Shawn

IT STARTED WITH a really loud moan, the kind that makes your body tingle and your senses so alert you could swear you actually hear the silence crackling around your face. Another moan sent my lazy heartbeat into a full—on thudding rhythm that sounded as if I'd been walking too aggressively across cement in high heels. It was so loud I was probably keeping my new roommate awake. Another moan followed. I sucked in a breath.

I'd been in this stupid dorm for two nights of pure hell, where I'd watched gross guy after gross guy put socks on their doors, followed by girls doing the walk of shame.

It wasn't my fault my name both looked and sounded like a guy's. Shawn is the name you hear a dad yell at a boy with a Yankees hat on while they play catch in the backyard—lucky for me, it was passed down the minute my mom got pregnant; they decided boy or girl, the name would be Shawn. Sigh. That name came in handy most days. Except for the day they assigned me to the guys' dorm.

And transferring at the beginning of spring semester meant they literally had no other rooms for me.

It was this dorm…

Or homelessness.

Okay, not really. I could technically find a place, but that would mean rent I couldn't afford unless I found some other sad, unfortunate soul willing to live with me. And the thing about transferring to the University of Washington at the last minute in my junior year for softball? Well, that meant I had no other choice but to listen to the moaning.

Only this moan was different.

Really. Different.

The other moans had been sloppy, drunken.

This one sounded… nice.

Not that I ranked moans on a scale from one to ten.

But if I did, it would be a solid seven, maybe even an eight.

The moan was longer this time.

I shot up in my bed and listened.

"Go back to sleep." The gruff voice came from the other side of the room where my very male, and very metrosexual, roommate slept with a stuffed unicorn and a humidifier that made weird puffing noises because of his apparent dust allergies.

"Did you hear that?" I whispered.

He flipped over on his side, giving me a generous view of his six—pack and plaid pajama pants. I'd think he was attractive if he wasn't so bossy. The first day I unpacked my bags I had felt his judgement over everything I'd placed in my drawers, like they weren't folded well enough to deserve a spot.

"Everyone on the floor heard that. Seriously, sleep. You came here with dark circles under your eyes, and they're just going to get worse if you lay in your bed listening to the threesome across the way do their jobs."

My ears perked. "Threesome? Jobs?"

He put the white unicorn over his face and screamed into it.

What? Like I was the one being disruptive? I had practice at five in the morning! It was one in the morning; some of us needed uninterrupted sleep!

"Shawn." He said my name with a bit of disdain.

To be fair, he'd been open about the fact that he'd thought his new roommate was going to be less annoying than the last and, at the very least, packing a penis. I'd like to think he was right about the first and very irritated about the penis.

It's not my fault I was born a girl, right?

"Just try to go back to sleep. It's Friday, which means it's going to be a long night of moaning. If you need earplugs, I have spares in my desk."

"For situations like this?" Seriously?

"They give them out for free. Everyone knows it's necessary."

"Why the heck is it necessary?" My interest was more than piqued.

"Oh. My. Hell. What did I do? What? So I dumped her because she had a big middle toe! Everyone has their deal—breakers! Shit!" Slater threw his pillow onto the floor and stood, raking his hands through his hair, pacing like a madman.

Apparently, he had a thing about sleep, and apparently, I'd just made him irrationally angry over a breakup.

"So fucking what? Is this God's way of punishing me?" He looked up to the ceiling. "You give me a girl who can't even sleep through a few moans and doesn't even wash her face before bed? Kill me and get it over with!"

I gulped. "Hey, you okay?"

"No!" He glared over at me. "I'm not okay." The mocking air quotes gave it away. "I'm exhausted, and I need my sleep, and you talk more than my Aunt Gertrude who literally won't even stop talking during mass."

"Sorry?"

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "Look, I know you're curious — all the newbies are. I'm going to give you the short version, all right?"

"Um, okay." I sat up straighter.

He crooked his finger and walked over to the door that led to the living space separating us from their room.

I'd never seen a place so big and so nice at a university; again, another reason why I was still putting up with the moans.

Plus, it wasn't like Slater, my new roommate, was a slob.

He actually alphabetized his stuff.

And labeled all his products.

I slowly got up from the bed and walked over to where he stood by the door.

He looked up at me. "You're tall for a woman."

"You're short for a man," I fired back.

He just grinned. "Eh, maybe you aren't so bad. And I'm not short. I'm 5' 10". You're the monster here."

"Six foot. Big deal." I shrugged. Guys always had a problem with my height, but Slater seemed to be impressed by it, not intimidated. "So, what's the story?"

He opened the door a crack just as another moan rang out. He bit down on his lip as three moans followed then a slight scream. "In three, two, one…"

The door across from us opened.

A beautiful girl stretched her arms over her head and cracked her neck. She was wearing jeans and a white crop top and had her dark, curly hair pulled up into a big ponytail. "Thanks guys. You always know how to work me."

I sucked in a breath just as Slater slapped a hand over my mouth. "Don't give us away. They don't like spies." His whisper was soft against my ear like he couldn't help but somehow sexualize everything.

"They? What? Like the Cold War's taking place in the space between us?" I rolled my eyes.

