuck are no weekend parties lasting until two a.m.”
I hold my breath as he deliberates.
When he opens his mouth, I think he’s going to tell me no until he asks, “You don’t microwave fish sticks, do you?”
The question is incredibly random, but I assume he has a reason for asking, so, donning my most horrified expression, I place a hand over my heart and gasp. “Absolutely not. What kind of monster microwavesfish?”
