Fake Dating The Hockey Captain AKA My Roommate

001

ROOMIE

AURORA

Her side of the room is a hot mess.

My roommate I mean..

Clothes are hanging halfway out of drawers and the bed looks like somebody wrestled a bear on it and lost.

I stand frozen in the doorway of Dorm C, Room 214, one hand gripping the handle of my suitcase while the other clutches the crumpled housing paper that definitely says female roommate requested.

Requested being the important word, apparently.

A sigh leaves my lips.

“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “Not judging. Maybe she’s going through something.”

The room itself is huge compared to the tiny apartment Mom and I shared back home. Two beds sit on opposite sides, divided by a narrow aisle. Large windows overlook the hockey arena outside, sunlight reflecting off the ice like glass.

Ice.

Just seeing it makes my chest tighten with excitement.

Northford University.

The school people only whispered about at competitions because it was nearly impossible to get into on an athletic scholarship unless you were rich, gifted, or both.

I’m only here because of three reasons. The first one being that I skate. The second is that my boyfriend Brian goes here. And the third reason which means the most to me is because my mother worked herself to death to help me get here.

So no, I’m not about to complain about one messy roommate.

Even if her side of the room looks like a tornado touched down.

I drag my suitcase inside and shut the door behind me before rolling my shoulders. The eight-hour bus ride here has officially murdered my spine.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly to the empty room. “I’m Aurora Chen. Figure skater. Scholarship student. Chronically broke.”

Silence.

I nod to myself.

“Cool. Nice talk.”

Dropping my bags beside my bed, I glance back at the disaster zone across from me. Maybe cleaning a little would help break the ice when she gets back.

I mean, what kind of roommate would I be if I just ignored the mess?

A better one than me, probably.

I step toward the opposite side of the room and start picking clothes off the floor.

Then I pause.

A massive shoulder pad sits near the desk.

I blink.

“What the hell?”

I lift it carefully.

Definitely hockey gear.

More of it is shoved beneath the chair beside a hockey stick leaning against the wall.

Okay.

Maybe my roommate has a boyfriend who plays.

That has to be it.

I mean, there’s no way...

My eyes snag on a framed photo turned face down on the desk.

Curious, I flip it over.

A dark haired guy in a hockey jersey smirks at the camera with his arm around a pretty brunette.

Both definitely not my roommate.

I stare at the photo.

“…Maybe the boyfriend lives here,” I decide.

That makes sense.

Probably too much sense.

Still, something feels weird.

I glance toward the bathroom door before walking over and pushing it open.

Then I freeze.

There’s men’s deodorant on the counter.

A razor beside the sink.

Black boxer briefs hanging from the shower rod.

My brain immediately rejects the information.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

Maybe her boyfriend showers here sometimes.

Maybe he practically lives here.

Maybe...

My gaze lands on the cologne bottle sitting beside the sink.

A very expensive-looking cologne bottle.

I slowly back out of the bathroom.

“Nope,” I whisper. “No. Housing wouldn’t do that. That’s illegal. Probably.”

Right?

…Right?

I pull my phone from my pocket and check the housing email again.

Dorm C. Room 214.

Correct.

I glance around the room again, suddenly noticing things I somehow missed earlier.

The dark gray bedding.

The hockey posters.

The giant duffel bag shoved beneath the bed.

Oh my God.

“Oh my God.”

I slap both hands over my face.

There is no way I was assigned a male roommate.

No university is that insane.

Then again, this is the same school that charged me forty dollars for a parking permit when I don’t even own a car.

Maybe they are insane.

I exhale sharply before grabbing my toiletries.

Okay.

Panic later.

Shower now.

After the bus ride from hell, I smell ripe.

Twenty minutes later, steam curls around the bathroom as I step out wrapped in only a towel, rubbing another towel over my damp blonde hair.

The room is still empty.

Thank God.

I toss my clothes onto the bed and kneel beside my suitcase, digging around for clean pajamas.

That’s when the front door swings open.

Heavy footsteps enter first.

Then a deep male voice.

“I’m not apologizing because she started...”

I look up.

A guy stands in the doorway.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair falling messily over his shoulders.

Hockey jacket.

Blue eyes.

Very blue eyes.

Those blue eyes lock onto me.

Specifically, my towel.

For one long, horrifying second, neither of us moves.

Then he screams..

Actually screams.

“What the fuck?!”

My own scream rips out immediately after his.

“Oh my God!”

He stumbles backward so fast he nearly trips over his own feet before slamming the door shut again from the outside.

Silence crashes over the room.

My heart pounds violently against my ribs.

What.

Just.

Happened.

From outside the door, muffled yelling erupts.

“Why is there a naked girl in my room?!”

“Why is there a guy in my room?!” I shout back.

A pause.

Then muttering.

More muttering.

A few footsteps pacing outside.

I yank clothes from my suitcase at lightning speed and throw on an oversized hoodie and shorts before sitting stiffly on the edge of my bed, face burning so hard I might actually combust.

This cannot be happening.

The door slowly creaks open again.

The guy cautiously steps back inside like I’m the dangerous one.

Up close, he’s even more annoyingly attractive.

Which feels rude considering the circumstances.

He shuts the door carefully this time before staring at me.

I stare back.

Neither of us speaks.

Finally, he runs a hand down his face.

“…Who are you?”

I blink.

“You’re kidding.”

“No, seriously,” he says. “How did you get a key to my room?”

His room?

Excuse me?

I shoot to my feet so fast the bed creaks.

“How did I get a key?” I repeat incredulously. “How did you get a key?”

His eyebrows pull together.

“I live here.”

“Well, apparently so do I!”

He stares at me.

I stare back harder.

Somewhere in the distance, the muffled sound of cheering echoes from the hockey arena outside.

The guy sighs heavily before dropping his duffel bag onto the floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

Then his eyes narrow slightly.

“…Wait. Oh no,” he says flatly.

“What?”

“You’re the figure skater.”