London’s hotel room was gorgeous. Clearly, he was a man with some money—probably his father’s considering his age. There was no way he could possibly have this much money from making YouTube videos. For a second, I was struck with the sudden fear that he might be some sort of sex trafficker or playing a prank on me. Or he might be some sort of stalker. Or someone who’d harass me to death, just like the telemarketers and scam artists. Ever since I took out student loans, I’d been plagued with calls from people promising me government grants and insisting that I owed the IRS fifty-thousand dollars in unpaid taxes.

I made twelve-thousand dollars a year.

When he opened the door, a large, fluffy cat greeted us. She was beautiful, all creamy-white fur, and I crouched to pet her head. The celestial creature was clearly the aforementioned Marshmallow, and she was everything I’d hoped a cat named Marshmallow would be. “Hello beautiful,” I said.

“She doesn’t usually like people,” London said, bemused.

Clearly I was the Chosen One, then. I picked the cat up, petting her soft, shiny fur. She rewarded me with a steady stream of purring and a couple of quick licks with her sandpaper tongue. What a precious, adorable baby.

“She’s my princess,” London said. “If you don’t pet her, she’ll get mad and bite your calves.”

What sort of monster wouldn’t want to pet this gorgeous, loving creature? I scratched underneath her chin, and she tilted her head, coaxing my hand further to the left.

“She’s gorgeous,” I replied. “I’ve always wanted a cat.”

“Well, you can’t have mine.”

I immediately set the cat down. Not because I’d had plans of taking the cat, but because I wanted to clarify that I really wasn’t some sort of chronic cat thief.

“I didn’t mean you had to put her down,” London said.

“Oh. You were teasing,” I deadpanned.

London looked at me as if I’d grown another head. “So do you want to get started?” London asked.

Right. Sex. Okay. It was finally time to get this done and over with. Before I passed out right on top of his expensive carpet.

“Sure.”

Was this the worst decision I’d ever made? God, probably. At the very least, it came a close second to the time I thought I could jump from my apartment to the ground. It was only six feet, after all. It’d been my first night drinking. I’d survived, emerging horrifically maimed from the holly bush I’d landed in. Derek had left my drunk ass to struggle back inside and upstairs to our apartment. I hadn’t touched alcohol since.

“Where’s the bedroom?” I asked.

I followed him to the room, which was as nice as the rest of the place. The bed was giant and covered with a thick, downy comforter. Everything was blue and silver, and it was very nice in the generic, impersonal way that hotels always are. Something about it was vaguely like the set of a Marie Antoinette-focused documentary. Maybe it was the floral patterns on the bedspread or the crystal light fixtures. It looked very clean, too. There were definitely worse places to lose my virginity.

London pulled the comforter from the bed and tossed it onto a nearby chair. I unbuttoned my shirt and untucked it.

“Are you just going to tear all your clothes off at once?” London asked, sounding amused.

“I’m not going to have sex with them on.”

“Let me help you with that, then.”

Okay. London approached me from behind. I felt the heat radiating from him as his slender fingers caressed my collarbone and gently pulled my shirt down my shoulders. He threw it to the floor and trailed his hand up my stomach. My breath quickened. This was happening. This was really happening. What was I supposed to do?

London sighed and kissed the back of my neck. “This will be fun,” he murmured. “Promise.”

He pulled me flush against him, and evidently, London was very ready for this. I felt his hard cock against the small of my back. Okay. He clearly had more confidence about this love-making thing than I did.

I kicked off my shoes while London unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants off. For a few seconds, I stared at his muscular thighs. I’d definitely been right about him working out. He could probably snap someone’s neck with just his legs. Dear God, that was impressive, and I was in so far over my head it wasn’t even funny. Deep breaths. Okay. I pulled my jeans off and stepped out of them.

“You’re quiet, aren’t you?” London asked.

“I guess,” I replied.

“Mm.”

London wrapped his arms around my waist. “Is this your first time having sex?” London asked. “You seem very awkward about this.”

I was damn sure not going to admit that it was.

