Right Man, Right Time
: Chapter 3

“Alexa, play today’s hits,” I say as I throw my hair into a messy bun.

It’s Sunday, which means it’s reset day.

I woke up this morning, fresh as a daisy, so I went on a run followed up by a simple ab workout, then walked to the dining hall and picked up a protein smoothie.

What I love about the dorms is that they are for upperclassmen only, and the dining hall is open year-round because most of us stay through the summer for our internships. Not to mention, I have my own room. Which means I don’t have to be bothered by anyone other than my neighbors.

I remember when I first toured my dorm. It was an immediate yes for me. Not only do I have my own suite, but I have my own bathroom as well. The rooms are equipped with a mini kitchen, bathroom, desk, and a double bed, not even a twin—see what I’m talking about. It’s total luxury for college. And when we don’t cook, we can grab something from the dining hall or the convenience store right here on campus. I have everything I need at my fingertips. The only thing missing is a gym.

If I were a student athlete, I’d have access to the best gym this area can offer, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. Instead, I pay fifteen dollars a month at a gym ten minutes away and deal with a bunch of meatheads who believe they know more than me about lifting weights.

First things first for my reset day—strip my bed and replace the sheets with clean ones.

Music on in the background—thank you, Alexa—I get to work. Nothing is better than preparing yourself for the week ahead. I love starting a Monday on a fresh start—room clean, fridge stocked with my quick grab items, and laundry done.

Sheets in hand, I stuff them in my laundry basket, and I pick it up along with my other laundry. Grabbing my detergent and keys, I head to the laundry room.

Luckily, I wake up at a decent hour on Sundays, which bypasses everyone else in the laundry room who might be curing a hangover. My trick is tons of electrolytes and a run to sweat it all out. I know not many people can run after a night of drinking, but even if I feel like I’m going to puke, I still go for my run. It’s the best cure.

I take the elevator to the basement, and when I step off, I spot a familiar face in the laundry room.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” I say to Ross as I set my basket on one of the folding counters.

Shoulders slumped, he replies, “Yeah, last night didn’t end as I’d hoped.”

“So I’m guessing you didn’t hook up with Fernando?” I ask as I open one of the washers and stick my sheets inside. Another great thing about our dorms is that laundry is free.

“Not so much.” Ross starts his washer, walks over to the folding counter, and takes a seat. His eyes scan my outfit, and a small smile passes over his lips. “Your hard nipples in your crop top are telling me very clearly that it’s laundry day.”

I glance down at my favorite crop top and then back up at him. “What’s the point of wearing a bra on Sundays?”

“A motto I live by,” Ross says.

“A great one at that. So tell me about last night. What happened?”

“Fernando is shyer than I expected him to be. He flirted a lot and even touched my arm a few times, but when it came to making a move, he backed down and said he had to get home. I don’t know, it was weird.”

I fill up the washer with detergent and turn it on, then move on to the next washer. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been crushing on him all summer.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather have a guy who takes charge, you know?”

“Yes, I get it.” Poor Ross, I think he’s struck out all summer. Not sure he’s had one hookup. The boy needs some love too.

“What happened with the hockey player last night?”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say as I reach for my phone at the bottom of my laundry basket. “I was supposed to text him this morning.”

“Why?”

“Oh, he wants to talk about me being his fake girlfriend or something. But you keep that between us.”

“Who the hell would I tell? I barely like anyone these days. Hell, I hardly tolerate you.”

“You can’t get rid of me even if you tried,” I say as I pull up his name and shoot off a quick text.

Ollie: My place, noon, bring sandwiches.

I send another text with my address and suite number and go back to the washer, filling it up with my clothes. I know my mother taught me to sort my laundry, but let’s be honest. It can all go into one giant pile, and you just set it on cold water without any ramifications for laziness. I don’t have time to separate.

“Uh . . . are we going to discuss what happened last night?” Ross asks. “Or are we just going to ignore the fact that you went up to a complete stranger and made out with him?”

Made out is a bit extreme. Kissed a bit? Now, that’s more accurate. And between you and me, the man was a good kisser. I was going in expecting the worst and was very pleasantly surprised. Talk about lucking out.

“I mean, we can talk about last night if you want, but there’s not much to say. I wanted Candace to eat her words, so I made sure that happened. Simon . . . errr, I mean Silas, was a great kisser, thank God.”

“How can you be so nonchalant about this?”

“Because it was a kiss. It’s not like I stuck my hand down his pants and twirled his dick around like my own personal pepperoni stick. It was a simple kiss, and he thankfully went with it. Candace ate her words, and Yonny got to watch me make out with a hot guy. It was a win-win.”

“And him asking you to be his pretend girlfriend, that’s what you owe him?”

“We’re going to discuss details later today.” I grab my laundry basket and nod toward the exit. “You coming?”

