The Rival Roomies (The Rooftop Crew Book 3) Read online

  The Rival Roomies

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Cover Design: By Hang Le

  1st Line Editor: Joy Editing

  2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer

  About The Rival Roomies

  I’ve loved him from afar.

  Though most times he’s only a foot away.

  I’m smart enough to know he’ll never be anyone’s forever.

  He checks all the bad boy boxes. Tattoos. Check. Motorcycle. Check. Chip on his shoulder. Check check.

  If he wasn’t my neighbor and friend I may have thrown myself at him. Okay, yeah. I wouldn’t. Because guys like Dylan don’t want a woman who writes kid’s math textbooks under him in bed. Instead, I pathetically savor morsels of moments where I have his sole attention.

  That was until his archenemy moved in with me. Now suddenly, Dylan’s moving in too and warning off the first guy in a long time who’s showing me interest. Could he finally see me as more than a friend, or am I just a prize to win and show off to his enemy?

  Contents

  Free Download

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings

  About the Author

  Also by Piper Rayne

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  Chapter One

  Rian

  The shrill sound of my phone wakes me, and my blurry eyes focus on the screen. Only my parents ever call me before my alarm goes off. I’d ignore the damn thing if I didn’t know they’d call right back or have the National Guard come check on their precious daughter.

  “It’s early,” I answer.

  “You’re not up yet?” my mom asks.

  “Why are you calling me so early?” I snip.

  “We were out to dinner with the Fredericksons last night,” she says.

  I lie back down on the bed, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on my pillow beside my head.

  This is going to be a long one.

  “Uh-huh,” I say, trying not to let my annoyance be heard.

  My mom says, “Johann is working on an equation.”

  Johann would be the Fredericksons’ son and the person I’m constantly compared to. The one his parents named after Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss, the famous German mathematician. Imagine living in the United States with the name Johann and being the leader of the mathletes—pre bully awareness. Let’s just say by the end of high school, he was walking himself into his locker and shutting the door.

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Yes,” my dad corrects me.

  I say nothing. Obviously I’ve woken up on the defiant side of the bed this morning.

  “It’s for a contest the Mathematical Society of America is running,” my mom says.

  “That’s great,” I say with a yawn.

  “They said he thinks it will take him a while to solve it.” The excitement level in my mom’s voice grows higher and higher while my interest wanes further and further.

  “I’m sure he will. No one is better than him,” I say.

  “Except you, sweetheart,” my dad says.

  The man adds sweetheart when he wants me to do something. It’s a trigger word that says this conversation will suck and I’m most likely going to commit to doing something I don’t want to do. Namely this contest.

  I say, “Jo is going to crush it. If he’s already started it, he’s as good as won.”

  “The contest is open, and if you win, it’s worth prize money,” my dad says.

  “How much?” I ask.

  “I didn’t catch the amount. Did you, Larry?” my mom asks. “Not that it’s important. You wouldn’t be doing it for the money.”

  Uh, yeah, I would.

  “You don’t need money, right, sweetheart? You save a quarter of your paycheck for a rainy day like we’ve always taught you, right?” my dad asks.

  “Of course.” How many lies can you tell your parents in your lifetime? I stopped counting.

  “That’s my girl,” he says with pride.

  Mom continues. “You do it for the notoriety. Your name will grace every conversation in the industry. You could get a much better job and forget Pierson Education. They should’ve had you writing college-level equations by now. Fifth grade math is an insult to your intelligence.”

  “Mom, I don’t really have the time for another—”

  “Make the time. I’m emailing you all the details now. And don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Johann working day and night to beat you. It’s about time they see how talented you are,” she says.

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll look into it.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and the scratching on the phone line says one of them is doing something else.

  “What’s going on with you, sweetheart?” my dad asks.

  I glance at the phone to make sure the connection is still with my parents. Rarely do they show any interest in how I’m really doing, preferring instead to cling to the prefabricated assurances I feed them. “Good. Sierra moved out to live with her boyfriend.”

  “The prince,” my dad says. “We saw the footage. The Fredericksons didn’t know what to say when we told them that.”

  “That your daughter’s roommate is dating a prince?”

  “Is Johann’s roommate dating a princess?”

  “Johann doesn’t have a roommate,” I say.

  “Exactly.” My dad’s tone is one of satisfaction.

  Does he not realize his daughter has to live with people in order to have a nice place to live? Johann lives in New York City in a studio apartment all by himself.