“Maybe you’re just really bad at this. Ever think of that?” I asked.

He laughed. “How strange that you’re the first to complain,” London replied. “I guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

I was suddenly worried he might do something really awful to me, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even have a concrete idea of what he could do to me that would be so awful. I wasn’t worried that he’d assault me or something. To his credit, London seemed very respectful to any boundaries I might have. This was obviously my own nerves getting the best of me.

“How do you want to do it, then?” London asked, clearly not fooled. “Is there anything in particular you’ve always wanted to try? I’m into doing all sorts of things.”

Of course he was.

“I guess basic anal,” I said. “With condoms.”

“Obviously, with condoms,” London replied, “but are you sure you want to do anal? It might be easier for you to do oral, especially if it’s your first time.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“And did you envision yourself being the giving or receiving party here?”

“Receiving,” I replied, rocking back on my heels.

“I’ll be gentle,” London replied.

Hopefully, he really meant that. “Great,” I said. “Thanks.”

I climbed onto the bed, throwing off my underwear in the process.

“Okay, so you’re ready to go,” London said. “You realize this isn’t just something you can jump into, though, right?”

Well, sort of. “Obviously.”

London pulled his shirt off, while I waited on my hands and knees. I peered over my shoulder at him, eyeing his abdominal muscles and the way they flexed as he stretched. I heard the tell-tale crinkling of foil and caught the flash of silver. “Do you want to do this yourself?” London asked, handing me a condom, too.

“Yes.”

“It only goes over the shaft,” London said, handing it to me. “Not the testicles, too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I hadn’t known.

I opened the condom, which took an embarrassing amount of fiddling and mental swearing, and rolled it over my shaft like he’d instructed. London went through the top drawer of the nightstand and grabbed a plastic tube—okay, lube. That made sense. London was prepared and knew what he was doing. He’d removed his underwear, and I was suddenly very aware of how comparatively large a person’s actual cock probably was to my asshole. “You’ve done this before, though?” I asked.

“Yeah, several times! Don’t worry,” he replied. “You might want to move down on your forearms. It might make things easier for you.”

I did, although I wasn’t sure there was much that would make this easier for me. The bed bounced as London positioned himself behind me. He grabbed a spare pillow and put it near my crotch. Why? The pillow was too small for me to prop myself on or anything. “Just relax,” he murmured, planting a kiss at the base of my spine.

I shivered as he coaxed my thighs further apart. He didn’t go straight for my ass. Instead, he rubbed along my thighs, kneading and massaging the skin there; that was odd, but not wholly unpleasant. If this was his idea of foreplay, I could tolerate it. I lowered my head against the sheets.

Another kiss at the base of my spine. This one was a bit rougher. His teeth grazed me but didn’t bite. His hands slowly moved to my ass. “Do you want me to talk dirty to you?” London asked cheerfully.

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” London said. “We could do all sorts of naughty things right now.”

I was sure London had an impressive repertoire after several years of being an irredeemable man-whore.

“I can tell you about the first time I did anal,” London said.

“Spare me.”

I heard a rush of air from the bottle of lube. The gel was cold, and London carefully worked it. I felt a well-oiled finger tentatively approach my entrance. “Is this going to hurt?” I asked.

The first time was supposed to hurt, wasn’t it?

“Not if we use enough lube, but it might feel kind of odd,” London said. “If it does hurt, tell me. You don’t have to endure it or anything. I’ll just add more lube or take it more slowly.”

When his finger finally edged inside me, it felt massive. London wrapped an arm around my hips and coaxed my body back. I groaned and, vaguely embarrassed, buried my face in the sheets beneath me.

“Good?” London asked.

“It’s not intolerable,” I answered.

The sensation was weird, but it was definitely better than intolerable, especially when he started moving his finger in and out. At least, my cock was half-hard, so—awkward or not—my body responded well to it.

“That isn’t very good feedback,” London replied.

What feedback did he expect? I wasn’t about to pour out my soul to this complete stranger. “It’s okay,” I amended.

