How does one even begin to apologize for something like this? I mean, really. Not like I can just casually toss out, "Hey, um, about what just happened. The whole using your cock-which feels pretty magnificent, by the way-as my personal sex toy? Mmm, sorry about that."

Except that I'm not really sorry. At all. Because it was hot.

Oh, my gosh. I'm a terrible person. A terrible friend. I'm like pond scum. Or that annoying tree sap that gets on your car and takes just about everything short of turpentine to remove it. But you have to remove it because, otherwise, it'll ruin your car's paint job.

Wow. That was way too entailed. Clearly, I have issues with tree sap.

And also with coming all over my roommate and best friend.

There's likely a special place in hell for people like me. Like, maybe they have a little nook that's specifically designated for "Those decrepit, soulless individuals who orgasm all over people who mean the most to them and also have serious issues with tree sap."

With my eyes pinched shut, I force myself to speak in the quiet of the bedroom with nothing but the sound of our breathing slowly calming.

"Uh, Ry, I ..." Crap. Inhaling deeply, my speech is hurried, and my words run together. "I'm sorry. Forusingyourcockandcomingalloveryou."

My apology is met with silence, and it takes a moment before I realize Ry's shoulders are shaking. Raising his head, his eyes meet mine, crinkling with laughter, lips quirked in a grin.

"Mags."

Biting the edge of my bottom lip, I'm hesitant. "Ry?"

His grin widens. "You weren't alone." Resting his forehead against mine, he whispers, "I haven't had anyone make me come in my pants in years, Mags. Years."

Whoa. I hadn't realized that. "I'm just that good, huh?"

Raising back up, he shakes his head at me. "Don't get cocky."

"But we could actually say that I just got cocky, though, can't we?"

He chuckles at my play on words, smiling down at me for a moment before his expression sobers, and I know where he's heading with his thoughts even before he speaks.

"Are we okay, Mags?" His eyes search mine. "I don't want this to be weird. I mean"-he breaks off, looking away-"we got caught up in the moment." The way he says the last part, more mumbled, sounds reluctant. Like he's tossing out a reason that's not entirely true. Or heartfelt.

"We're okay," I answer softly, wishing he would look at me. I know we crossed a line, and while I can't deny the tinge of awkwardness present, I want to dismiss it. I need to ensure that our friendship doesn't change.

His head turns, eyes finding mine once again, and I'm taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. His lips part, and it looks as if he's going to speak but falters. Lips pressing thin, he offers a brief, tight smile.

"I have to get cleaned up." Winking playfully, he slides off me, walking to his adjoining bathroom. "Since someone decided to take advantage of me." Grabbing one of the bed pillows, I toss it at him, but it falls short, his laughter fading as he closes the bathroom door behind him.

Staring up at the ceiling, I barely register the sound of water running in the bathroom as thoughts race through my mind.

What the hell is happening to me?

What just happened crossed so many lines, yet ... I don't regret it.

What happened was unbelievably hot. And my reaction to Ry's kiss was so different from Sean's.

Sean. Not once did he cross my mind. Not. Once.

Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. You know what that means.

Then a dawning realization hits me. I turned Ry on-that much was evident. I mean he came in his pants, for crying out loud. But he's never once mentioned anything about being bisexual. All he's ever talked about has been Jack. I mean, sure, I get that he once dated girls in high school-specifically, Stacy-but it was likely before he truly "came out," right?

Fingertips massaging my temples, I'm suddenly facing the realization that I'm caught in a crazy situation. One I'm not even entirely sure I understand.

But the moment the bathroom door opens and a freshly showered Ry exits, a towel wrapped around his waist as he walks to his small bag to retrieve a pair of boxers, his body so finely muscled and toned, I'm faced with something I can no longer deny.

I'm developing those more-than-friends feelings for my gay roommate.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Ry The faint tapping at my bedroom door rouses me from sleep. Lifting my head, it takes me a moment to realize that an arm draped across my chest traps me, holding tight. Gazing down at a sleeping Maggie, I can't resist grazing my fingertips along her cheek, mesmerized by how peaceful she appears.

The tapping sounds again, and I gently ease from Maggie's grasp and head over to the door. Cracking it open, I see my mother standing on the other side.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm about to start breakfast." Her voice is hushed, and she tips her head to the side. "I didn't get an answer when I tapped on Maggie's door."

Shit.

I search for the words. "She's, uh ..." I tip my head, gesturing toward the bed. "She had trouble sleeping." My eyes close on a wince. That didn't sound the least bit legitimate.

Braving a look at my mother, she appears to be fighting back a grin. "Well, if you can tell her to be sure to bring her appetite to breakfast, that would be great."

"Will do, Mom." Kill me now.

She turns away as I shut the door quietly, leaning my forehead against it. How is it that my mother can still manage to make me feel like a teenage boy?

"Morning." Maggie's husky greeting turns my attention her way, and my chest tightens as I take her in, rumpled with a case of bedhead and a sleepy smile on her face.

"Morning."

"Guess I should get cleaned up for breakfast." Swinging her legs over the side of the mattress, she slides off to stand. "Don't want her getting any more ideas."

Maggie slips around me, a hand on the doorknob when I snag her wrist, tugging her close for a hug. Pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, I whisper, "Thanks, Mags."

Leaning away, her eyes meet mine as she smiles up at me sweetly. "Anytime."

When the door closes behind her, I lean my back against it. Because I'm so screwed, not to mention, I'm also a dumbass.

I have to figure out a way to solve the fact that I've done something I never imagined was possible.

