Chapter 10 Turns out that a Sunday morning living with three professional hockey players is not unlike a Sunday morning waking up at college-remnants of a party strewn everywhere, people complaining about their hangovers, and tons of coffee, breakfast, and TV on the menu. The guys have a rare day off today, and I'm not teaching again until tomorrow morning, so I guess today is for roommate bonding. Although I'm quite sure one particular roommate isn't too thrilled about that. "What are we watching?" Noah asks as he finishes washing the pan he cooked with. "Put Scarface on," Fisher instructs as he flops down on the couch with an oof-miraculously not spilling a single drop of his coffee. He balances his plate, piled precariously high with an omelet the size of a frisbee, in his lap. "No. Let's watch Reservoir Dogs," Penn argues as he sprawls his huge body next to Fisher. "We watched that two weeks ago," Noah groans as he sits down on the other side of the couch. I stand at the kitchen island for a moment, biting my lip as I look at the sticker chart by the fridge, apparently to serve the purpose of preventing swearing for some superstitious hockey reason. It has all four of our names on it now-Penn added mine the day after I moved in-and though my name doesn't have a single sticker next to it, I was happy to be included. A part of the house rule, no matter how random that rule may be. And after last night, I thought Noah and I might have reached some kind of a roommate truce-but he's clearly pissy with me again right now, our shaky camaraderie seeming to have crumbled as the morning progressed. For what reason, I don't know, but I'm sure Harry sneaking into Noah's room in the middle of the night surely didn't help things-I saw him slinking out of there this morning like he was performing a feline walk-of-shame. In both mine and Mr. Styles' defense, Noah did leave his bedroom door open...so he was kind of asking for company. In typical standoffish cat fashion, Harry always loves people who hate him. And in typical people-pleasing Allegra fashion, I always want to make people like me who don't like me. Which means I'm bothered by how much Noah is bothered by my presence here in 3B. "Hurry up and get your ass over here, Ally; we need a deciding vote," Penn calls from the couch. I wrinkle my nose. "Neither." "Useless," Penn declares with a cheeky grin. "How about Switchblade, then?" I snort. "Definitely not." "Are you criticizing the best action movie series of all-time right now?" His eyes widen. "Because if so, we can no longer be friends." I give him a little salute and a smirk. "It's been nice knowing you, then." Fisher smiles lazily. "Is it because it's weird for you to watch Carter Callahan seducing someone who's not your mom?" "Ew. I don't want to ever watch my dad seducing anyone, my mom included." Penn's jaw just about drops off its hinges. "Shut the puck up. Carter Callahan's your dad?" "Stepdad, technically," I say with a shrug. "But yeah, he's married to my mom, and I call him Dad." "Wild." Penn lets out a low whistle. "Don't bother asking her to get an intro to Ella Hernandez for you. I already tried and got shut down," Fisher teases, referencing Dad's supermodel costar in the franchise. "Bummer." Penn pouts. Noah, meanwhile, says nothing. His dark eyes are trained on me, but they don't give any indication of what he's thinking or feeling. Probably judging me, thinking I grew up as some spoiled Hollywood princess. Which couldn't be further from the truth. When my mom married a famous actor, our lives didn't change that much, aside from the fact that we moved out of our little duplex and into a much nicer house in a quiet Atlanta suburb. Dad's very down to earth and grounded, and we live pretty normally, keeping out of the public eye. My mom likes it that way. We all do. I also never let my dad's money and fame open doors for me. I worked my ass off for a dance scholarship to USG, and now that I'm no longer attending college, I made getting a job my first priority so I could pay my own way here in San Francisco. Even though I know he'd help me out in a heartbeat if I ever needed it, I'd never take him for granted like that. I love him because he's a good dad to me, period. "If you guys wanna watch Switchblade, I can go to my room," I offer. "Catch up on some Matchmaker Mansion while you guys watch explosions and copious rounds of gunfire." "You forgot Ella Hernandez in a bikini," Penn says. "And your dad's hot sex scene with her on a boat," Fisher adds with a smirk. I clap my hands over my ears in protest. "Stop it or I'm going to throw up." The boys laugh. "What's all this Matchmaker Mansion fuss about?" Penn asks curiously. "It's all over social media." "Ohhh, it's so good!" I reply. "A bunch of single people live in this huge mansion together and get paired up as couples every week to compete in challenges." Fisher snaps his fingers. "I know that show! One of my old hookups is on it this season." "Who?!" I demand. "Zoey." "No way!" Penn points at the TV. "Okay, I need to see this." "Me too," Fisher agrees, throwing the remote at me. "Put it on!" I catch it easily and make my way over to the living room, catching sight of Noah's face as I do. It is entirely unimpressed. "Are we going to paint our nails and braid each other's hair next?" He demands with a long-suffering sigh. "Stop gender stereotyping, Downsby." Fisher smacks him upside the head. "Plus, you were the one complaining that we watched Reservoir Dogs recently, so maybe a switch to reality TV will be fun." He smirks. "Like you reminded me earlier, we have a woman living here now." Noah looks like he'd prefer to jump off our balcony without a parachute than be subjected to a single second of Matchmaker Mansion, but it's three against one right now so I can't help but smirk a little as I flip on the first episode of the season. "Got anything more to say about my pick, Noah?" I ask with a grin, unable to keep the note of challenge out of my voice. "I'll give it a chance for five minutes," Noah grumbles, settling back against the couch pillows. "But only because I'm too tired to move." Even though the couch is massive, with all three of the boys' large frames sprawled out on it, there's not a bunch of room left. In fact, the only space left is the corner, right next to Noah. As the intro music for the reality show echoes through the surround-sound speakers in the living room, I dither for a moment before I choose to sit on the floor, stretching my legs out in front of me. I've barely settled when Noah leans forward so that his mouth is close to my ear. "You don't have to sit on the floor, you know. There's plenty of room up here." His breath tickles my neck, and I'm shocked by the rush of heat that spreads over my skin like a wildfire. I glance over at Penn and Fisher, and they're both already absorbed in the show, gawking at the TV, so I twist around to look at Noah, hoping my face isn't flushing too much. "I didn't want to get in your space," I say pointedly. "You're already in my space, Ally." His low whisper is almost a groan. "So you might as well be on the couch, too." This hot and cold thing he's doing is giving me whiplash. But still, I find myself climbing off the floor and curling into the corner of the couch. He shifts over a little to accommodate me, and I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs. My arm accidentally knocks against his, and he inhales sharply. I expect him to pull away, but he doesn't. And neither do I. Everything about Noah is...confusing. He's moody and grumpy, but last night, he was protective of me in a way that made me feel safe. He seems to want space from me, but right now, he's so close that I can smell the sandalwood and pine body wash on his skin. Feel the heat radiating from the point of contact of his arm against mine. The tension between us is thick, palpable, almost shimmering visibly in the air as we sit there side by side staring straight ahead at the TV screen. Am I the only one feeling this? We watch one episode. Then another. Then another. The boys, Noah included, are all hooked. And Noah's arm, pressed up against mine, never moves. So much for five minutes. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!