“If you want to keep going, I’ll be gentle. It’s awkward at first.”

His finger was up my ass. Of course it was awkward. London was Sherlock fucking Holmes, wasn’t he?

“It’s fine. Keep going,” I said.

He slowed his movements. “Let me know if you need to stop at any time or if it hurts,” London said.

It didn’t hurt. It just felt like I needed to use the bathroom. London’s fingers felt wetter than they had before; he’d probably added more lubricant. His thoughtfulness was endearing, though it probably just stemmed from the fact that he wanted to get laid. He’d clearly had a lot of experience with this.

I felt the muscles inside me stretch. Everything felt suddenly tight, before loosening again. “What did you do?” I asked.

“Second finger.”

Right. Okay.

I shifted my hips trying to find a position that didn’t make it feel so weird, but to little avail. This was okay, but it wasn’t the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. It didn’t even break the top ten. I wasn’t sure this was any better than masturbation.

“You’re decently stretched. Are you ready?” he asked.

“Go for it.”

London’s fingers retreated, and I felt his cock against my entrance. He put one hand on my back as he guided himself in. I felt strangely full when he did, and I rocked my hips, which only made things feel tighter. Crap. What was I supposed to do now? London took hold of my hips and began thrusting slowly, in and out. I felt like I really needed to use the bathroom. Why had people always talked up sex? It was just weird.

“Blake, I need you to move with me,” London said.

Oh. London guided my hips back, and I slowly fell into the same in-out movements. My cock brushed against the pillows every time I moved forward, the rubbing of the friction making me ache. Now I understood. That was actually kind of clever.

London kept going, speeding up. His cock seemed to hit something, and holy fuck, whatever it was made my head spin. I came seconds later and panted against the pillow. It was great, but it wasn’t the mind-blowing, earth-shattering experience I’d expected.

I hadn’t considered that sex might take effort. I felt tired and used, but in a way that was oddly pleasant. This was nice. It’d been awkward and embarrassing, but it was…okay. I’d probably try it again with someone.

London thrusted a few more times before he came. Slowly, he edged himself out and patted my ass. Once he was out, I moved my leg, trying to lay down. I struck some part of London purely by mistake and heard a resounding thud. Dear God, I’d knocked him out of the bed. I sat upright and peered over the edge of the bed at him, naked on the floor. “I’m so glad I wasn’t in your ass when you did that,” London groaned.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Ugh, I think I’ll live,” he replied, “But damn. With that kick, you should take up kickboxing.”

He climbed back into bed and rolled onto his back beside me. “See? I’m good at sex,” he said.

Ugh. Now he was going to preen over what a good job he’d done. Classy.

“You are,” I offered.

I didn’t really think he was that great, but I had just kicked him out of his own bed. I knew how to play nice when I’d messed something up.

“Did you like it?”

“It was fine.”

“Is all your praise so damning?” London asked. “Wow, man. I mean, were you expecting your first time to be some glorious, magical experience complete with unicorns and rainbows?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I leaned over the edge of the bed and felt around the floor for my pants.

“Are you spending the night?” London asked.

“Why would I? This was a one-night stand.”

London shrugged. “That doesn’t mean you can’t stay for a shower and breakfast. I’m not going to just throw you out. I am a gentleman.”

“No, I’ll just go,” I said.

“I’ll drive you. It’s dark out.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I know, but it’ll make me feel better, Blake. It’s not safe to walk home this late. I’ve lived here long enough to know that these people can’t drive.”

I didn’t want London to know where I lived, though. I didn’t want an awkward car ride with him either. Maybe I should just agree to spend the night and leave once he was asleep.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “I’m too tired. I’ll take the sofa.”

“The sofa? We could share the bed,” London said. “It’s surely more comfortable.”

Well, obviously, but I didn’t want to share the bed.

“I mean, we did just have sex,” London pointed out. “I’ll throw on the spare sheets, and we’ll be good to go.”

London unrolled the condom from his cock, so I did the same. He produced a trash can from beneath the nightstand and tossed his condom in. I threw mine in, too.

