Page 1
ONE
DANIEL
I shoulder the door open to room 412, duffel slung over one shoulder, the cardboard box labeled “HOCKEY GEAR – FRAGILE (DON’T BE AN IDIOT)” balanced on my other forearm as though it’s full of live grenades. The room smells like new paint and the faint buttery ghost of someone’s microwave popcorn.
Standard double: two twin beds against opposite walls, two desks turned away from each other like they’re mad at one another, two dressers, two narrow shelves above the desks. No bunk beds—thank god, because these beds are uncomfortable enough for me at six two.
One side is already claimed.
A guy is sitting cross-legged dead-center on the neatly made bed to the left—sheets tucked with surgical precision, pillow centered at the top like it’s been aligned with a laser level. He’s got oversized headphones clamped over his ears, hood up, glasses slipping halfway down his nose as he hunches over a small folding tray table balanced across his lap.
On the tray: a digital scale glowing faintly, a beaker half-full of electric-blue liquid, a burette clamped to a ring stand, a notebook open to pages crammed with equations that look as if someone tried to weaponize math. A tiny green LED on some gadget blinks in the dim light.
He doesn’t look up.
I clear my throat, still balancing my stuff. Nothing.
Louder. “Hey.”
Still nothing.
I step all the way in and let the door click shut behind me. That finally registers. He startles—hard. The burette wobbles. A single drop of clear liquid falls into the blue solution, turning the edges in an instant into an accusing purple.
“Shit—” I mutter, and set my box down fast so I can help steady the still unstable tray. My foot catches the corner of the box as I pivot. It tips over, spilling my gear all over the floor. My arms swing out to catch my balance, and my elbow clips the edge of his tray table.
Everything slows.
The ring stand sways. The beaker teeters. The burette—still clamped—jerks sideways and knocks the beaker clean off the tray. It shatters on the tile floor with a crash, blue liquid exploding outward in a perfect starburst. The green LED gadget tips too, rolling under his bed with a pathetic clatter.
The guy yanks his headphones down around his neck, his gaze landing on me. Then he looks back at the mess, his eyes going wide behind his smudged lenses, mouth parting in what looks like genuine, personal betrayal.
I freeze, hands up in full surrender as the silence crashes around us. “Uh. Hi. I’m Daniel. Your new roommate…apparently…”
He stares at the spreading blue puddle. Then at me. Then back at the puddle as though I’ve just assassinated his firstborn.
Well, this is going spectacularly. I knew when I was told I would have a new roommate it could be a bad thing. I just didn’t realize I’d be paired with a guy that obviously takes his chemistry seriously.
“You,” he says slowly, “just destroyed my equivalence point.”
I blink. “Your…what now?”
“Equivalence point. The moment the indicator changes color to signal the reaction is complete.” He pinches the bridge of his nose so hard I’m worried he’ll have permanent dents. “I was literally one drop away.”
I wince. That sounds important. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I saw the setup, but I didn’t think—shit, let me clean it up.”
I drop to a crouch, reaching for the biggest shard.
“Don’t!” he snaps, then dials it back immediately. “It’s corrosive. And glass. Just… don’t touch anything.”
He slides off the bed in a smooth motion, grabs a roll of paper towels from the top of his desk, and kneels beside the mess. He blots in precise, methodical strokes, face completely blank.
And fuck, even in the middle of this disaster, he’s kind of ridiculously cute. Not that I’m looking, because I don’t do the dating thing, and I definitely don’t do the ‘sleep with my roommate’ thing. He’s off limits, even if he was the last guy on earth.
His glasses slide down his nose, and he absently pushes them back up with the back of his wrist. There’s a permanent crease forming between his brows; they are so deeply furrowed. His hood shadows most of his face, so I can’t see the full details, but there is something about the focused, grumpy intensity that is sorta endearing. Annoyingly so. He’s the kind of nerdy adorable that sneaks up on you and makes your brain short-circuit for half a second.
Yeah, no. I shake it off. Not the time or place.
I stay crouched, useless. “I swear I’m not usually this destructive. I’ll replace everything. Whatever I owe you. Just tell me what you need.”