He didn't. "Watch."

A tall guy with lazy green eyes and a man bun stepped out and crossed his arms. His skinny jeans rode so low on his hips it was almost indecent, and of course, he had no shirt on.

So… they were having sex?

Another guy stepped out. He had blond hair, killer abs, same outfit, like it was a uniform or something, as another guy followed him out. He was the one that made my heart do a weird thud. He was tall. Really tall. At least 6' 6", with more muscles than I knew existed on another human and a deadly smile that looked slightly crooked; and, of course, one small dimple dented the right side of his mouth, and blond locks hung past his ears. Were they all descendants of Thor or something? Trying out for Vikings? Game of Thrones? Where did an individual find that many good—looking men? And what monster would put them in the same room together?

The last guy looked like Charlie Hunnam and Brad Pitt had gotten it on and somehow had a baby. I almost couldn't look away.

"They have that effect on all their clients," Slater whispered.

He was still there? I hadn't noticed.

"And before you start lusting, remember, they don't date. They… please."

"Come again?" I whispered.

"Oh, they do, and often." What a stupid response. "Although they do have this ironclad, no intercourse rule, but last year rumor had it that three girls orgasmed by one of the guys holding a box of Cheerios."

"Shut up!" I hissed.

Slater held up his hands. "Don't shoot the messenger."

"So, they… please girls." I licked my lips. Disgusting. Who made a job out of that? And three of them? Wasn't that awkward?

One of them, the blond Viking—looking sexy one, bent down and kissed the side of the girl's neck while the other two flanked each side. They all touched her intimately, but not in a way that was overtly sexual, almost as if they just wanted to show her they were close — oh, and you know — shared an insane amount of body heat.

She closed her eyes, and her head fell back while the tall one tilted her chin toward him and whispered, "Make sure you hydrate and text us if you need anything else."

She slipped something into his hands and, honest to God, stumbled toward the door like she'd just been drugged.

It clicked shut.

Slater put his forefinger on my chin and shut my gaping mouth just as all three of them looked across the room and smiled.

I should have dodged those smiles. Should have slammed the door in disgust. Instead, I was so damn intrigued I opened it wider and glared.

"No, no! They like a challenge, don't just—" Slater was already pulling me back.

I crossed my arms and stared them down.

Before I realized I was in nothing but a sports bra and a see—through tank top.

They looked their fill, their expressions varying degrees of leer.

Tropical—quality heat swamped me.

Finally, Slater was able to pull me back into our room. He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it for good measure. "Stay. Away."

I gave my head a shake. "Trust me, I'm not into sharing, and I don't date during the season."

He scoffed. "They don't date either, and they have loads of rules. I've seen them convert a girl destined for the convent, so you can see why I'm concerned that your pulse just picked up."

"It did not!" I gulped. The warmth that had flooded my body slowly dissipated.

He pressed his hand to my neck and swore. "Don't lie to your new roommate. It's rude."

I slapped his hand away. "I thought you hated me because I have boobs."

"Oh, I love boobs." He grinned widely. "I just don't want yours. I'm not into taller girls, or ones who happen to be my roommate when I specifically asked for a quiet athlete whose cleanliness was better than Steve's." He shrugged.

"Steve?"

"All Steves are dirty. Registrar should just know these things. Steve used to clip his toenails onto the floor — just sprinkled them around like fairy dust. And don't even get me started on CrossFit Steve's calluses and his joy in ripping them off and showing me just how big one chunk of skin could be. Oh right, and he typically did this before dinner. How else do you think I got the abs?"

I snorted out a laugh. "So, CrossFit Steve's both your curse and your inspiration?"

I could have sworn his eye twitched before he gave his head a shake. "I can tell you're one of the good ones. Don't fall for it. Stay far, far, far away. In fact, you should move." He eyed me up and down. "How do you feel about Siberia?"

I walked back to my bed. "I'm not moving to Siberia because I'm living in the same dorm with some weird co—eds who like to please women."

"Women, men, plants… my grandma. They'll do it all for a price, and often, together. Just… stay away."

He moved back to his bed and pulled the duvet over his face. I heard a muffled sigh as he threw it back off his body and stared me down. "I mean it. The Pleasure Ponies are bad news."

I burst out laughing. "Please tell me that's their real name!"

He joined in. "Nah, that's my nice nickname for them. The real company name is under Wingmen, Inc."

I stilled. "The matchmaking company that Facebook tried to buy out last year?"

He nodded. "Both gurus wanted to leave a legacy. Handpicked those three to work for them here at the University. When one graduates, another's nominated, and let's just put it this way… Those guys? Raking it in… no shame whatsoever."

"But how? Why?"

He yawned. "Because we live in a world full of broken hearts, and everyone wants to be told the lie."

I felt small. I wanted to crawl into my bed and cry a bit. "What lie?"

"That it's not you. It's them. That the world will give you better, that you'll get your happily ever after, that life is like the movies — that we don't live in a sea full of broken, fucked up hearts."

We stopped talking after that.

I lay awake for two more hours wondering if he could see my insecurity, my pain.

And pondering how I was going to hide it from the ones who promised to fix it — for a price.