“I’m used to sleeping on sofas,” I said. “I sleep on my own all the time.”

“You don’t have a bed?”

“No, I have one. I just prefer the sofa some days.”

Although this gloriously soft hotel bed was seriously making me reconsider. London beckoned for me to get up before he stripped the bed, tossing the old sheets onto the floor. “You want to go ahead and shower?” London asked. “I’ll go after you.”

This meant he didn’t want to shower with me, which I appreciated. “Thanks,” I said.

I went to London’s shower, cold without my clothes. The bathroom was nice and spacious, all made of some sort of aquamarine colored tile. It probably cost a fortune, whatever it was. This bathroom was more massive than the entire apartment I lived in. It looked like all the floors and sinks were made of real marble, too. London must’ve been paying a fortune to stay here.

After I showered, I returned to the bed. London went to the shower as soon as I returned. He’d left out a spare set of pajamas for me, which I appreciated, although I was a little bit nervous about putting them on. I wasn’t accustomed to borrowing people’s things, and London seemed like the sort of guy who liked to share everything. Was that normal behavior? To provide clothes for the person you’ve just screwed? I wasn’t sure. But it was easier not to argue this point. Besides, London had made a valid argument. It would be a long walk in the dark back to my house, so it only made sense that I would stay until morning before heading back. This was the logical, safe choice.

I pulled the covers over myself and listened to the sound of the water falling in the shower. I’d just dart out in the morning, concluding the one-night stand just like it should be concluded. Then I’d never see London again. I would use this experience to make my thesis corrections, graduate on time, and everything would go exactly as planned.

It was strange how tired a hot shower and sex had made me, though. I was half-awake when London, a towel wrapped around his waist, emerged from the bathroom. I watched the water droplets, glistening like liquid diamonds, fall over his muscles, tracing every line and leaving paths of light in their wake. There were many things I could say about London, most of them unkind, but I’d be lying if I said one negative word about his looks.

He swept the towel from his hips and rubbed himself dry with it. I felt heat rush to my face, and I pulled the blankets further up until they were nearly at my chin. I looked away as he bent over to pull on his pajama pants. Who was the god of sex? Was it Apollo? Whoever it was, I felt like I’d just been fucked by them.

London climbed into bed beside me. “How do you prefer to do this?” he asked, clapping so the lights flipped off. “Do you want to cuddle?”

Surely cuddling wasn’t proper one-night stand etiquette.

“No,” I said. “I just want to sleep.”

The cat leaped into bed.

“With the cat. The cat is fine.”

London chuckled. “I can’t believe I’m playing second fiddle to my cat. That’s a first.”

My fingers found Marshmallow’s neck as she settled beside my hip. I didn’t particularly care if London’s pride was wounded by him having to play second fiddle to his cat. She was a precious angel, and I’d miss her far more than I’d miss him.

* * *

Everything was perfect. The apartment was spotless enough to be on the cover of Better Home and Gardens. It didn’t even look like anyone lived in it. My roommate would surely be impressed. Everything was neat and organized, and I’d cleaned out Derek’s room no less than three times. Perfect.

I jumped at the knock on the door and coached myself into being more reserved. First impressions were crucial to establishing long-term relationships, and I didn’t want my new roommate to decide that we were going to be best friends or anything. Roommates were entitled to an arm’s distance and mutual respect.

I opened the door. I slammed it shut when I saw London Bridges on the other side. I walked away and walked back. I screamed silently.

Seriously?

I opened the door again, ready to give him an earful. “Did you stalk—”

Then I noticed the luggage and the fluffy cat in her pet carrier. He looked ready to move right in. Dear heavens, why did God hate me? There was no way London was my roommate. This was all some horrible joke, and when I found Derek I was going to kill him.

“No, I’m the new roommate. I think? Unless I got the address wrong.” London craned his neck and looked over my shoulder. “No, I remember that sofa. I’m taking over Derek’s lease? You live here, Blake?”

Blake.

“It’s Chance Walker, actually.”