  “Okay, I registered you,” my mom cuts in.

  I sit up in bed. “What?”

  “This way it’s done. Taken care of.”

  I blow out a breath. The last thing I want to spend my free time on is a math problem, but I will say the money sounds intriguing. “Okay.”

  “Make sure you start on it right away. Johann already has a head start,” my mom says.

  “I need to get to work now,” I say.

  “That’s fine. Your dad and I are going with a few other friends to talk to the administrators of the SAT. We think there should be different ones for gifted kids. They all shouldn’t be able to s
core perfect.”

  “And that’s not a knock on you, sweetheart,” my dad says.

  “Although you should’ve taken it over,” my mom says.

  I roll my eyes. I didn’t need to take it over. I had an excellent score, she just still isn’t over the fact that Johann scored better than I did. “I gotta go. Work and all.”

  “Bye, sweetheart,” my dad says.

  “Don’t forget, mum’s the word. No posting on social media about doing the math—”

  “Got it, Mom. Bye.”

  “Love —”

  I click off the phone, then pull up the email with all the details. The problem will be emailed to me directly by a Dr. Giroux. Once I finish, I send him my work and am only to talk to him. They don’t disclose how many people are trying to solve the problem, but as soon as the right answer is given, everyone will be notified of the winner. And there’s a twenty-five-thousand-dollar prize that they would prefer go to continued education but understand they cannot dictate that.

  Dylan’s loud voice interrupts my concentration and I rise from my bed to see what’s going on. It’s been only one day since my entire roommate situation took a one-eighty. I went from living with a couple to two men. One of which I still haven’t really gotten to know well.

  “There are rules here,” Dylan says.

  I press my ear against my bedroom door.

  “Just relax, Phillips. I’m not looking for complications,” Jax says.

  None of us ever use Dylan’s last name. Mostly because when Dylan introduces himself to someone, he never uses his last name. Even his business cards at Ink Envy only have Dylan in a black block font. He’s always touchy about his middle name too.

  “I just want to make it clear—you aren’t to touch her.”

  Jax laughs sarcastically as my palm flattens on the door as though Dylan’s recent bodyguard behavior has anything to do with romantic feelings for me. He’s your friend and only moved into your apartment so you didn’t have to live alone with a guy you don’t know. Do not think of this as anything more.

  Jax’s laugh abruptly cuts off. “Tell me, Phillips, are you touching her?”

  “None of your business.”

  “So this is a Naomi situation all over again?”

  Naomi? I mentally mark that name to ask Knox about later.

  “No. Rian is just…”

  “What?” Jax eggs him on.

  Dylan groans. The same tone he uses when his employees call in sick and he has to go in. “Different.”

  “She’s into girls?” Jax asks.

  “No!”

  “So you want to nail her and are afraid, by comparison to me, you’ll come up short?”

  “Fuck no!” Dylan yells.

  I slowly back away from the door. I guess that answers the question I’ve never asked anyone but myself.

  I’ve wanted Dylan since he moved in across the hall with Knox. They’ve known each other since high school. But when the question comes to his feelings for me, the answer isn’t only no—it’s hell no.

  I sit on the edge of my bed. Someday I need to get over this crush I have on a guy who doesn’t even know I exist—at least not in that way. Maybe I should list all the reasons why we would never work. Perhaps our differences are too big to ever allow us to meet in the middle.

  It’s the classic tale—good girl wants bad boy. Cliché enough to be a romance novel. Not realistic. I shouldn’t want a guy who thinks of commitment as a life sentence. He sure as hell doesn’t want a girl whose only experience is a handful of half adept short-term boyfriends.

  God help me.

  I pick up a pillow and groan. I’d scream, but they’d hear me and I’m pretending like I’m not up yet. Which shows how much Dylan knows my schedule and routine. I’m always the first one dressed and ready.

  Their voices grow softer. Dylan’s door next to mine shuts minutes later.

  I slide my shower cap on my head. Now’s my time to escape, so I open my door and tiptoe across the living area to the bathroom.

  “Good morning,” Dylan says.

  I jump and circle back around. He’s in workout clothes and has a bag hanging from his shoulder. My gaze goes to the microwave clock in the kitchen. It’s only seven-thirty. The shop was open last night, and he didn’t return home until after one.

  Someone hit me with a sledgehammer. It’s so pathetic that I know that.