Ross hops off the counter, grabs his things as well, and together, we take the elevator up to our floor. Lucky for me, Ross lives a few suites down from mine, so when we get to our floor, he follows me to my room.

When we arrive in my room, my phone dings with a message. I set my basket down and read it.

Silas: What kind of sandwiches?

Ollie: Meat ones. See you at noon.

“Was that him?” Ross asks.

“Yeah, he asked what kind of sandwich I wanted. Oh shoot, I forgot something.”

I pick up my phone and type out another text.

Ollie: Don’t forget the deli pickle. I’ll scream if you show up without it. Thanks.

“Pickle?” Ross asks.

I smile at him and grab the clean sheets from my closet. “I have you so well trained.”

I lift the sheet in the air and let it float down to the bed.

“You realize I can see the underside of your breasts, right?” Ross asks.

“Can you? Huh.” I shrug. “Do anything for you?”

“Not really.”

“Shame. I have great tits,” I say with a smirk.

“Hence what you’re wearing. You like to show them off.”

“No, I don’t like to show them off. I just like to be comfortable, and this shirt is comfortable.”

“Are you going to change before your hockey friend gets here?”

“And give me more laundry to do? I’m good, thanks.” I fit the sheet over my bed, then pick up the flat sheet. “So what are you up to today?”

“Are you really going to change the subject like that? Ollie, you realize you kissed a very popular hockey player last night, and he’s coming to your dorm today. Do you honestly have nothing to say about that?”

“Not really. I don’t know the guy or know of him. I’m grateful he kissed me back last night, and I feel bad for him. It seems like he’s going through a tough spot, so I thought I’d listen to what he has to say. Plus, he can possibly help me with my assignment. It’s all business.”

“That’s until you replace yourself crushing on him.”

“Oh please,” I scoff while neatly making hospital corners on my bed. Nothing is more soothing than sleeping in a properly made bed. “I have better things to do than fall for some guy ten years older than me.”

“Ten years?” Ross asks. “Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed that. But you know what that means? Ten years older . . .”

“What?” I ask while placing my white comforter back on the bed.

“Experience.”

“So?”

“I mean . . . bedroom experience.”

I roll my eyes. “I knew what you meant.”

“You should be excited about that. After being with Yonny, who was subpar at best, this should give you some joy.”

“First of all, I have zero intention of sleeping with this man. If we do any kind of agreement, there will be nothing sexual about the interaction. All business. And second, who’s to say he’s even good at sex?”

“Did you see his forearms?” Ross asks. “They were all ripply and muscular. Trust me, he’s good in bed. I bet he has a piercing.”

“Oh my God, you’ve lost it.” I move around him.

“He has the tattoos and the scruffy hair. Broad shoulders. Wicked lips. Roguish eyes. There is no doubt he also has a pierced cock. And with the way you love giving head, could you imagine if there was a piercing on it?”

I do love giving head. I don’t know why. Something about the control of it all, but I’ve never given a guy a blow job who had a piercing. It might be fun. Wait, what am I thinking? No. That’s not something I’m going to imagine.

“Listen, Ross. I have too much going on to even consider a relationship at the moment. This whole fake dating thing might actually be good. We could use each other when needed without the pressure of having to . . . you know . . . be all couple-y. He needs help. I need help. With the holidays coming up and the stupid parties we’ll have to go to, it might be beneficial.”

“You’re serious,” Ross deadpans. “You’re actually thinking about doing this?”

“The more I do, the more I believe it might be a good idea. Although, I want to hear his proposal first of course. Milk this thing for all I can.”

Ross shakes his head at me before sitting on my desk chair. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I don’t think I could be like you. Act like I’m dating someone and not get feelings for that person.”

“What’s there to get feelings about? This is business. It’s like purchasing the perfect winter slippers. But instead of slippers, I’m purchasing a fake boyfriend. Simple. And it’s not like he’ll want to start a relationship, hence the need for something fake. I know nothing about hockey other than the fact that it’s a long-ass, never-ending season, and I’m sure he’ll be quite busy. It’s beneficial for both parties.”

“And what happens if there’s an event he can’t show up at because he’s so busy?”

“Uh, duh, I just say my boyfriend is playing a game, simple as that. It’s not like they’ll assume I’m lying. They can look it up on the Internet. Seriously, this might be the best plan I’ve ever had. I can keep Candace pissed, learn about hockey, use him for parties and gatherings when I need to, and then wash our hands of the agreement when we’re all done. Simple.”

Ross shakes his head in disbelief. “I think you’re making it out to be that simple, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?” I ask as I finish fitting my pillows in their fresh cases.

“You’re a romantic at heart, a daydreamer, someone who gets lost in her feelings. If you truly think you can make an arrangement with a man like Silas Taters and not catch feelings, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

I plop my pillow on my bed and smile at him. “Watch me.”