“You lied about your name?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because there was no reason to?” London suggested. “I mean…”

“I don’t like people knowing all my personal information.”

“If you’ve registered to vote, everyone already knows your personal information. Names and addresses are public information anyway. I hate to be the one to tell you that. I’m sure you’re having a moment here, but can I come in? Marshmallow doesn’t like being cooped up for long.”

I moved aside for Marshmallow’s sake, but my mind was screaming. I had to figure out how to get rid of London.

I couldn’t get rid of London. I needed him to pay half the rent and utilities.

I had to get rid of London because we’d had sex together, and he’d popped back into my life when he wasn’t supposed to. Crap.

This had to be some really messed-up prank, and when I figured out who was responsible, that person was going to pay.

“Well, here we are,” London said, completely unfazed by this turn of events.

As if he ended up rooming with the people he’d just laid all the time. Oh, God, what if that was some weird modus operandi of his? Have sex with people and then just show up and move in.

Okay, that was absurd.

London released Marshmallow, who tore through the apartment before hiding under the sofa. On the plus side, I was getting a fluffy cat out of this.

“I’d better not come home to you banging someone on the sofa,” I said. “Or the kitchen table. Or the floor. Or any—”

“Dude, I know how to be respectful of other people’s spaces,” London said. “If I bang anyone, it’ll be in my room. Chill.”

“You can’t tell anyone we had sex.”

“Do you think I just go around bragging to random people about who all I’ve had sex with? I do know how to be respectful towards other people,” London said. “You aren’t the first roommate I’ve fucked.”

“We have a chore chart,” I continued, refusing to let him deter me from the spiel I’d have prepared.

“Do you have to control everything?” London mused. “A chore chart, telling me where I can have sex…”

“I’m merely making sure this roommate arrangement doesn’t end badly,” I retorted. “It’s crucial to establish some ground rules.”

London sighed. “Fine,” he said sullenly. “Chore chart, no banging on the sofa or in the kitchen—not that I would anyway.”

I nodded. “Most of my rules are common decency,” I said. “Don’t act like a caveman, and I’m sure you’ll be able to follow them just fine.”

“Your holier-than-thou attitude is really hilarious considering we had sex last night,” London said flatly.

“Bad sex,” I countered. “You’re a terrible lay.”

“Me? For Heaven’s sake, a blow-up doll would react more than you! I had to make you move your fucking hips!”

I felt my face warm. That might’ve been true, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get in the last word. It’d been my first time, after all. He’d brought that on himself by agreeing to have sex with me.

“Well, I’m sorry that my entire life doesn’t revolve around seeing how many people I can fuck,” I said.

“No, it revolves around having all the personality of a saltine cracker. And apparently, being super paranoid. Where do you store your tin foil hats? Should I ask the FBI agent spying on you through your microwave?”

“My personality is fine. I am a mature and responsible adult.”

London rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure you are. Because being a mature adult means being a sullen brat all the time.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last night. We went out, and you were so annoyed by having to talk with me. At first, I thought you might just be shy, but no! I’m pretty sure you’re just an ass! Of course, that’s assuming you weren’t lying to me all night!”

“For heaven’s sake, it was a one-night stand!”

“That doesn’t mean you get to be an ass!” London countered. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a one-night stand or sex every night. You still need to treat the other person with respect, and at the bare minimum, I would think that means being honest about who you are when you’re fucking someone!”

“I didn’t even want to fuck you!”

“What?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I thought I should be more…outgoing, and I thought it would be…I don’t know. Good.”

“Blake—Chance, whoever you are. No one has amazing sex the first time. God,” London said.

“Or maybe you just tell yourself that because it’s easier to blame other people for subpar sex than to admit you’re bad at it.”

London threw his hands up. “You know what? There’s no point in arguing with you. I already signed the lease. I’m not leaving just because of your truly repulsive personality. You’re going to have to suck this up and deal with me.”

Somehow, our argument made London’s half of the rent seem very inconsequential. I’d sleep in the teaching assistant lounge if I had to.

“Please, you’ll crack within a week,” I replied.