Your gateway to endless inspiration
another one of your roommate’s hookups is drinking your oat milk.
he eyes you appreciatively, his eyes tracking your legs, covered only by a low-slung pair of sleep shorts, up to where your tank top bares your shoulders and little clavicle divot. you frown at him and slam the cabinet shut so he jumps a little and sloshes coffee over the rim of his mug.
“hey,” he says, “i’m oliver.” when you don’t say anything, he continues: “i’m a friend of himari.”
you snort. friend. he still has her lipstick print on his neck. he’s still looking at you expectantly with a pair of long-lashed heterochromatic eyes so startling they’re almost beautiful, so you take pity and tell him your name.
“you’re up early. i heard you guys come in pretty late last night.”
“ah, yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture, but he somehow doesn’t look shy at all. maybe because you can tell that he’s flexing as he does it. “sorry about that.”
“eh,” you shrug it off, “i was up anyway. cramming, you know.”
you were reading romance manga, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“oh, so you’re a student! i bet you could teach me some things, then.” you turn your back to sit at the kitchen island and try not to let him see you smiling at his total corniness before you sit facing him. he’s so blatant it flips the corner back to endearing. “i play pro football. i’m used to getting up early for practice.”
and to leave before my hookups wake up, you read between the lines.
“cool.” it is, actually.
you’re leaning across the island with your elbows propping you up, not noticing how focused you are on the bob of his throat as he finishes up his coffee. you flutter your lashes, eyes wide as he crosses his arms and does the same, bent at the waist so you’re almost nose to nose, bridging the countertop.
“right! so i was thinking i could give you—“
“is it supposed to look like that?” you blurt, brain momentarily overwhelmed by the minty smell of his breath and the way you can almost feel his lips against yours. he backs up slightly, more than half an inch between you now.
“what?” he has a bemused half-smile on, like he thinks he should be turned off by your bedhead and bluntness but is too intrigued to care.
“your beard. is it supposed to be shaped like that?”
he blinks.
“what is it shaped like? is it bad?” he scrubs a hand over the facial hair in question, suddenly looking so concerned you almost feel bad. it was a genuine question.
you don’t normally go for guys with beards, but he really is good-looking under all the rakishness.
“it’s not bad,” you shrug. “you look kind of like a dog. scruffy. in a good way.”
“that doesn’t sound like it’s in a good way,” he says, aggrieved. “it’s supposed to be handsome. mature.”
that rips a laugh from you. “it’s definitely not giving that.” he makes a noise that almost sounds like a sob. you wonder if all football players are this dramatic.
your roommate chooses that moment to start making waking-up noises from the room oliver left open, and he glances at you with panicky eyes. they’re almost hypnotic as his gaze darts between you and the door.
“better get going,” you laugh. “see you on the sports channel, maybe.”
he whips around, stuffing a pair of keys in his pocket and heading for the exit. he turns around with his hand on the knob, pointing at you.
“come see a game in person. i’ll tell ‘em to let the prettiest girl in for free.”