Noah chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Just think, kitten. We’ve only just begun.”
A delicious shiver runs down my spine at the promise in his tone. Living with two hot as hell rugby players certainly won’t be without its challenges. But if this is any indication of what’s to come, I think I’ll manage just fine.
My lips curve into a satisfied smile as I drift off to sleep, cocooned between their warmth.
My eyes flash open as I wake with a start, prepared to see a burly rugby player on either side of me.
Shit! Don’t screw the crew, Dylan! Everyone knows that. And they’re not even meant to be my crew!
I look down at the warm figure pressing against me. I feel a surge of immense relief but also disappointment as I realize I’m the only human in my bed, and the warmth is being provided by my sweet cat, Jonah, who enjoys being the little spoon but will occasionally spoon me from behind while we sleep.
Jesus, I’m only one night in, and I’m already fantasizing about my very fuckable new roommates.
This might only be a temporary arrangement, but that dream washotand I’m more than wet.
Luckily, I’m going to fix everything very soon and I can reset this whole situation. Because I moved here to get away from politics and other complications, and this whole situation has complicated written all over it.
Sighing, I gently move Jonah to the side. He lets out a soft meow in his sleep as I groggily push myself out of bed.
Yep, I’m going to fix this before I soak my mattress completely with dreams of what these men could do to my body.
Chapter 6
Dylan
Thehousingofficeisutter chaos—a den of harried students and overwhelmed staff. Numbers glow red on the ticketing machine as it spits out slips by the dozen. Forms shuffle across the front desk in unorganized stacks. Conversations meld into a steady murmur that bounces off the walls.
For whatever reason, places like this never seem to keep up with advances in modern technology. Everywhere else, you can make appointments and speak to people on your phone, but the places that have your life in their hands? Long lines, in-person visits, and questionable wait times.
I slip through a gap in the impatient crowd and step up to the counter. Time to tackle this housing mix-up head-on.
“Excuse me,” I say, planting my elbows on the desk. The administrator peers at me over her cat-eye glasses, unimpressed. “I’m Dylan. I just got here yesterday and, well, you put me in an apartment with a bunch of guys from the men’s team?”
She blinks. “Right. You’re the girl named Dylan.”
“Yes, that’s me. Thegirl.“ I try to keep my tone light. Patience, Dylan. “Not sure how I ended up assigned to the men’s apartment?”
“Housing is full this year. You’re just going to have to wait for an opening.” She grabs a form and shoves it toward me. “Here’s the waiting list application.”
Seriously? I picture myself stuck in an apartment with guys for four months rather than building rapport with my own teammates. No thanks.
“I really can’t stay in a guys’ apartment,” I insist. “Isn’t there any other option?”
The administrator gives a bureaucratic shrug. “You’ll just have to be patient.”
“There must be other places I can rent in this city. But I realize accommodation is part of my club contract. Can’t we adjust it so I just pay my own way somewhere else?”
She shakes her head without a pause. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Morgan. It’s a requirement of your contract that you stay inside the compound in one of our club-owned apartments. Staying anywhere else isn’t financially viable for the club, and there’s concern that being too far away will only lead players to… distractions.”
As if living under the same roof as the two smoking hot rugby players I’ve already had a steamy sex dream about isn’t enough of a distraction. Thanks, lady.
“There are no exceptions, I take it?”
“Absolutely not.” The woman shakes her head again, a move I have a feeling she practices often.
Patience isn’t really my strong suit. But getting riled up won’t help. I take a breath and nod, taking the form. “Got it. I’ll fill this out.”
As I step outside the bustling office, I weigh my options. I could march right back in there and cause a scene—demanding to speak to the housing office’s manager—but that isn’t really my style. Or I can accept the temporary solution for now. As an athlete, I know all too well that sometimes you have to accept what you’re handed and make the best of it.