I've cock blocked myself.

"Look at them! They're amazing!"

Maggie's excited remarks make me smile as I watch her take in the sight of a few young girls who are figure skating in the indoor ice rink at the Olympic Center. They're not much older than eight years of age and have likely been training from the time they started walking. Watching them spin and jump on the ice is nothing short of impressive.

I've been showing Maggie some sights around Main Street. As we exit the Olympic Center after visiting the attached museum, I hold the door open for her.

Walking along the sidewalk, Maggie stops me in front of a small shop, which has a little wooden toboggan with the Olympic logo painted on the side for people to pose in for photos.

"Will you take a photo with me?" Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and there's no way I can deny her anything when she looks at me like this.

"Sure, Mags." I climb in, trying to slide my long legs out of the way so that she can situate herself between them. She pulls out her cell phone, changing the camera to selfie mode, and offers it to me. I know the drill since she's always telling me I have "longer arms" and, therefore, take better selfies.

She leans back into my chest, and we both smile as I press the button a few times to capture the pictures. Handing her phone back, I wait for her to glance through them and give them the okay. With her hand cupped around the screen to try to diminish some of the glare from the sun, she falters at the sight of one of the photos. Growing still, she draws my concern.

"What's wrong?"

The glare of the sun prevents me from deciphering anything on the screen of her phone.

Turning her head, her eyes meet mine. "I really like this one." She hands the phone to me.

Flashing her an odd look, I glance down at the photo and see our faces smiling wide, happy and, dare I say, looking like we're meant to be together? I stare at the photo so long that I have to swipe my thumb across it when the screen begins to time out, just to look a moment longer. Because we look like one of those happy couples.

No. That's not entirely true. We look like one of those happy couples, madly in love.

Raising my eyes to meet Maggie's, I say, "This is a total framer, Mags. I want one for my office at work."

"Yeah?" Her face lights up and her lips curve into a wide, happy smile.

"Definitely." My eyes drop to her lips, and when her tongue darts out to wet them, it takes everything I have to stifle my groan.

"Hey, you two!"

Maggie and I jump apart, interrupted by the energetic greeting. Turning, I see Stacy standing nearby, eyeing us curiously. Maggie scrambles to stand, exiting the toboggan as I try everything in my power-including thinking of such things as having to one day endure a colonoscopy, old, wrinkly, saggy women skinny dipping, and my parents having sex-to deflate my hard-on. Once I've succeeded, I rise, stepping out of the toboggan and onto the sidewalk beside Maggie.

"Hey, Stacy."

"You guys enjoying your day?" Stacy smiles, turning toward Maggie. It's not hard to miss the way her eyes take in Maggie's form, as if assessing her attire and finding her subpar.

"Absolutely!" Maggie nods enthusiastically. "Ry's been showing me around and this place," she waves her arm to encompass the downtown area, "is so cute. There's so much to see."

Stacy's eyes flicker to me. "You should stop in the shop. I'll be sure to have your favorite ready for you."

"Oh, that's right. Ry's mom mentioned you own a shop down here," Maggie says.

"Stacy owns Sweet Sensations bakery. She's had it for about," I turn a questioning gaze to Stacy, "how long now?"

"It's been opened for about eight years now." Stacy's eyes fall on Maggie. "I make his favorite dessert."

"It doesn't happen to have chunks of peanut butter and chocolate in it, does it?" Maggie grins.

In a staged whisper, I pat my flat stomach. "As if I would eat that garbage."

Maggie knocks her shoulder into me, grinning. "Whatever. I've seen you dipping a chunk of dark chocolate into the peanut butter at home."

Aghast and with a mock indignation, I say, "I know not what you-"

"You live together?" Stacy interrupts.

With an easy smile, Maggie answers, "Ry and I have been living together for a while now."

It doesn't escape my attention that she doesn't specify that we're only roommates.

And that, in itself, makes the tiniest bit of hope unfurl in my chest.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Maggie Do you know those memes or GIFs where someone's quoted as saying, "Oh, no you di'int!"? Well, that just happened.

In my mind. Like I totally finger snapped in a Z formation at Stacy. Twice. Once was for her little scan of my outfit and clearly dismissing me as not good enough; the second was the moment she discovered that Ry and I live together-have been living together. She did this little squinty thing with her eyes, and her nose wrinkled the slightest bit like she'd just tasted something bad.

She tasted me. Wait, no. That sounds weird. She tasted more confirmation that Ry is not hers. He's mine.

Um, I mean ... Crap. My mind is so convoluted right now. The truth is I want Ry to be mine. Even though it's not possible. Even though last night was a total odd, how-did-that-happen, oh-we-just-got-carried-away kind of thing.

Doesn't mean I'm not channeling my inner mean girl right now. Like in the movie, aptly named, Mean Girls, I'm channeling my inner Regina George.

Minus about ninety-nine point nine percent of the bitchiness, though. Which means that, basically, I'm lame.

"So you make desserts? That sounds so cool." Confidently-and casually-I link my arm through Ry's, tipping my face up to his. "We should definitely stop in and check it out."

He's peering down at me with the slightest grin that seems to say, I know what you're up to. "Sure, Mags. If that's what you'd like to do."

Of course, that's what I want to do. Go and taste desserts at Ry's ex-girlfriend's shop. The same ex-girlfriend who clearly didn't get the memo-or shredded it, perhaps-that he's gay. And doesn't have any desire to move back here.

Sounds like a grand ol' time, right?

I take it back. All of it.

It was a great choice to come here. Brilliant, in fact.