Making my way to the kitchen again, I notice details that escaped me before. The protein powder jars lined up along the counter. The collection of bottle openers almost overflowing from the silverware drawer. The sophisticated gaming console that takes up most of the room around the TV.
My mind races, trying to make sense of it all. This has to be a mistake...right? I was so focused on making the women’s rugby team, I guess I didn’t pay close enough attention to the housing details. Some major miscommunication clearly went down.
I shake my head, laughing in disbelief. Of all the crazy situations I thought I’d encounter as a professional athlete in an elite club training program, suddenly living with a bunch of guys definitely wasn’t one.
I guess there’s only one way to find out for sure—meet the roommates face-to-face. My palms sweat at the thought, but my curiosity wins out. I’ve never backed down from a challenge yet. So I square my shoulders and get ready to face whatever comes next head on. This year is definitely not going to be boring.
I hear deep voices and heavy footsteps approaching. I freeze in place as the door’s keypad beeps and then it opens.
Two men enter. What the hell? They both freeze as they notice me standing there watching them.
But… wait a second. These are no ordinary men. They aremassive, each one well over six foot. When I say these men are titans, I mean it. Their arms bulge from their sleeves, tattoos proudly on display. Their rugby shorts cling to their quads like thick Christmas hams. And both of them have gorgeous faces to match their exquisite bodies—chiseled jaws, sparkling eyes.
When the universe was giving out attractiveness points, I swear it handed a few extra to each man who plays rugby.
The first has short dark brown hair, closely cropped. His eyes are a piercing green color. His shoulder and arm muscles bulge from his shirt, threatening to tear the fabric. And his huge arms are covered in tattoos. His mouth twists in a smirk as he glances at me, his gaze trailing over my body, leaving me blushing.
The other guy is about the same height and just as breathtaking. His hair is a slightly lighter, more sandy color, and he wears a neatly trimmed beard that highlights his angular jaw and high cheekbones. He also sports tattoos over his muscular arms and legs.
I don’t know who these men are, but they are magnificent.
“What do we have here?” One of them asks.
“Yeah, haha. Did someone order a stripper?” The bearded one asks, his eyes roaming over my body.
I look down self-consciously, my crop top and shorts suddenly leaving me painfully bare rather than cute and put together like I’d felt when I dressed this morning.
“No, I’m not a stripper! I’m a hooker!” The audacity!
The men’s eyes grow wide and I blush as I realize the alternate meaning of my words.
“Jeez, Coach wasn’t lying when he said he had some weird shit planned for us this season.” The cute one… well, they’re both cute. The cute one without the beard speaks up. “And I thought you lot were meant to be referred to as sex workers these days?”
“A rugby hooker! I play the position of hooker in rugby!” I exclaim, exasperated, still blushing, but now starting to get slightly annoyed at the implication.
“Well, that’s great to hear. We play rugby too. No offense, but… who are you and what are you doing in our apartment?”
“Um, I’m just as confused as you are. I’m supposed to live here now, but there seems to have been some type of mix-up. I’m… Dylan.”
“You’reDylan?“ The one with the beard quirks a brow and the two guys look at each other.
“Yeah, my mother was big on unisex names. I guess she read some study where they made women more likely to succeed in life than something more girly—“ I realize I’m rambling and let my words trail off.
No-Beard snorts. “Well, it looks like she fucked up because you’re the latest addition to apartment 403. Making us your new roommates.”
I glance at them and then back around the room. Suddenly the apartment makes a lot more sense. “That would explain the mess and the copious amounts of body hair everywhere.”
“Yeah, this is a guys’ apartment…” His voice trails off. “At least it was. Couldn’t you tell?” He gestures around, and I smirk at the crunched-up beer cans and other trash.“And don’t be so sexist. Girls can be messy, too. We have a few friends on the women’s team, and you can bet their apartments are just like ours. Maybe worse.”
I quirk a brow, but he’s right.
“Let me give the housing office a call and try to get this figured out.” I gesture at the suitcases I hauled in. “Luckily, I didn’t bring much. My other stuff isn’t arriving for a couple of weeks. And my cat doesn’t take up much room.”
“Excuse me, did you saycat?“ asks Bearded Guy.
“Yes, I have a cat. It was on my application form.”
As if on queue, Jonah strides past once again, the boxer briefs in his mouth and proudly trailing behind him.