  “Morning.” I slide my shower cap off my head. “Where are you off to?”

  “The gym.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “Ethan asked me to start going with him first thing in the morning rather than later. I guess love makes you eat. Seth’s supposed to come too.” The way his mouth scrunches to the side on the word love means he never wants to find out. More evidence to mark under commitment-phobe.

  “Enjoy.” I wave and keep to my mantra to take a shower and get ready for work. I miss being able to work from home but my job changed their requirements and now I have to work from the office several days a week.

  “You should be fine. Jax just got home smelling like he closed the bar down. He’ll probably pass out. Shouldn’t bother you.”

  I pause by the bathroom door. Usually I’d turn around and smile and thank him. Be polite and courteous. But a bitter taste fills my mouth—because he’s acting like one of Blanca’s older brothers. I never asked for, nor do I need any saving from Jax.

  “Have a great workout.” I step into the bathroom, shut the door, and flick the lock.

  Have a great workout? Way to really give him a piece of your mind, Rian.

  I turn on the shower to the hottest possible temperature so that the mirror will fill with steam and I won’t have to look at myself. I need a life. One where my obsession with Dylan isn’t the main focus.

  Screw him. I’m baking lemon cake today.

  Chapter Two

  Dylan

  “We don’t need to go balls to the wall on the first day,” Ethan says next to me, his finger hovering over the treadmill’s buttons, his feet pounding on the moving belt.

  “I thought you worked out?” I ask, not adjusting my speed or incline.

  “I run. Occasionally. I’ve been blessed with a great metabolism.”

  I glance at him. “Until Blanca?”

  He groans. “You should see what she can consume. And then there’s something inside me that says I’m the man, she can’t out eat me.”

  “Hence the gut.” I pat my stomach.

  He cringes. He hasn’t gained enough to be that noticeable, but no harm in him thinking he has. It’ll keep him coming to the gym with me and get me out of the damn apartment while Rian is getting ready for work.

  Ethan looks down at his stomach and I want to bust out laughing, but I up the incline.

  “Fucker,” he says, clicking the button on his machine. Ethan can’t back away from a challenge.

  “Come on. After this, we’ll do weights so you don’t turn into a pansy-ass who can’t lift his fiancée to fuck her against the wall.”

  An older woman with a displeased expression stops in front of my treadmill. I’m about to apologize before a smile forms on her lips and she looks Ethan up and down. “I bet he has no problem with it.”

  Winnie, my foster mom, taught me to respect my elders, so I swallow my amusement and watch Ethan smile nicely to avoid offending the woman.

  She slowly walks over to the bikes and spends five minutes finding the television show she wants to watch before pedaling. Even then, she has no headphones.

  I turn off my treadmill, sliding back until I can hop off.

  “What the hell? We can’t just stop,” Ethan says.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Sir! Wipe your machine,” the man who works here—and wears his shorts too tight—calls to me.

  I put up my hand and grab a pair of the cheap earbuds the gym offers for free. I wink at the girl behind the counter. She’s been trying to flirt with me for the last two weeks, but she’s got to be only twenty-one
or something. The younger they are, the more attached they become.

  “Dylan!” Ethan calls, his hands up in the air, his eyes tracking my movements toward the elderly lady.

  I take the headphones out of the plastic disposable bag and hand them to her, plugging the cord into the television portion of the bike. She gives me a thumbs-up and a smile.

  “Sir!” the guy says again.

  “Relax there. Are your shorts so tight they’re cutting circulation off to your brain?” I pull a sanitary wipe from the container and head over to my machine.

  Tight shorts guy huffs and stalks off.

  “You left me hanging?” Ethan says, shutting off his treadmill.

  “You telling me you didn’t want that over with?”

  Ethan says nothing. Yeah, he’s happy as shit I turned off my treadmill.

  “Weights then.” I hold up my wipe so moose-knuckle can see me dispose of it in the trash can.

  He rolls his eyes and shifts his vision away.

  “What’s with you today?” Ethan asks, throwing his wipe away right after and grabbing a towel.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? Because you’re being an ass to everyone but that old lady over there. Since when are you responsible for handing out earbuds? Did you get a job here I don’t know about?”

  I grab two dumbbells and stand in front of the mirror as Ethan follows suit. I’m not even sure if I can trust Ethan with what’s bothering me, nor do I know if I want anyone to know. It’s ridiculous anyway. I do a bicep curl with one arm, then the other.