Chapter 4
1475 Words
My brain short-circuited. “You… what?”
“Here. This dorm. This apartment.” His smirk widened. “Looks like we’re roommates.”
“how?!, you’re not a girl. There has to be some kind of mix up somewhere. You need to leave “ I said looking at him straight in the eye.
“No,” he said with an infuriating calm smirk.
“No, why”
“Changing dorm room is not going to work now”
“Okay, okay,” I said, lifting my hand like I was calling for order in a courtroom. “We’re setting some rules.”
Liam gave me a look. That infuriatingly calm, bored look, like I’d just announced I was about to recite the alphabet backwards. “Rules?” he repeated, moving towards couch.
“Yes. Rules.” I crossed my arms, planting myself in the middle of the room like I was claiming territory. “Because clearly the universe has decided to play some sick joke by putting us in the same living space, and if I don’t set boundaries, I’ll be in jail by midsemester for murder.”
He sipped from his coffee, my roommate’s coffee, probably! before answering. “You’re assuming you’d win that fight.”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
His lips quirked. “You heard me.”
“Oh, I heard you,” I shot back, pointing a finger at his broad chest. “And for your information, I have zero problem aiming a frying pan at someone’s head.”
“Noted.” He glanced deliberately at the kitchenette. “I’ll keep the pans locked up.”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re loud,” he replied calmly, like he was just stating facts.
I squared my shoulders. “Rule number one: no smirking. You’re banned from smirking in this apartment. It’s distracting and annoying.”
His smirk only grew wider. “So… my face is banned?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
“Good luck with that.” He leaned back against the couch like he owned the whole place, long legs stretched out. “What’s rule number two, dictator?”
“Don’t call me dictator.”
“Too late.”
“Ugh!” I threw my hands up. “Rule number two: no touching my stuff. Not my food, not my clothes, not even my sticky notes. I see everything. If a single Pringle goes missing, I’ll know.”
“Noted,” he said again, completely unbothered. “Anything else, roomie?”
“Rule number three.” I took a step closer, narrowing my eyes. “No weird boy habits. That means: no leaving the toilet seat up, no socks in random places, and no mysterious gym odors lingering in the air.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement, like he’d just found a new game. “So basically, you want me to stop being a guy.”
“Yes. Glad we’re on the same page.”
For a moment, silence stretched between us. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locking onto mine. “Fine. But I have rules too.”
“Oh, this I’ve got to hear.” I crossed my arms, already rolling my eyes.
“Rule number one,” he said, voice low and maddeningly calm, “don’t scream at me before I’ve had my morning coffee.”
I snorted. “You’re delusional if you think I’m adjusting my volume for you.”
“Rule number two,” he continued, ignoring me completely, “don’t hog the bathroom. I don’t care how many skincare steps you do…”
“Excuse you, skincare is essential!”
“…if you’re in there longer than thirty minutes, I will shut off the hot water.”
My mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” His smirk was back, sharper this time.
I groaned loudly, throwing myself onto the couch. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
He tilted his head, still watching me with that frustratingly calm stare. “Oh, princess, you have no idea.”
I flopped onto the couch like I was in the middle of a soap opera breakdown. “This is cruel and unusual punishment. I signed up for a roommate, not…” I gestured wildly at him, “…this.”
Liam raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “This?”
“Yes. This. The human equivalent of an overpriced leather jacket. Looks good, smells expensive, but completely impractical.”
His mouth twitched. “You’ve been rehearsing that one, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” I muttered. “In my head.”
He took another slow sip of coffee… ugh, he did everything slowly, like he was deliberately trying to get on my nerves… and leaned back. “You’re dramatic.”
“I’m adaptable,” I corrected. “Big difference. Dramatic would be screaming right now. I’m calmly outlining the disaster that is our living arrangement.”
“Calmly?” He tilted his head. “You nearly accused me of murdering your roommate.”
I pointed a finger at him. “That was a valid concern. You’re a stranger in a girl’s dorm. How was I supposed to know you weren’t hiding her body in the closet?”
He blinked at me. Then, deadpan: “Check the closet.”
I froze. “…What?”
“Go ahead.” He gestured lazily. “Check.”
For one terrifying second, my brain almost believed him. I turned toward the closet, then caught the smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, you’re sick,” I snapped, tossing a pillow at him.
He caught it effortlessly and set it aside. “Rule number four,” he said smoothly, “no throwing things at me. Especially pillows.”
“That’s not a rule. That’s self-defense.”
“Self-defense from what? My existence?”
“Yes!” I jumped to my feet. “Exactly. Thank you for finally understanding.”
He chuckled, low and quiet, the sound making my skin prickle. I pretended not to notice.
“Alright,” I said, pacing like a general preparing for war. “New rules. Rule number four: fridge territory. Left side is mine, right side is yours. Do not cross the border.”
He gave me a flat look. “You’re dividing the fridge like it’s a demilitarized zone.”
“Exactly. Think of it as the Dorm Room Treaty of 2025. Break it, and it’s war.”
“Noted,” he said dryly. “But I’m taking the freezer.”
“Excuse me?”
“I eat frozen meals.”
“I eat ice cream!”
Silence. Then he smirked. “Guess we’ll see who wins.”
I groaned so loudly the walls probably shook. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I’ll have wrinkles by the end of this semester.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said, stretching lazily, his shirt lifting just slightly over his abs… ugh, of course he had abs. “If anything, living with me will toughen you up.”
“I don’t need toughening up,” I snapped, glaring at him. “I need peace. I need scented candles and Netflix and quiet evenings. Not… not…” I gestured at him again, words failing me. “Not a you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said smoothly.
“I wasn’t thanking you!”
“Sounded like it.”
I threw myself dramatically against the couch cushion again, covering my face with a pillow. “God, give me strength.”
From behind the pillow, I heard his amused voice. “Rule number five: no praying for divine intervention to get rid of me.”
I whipped the pillow away and glared at him. “Rule number six: no sarcasm after 9 p.m.”
“Rule number seven,” he countered immediately, “no sass before 9 a.m.”
My mouth fell open. “That’s literally when I’m at my sassiest.”
“Exactly,” he said with a smug smile.
I narrowed my eyes, then grabbed the remote off the coffee table. “Fine. You get the freezer, but I get the TV.”
He sat forward instantly. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes. I saw it first.”
“I was here first.”
“You don’t even go here!” I shot back, quoting Mean Girls because, honestly, it was the only weapon I had left.
Liam’s smirk turned into a laugh, and it was infuriatingly… nice. Like, warm and rich and everything I did not need it to be.
This was it. This was my life now. Roommate wars with a six-foot-two egomaniac who probably had fan clubs.
And judging by the look in his eyes, he was enjoying every second of it.
- Writer
