Rent: Paid in Full (Bad Decisions, #1)

by Jesse H. Reign

Picture the worst, most clichéd fuckboy you could possibly imagine. Tall, blond, unfairly attractive, right? Have a clear picture in your mind? Good. Now, make him more attractive. Way, way more. Off the charts, outrageously good-looking. And you know the excess of arrogance fuckboys have? Scoop all that up, roll it into a ball, and double it. Seriously. Then you might have an idea of what I’m dealing with here.

‘Ey,” he says, pulling himself up slowly into a seated position, feigning intent to help me with my bags without actually making any move to do so. He sniffs and raises an expectant brow at me. Note how he hasn’t introduced himself but expects an introduction from me—Dickheadery 101. “Uh, I’m Ryan. Ryan Haraway.” “‘Ey,” he says again. Ah, a riveting conversationalist. Lucky me. Just what I need. Just the type I’ve always wanted to be cooped up with. In a small space. For prolonged periods of time. With no way of escape.

Miller MacAvoy and I are not going to work out as roommates. Call it irreconcilable differences or whatever you want, but believe me, I’ll be out of here the first chance I get. I’d rather move back in with Steve and his deviated septum and penchant for lighting blunts in the bathroom than live with this asshole.

He balls his T-shirt up and shoots it into the hamper in a corner on his side of the room without taking aim. It drops in with a soft swish. He looks at me expectantly, lips bowed up in a smirk. I can’t tell if he’s expecting praise for his dunking skills or for his abs, but either way, he’s clenching so hard I’m surprised he hasn’t burst a blood vessel. I ignore him completely. Not my monkey, not my circus, and all that.

The restaurant was super busy and working a double will take the pressure off a little next week, but my limbs were leaden by closing time, my feet were throbbing, and I was unable to hold on to a thought and follow it all the way from start to end. It was the kind of tired that physically hurts and makes you question whether being able to afford food is really such a big deal after all.

Think I forgot to mention that. Miller is bisexual. Flagrantly bisexual. Of course he is. Out and proud and fancy-free. Not that I mind that he’s bi. I might be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.

The first one in is Dan…Dane…Dwayne? Something like that. I’ve seen him hanging around with Miller in the quad outside the library. His hair is short and dark and over-styled for eight in the morning. He has that I know how to use all the equipment in the gym look about him in a very big way. I don’t know the other one, but I’ve seen him around campus quite a bit. Redheaded and pink-skinned. Usually spotted with his hand stuffed deep into a packet of Cheetos. Yo Bros, if ever I’ve met them. “D’you know Dean and Trip?” Miller asks me. “‘Sup,” says Trip. “Yo,” says Dean. What did I tell you?

I have a trio of dicks in my midst, and they’re reigned over by my insufferable roommate. One dick to rule them all, if you will. God help me.

I know Miller’s smiling. I can hear it. I don’t know how because he’s not moving or speaking, but I can hear it. Loudly.

The only thing worse than Miller MacAvoy acting like a dick is Miller MacAvoy when he isn’t.

While I’m fine with being curious in general, I’m not at all fine with being curious about Miller specifically. I’m the furthest thing from fine about that. Couldn’t be less fine about it if I tried.

He’s taken to acting like shirtless is not only an option, it’s the expected dress code.

One second, everything is normal. The curtains are drawn and the door to our room is closed. There’s music playing on Ryan’s scratchy phone speaker. Something electric and grungy, but other than that, everything’s normal. Ryan’s angry, and he hates me. He’s looking up at me, and one side of his top lip is pulled into a sneer, as usual. His towel is wrapped around his waist where it belongs. Like I said, everything’s normal. The next second, the towel’s on the floor.

Why is my towel around my ankles? And why on God’s green Earth am I standing naked with Miller fucking MacAvoy looking at me like he’s hungry and I’m the last snack on the planet?

I cling to the sink, knees trembling, as I desperately try to work out how to be human and totally braindead at the same time.

The thing is, for someone like me, someone who’s been described as “perpetually bored” more than once, Ryan Haraway is better than crack. He’s completely unpredictable. A loose cannon. I don’t have a clue what he’s going to do or say next, and something tells me he isn’t completely sure either.

You’re at the age where you should be doing something stupid at least every other week. It’s practically a coursework requirement.” She shakes her head despondently. “Can’t believe I have to tell you this.” I suddenly feel overly aware of my mouth. I can feel where my top and bottom lip touch, and it feels strange. My lips are tingling, twitching at the corners. Did someone say stupid? Because, man-oh-man, do I ever have something stupid in mind.

I’m mesmerized. Hypnotized as silky skin slides over solid steel. Dick-matized. That’s what I am. Ordinarily, it would take a lot more than this simple act to fascinate me to this extent. In many ways, I’m the kind of person who struggles to stay on course, to focus. But holy shit, I could play this lewd game of peek-a-boo all day.

The thought of so much as touching any part of Miller’s body without being paid for it leaves me dangerously inflamed. Dangerously afraid. Afraid for real because I don’t need to try it to know what it would be like. I know. It’ll be heaven and hell wrapped in smooth skin. Intoxicating. In fact, I’ve started trying hard not to breathe in when he’s close because I know what he is. A drug. A chemical reaction that causes a nuclear dopamine surge. A full-blown addiction waiting to take hold.

“You have girls dripping off you like sweat, you know that?” God, he’s exhausting. “What? You jealous?” “Yes, I’m jealous.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course I’m jealous. I told you. You’re mine.”

“My point, Ryan, is that you’re such a dumbass you missed your own glow-up.”

“I love tequila. Smelled it on your breath the first time you blew me. Now I think of you when I smell it.”

My dick is determined to make my life hell. It’s been making a complete ass of itself since the day I moved in with Miller. I swear to God, it’s like I’m permanently chained to an idiot.

think I have a thing for you.” He doesn’t skip a beat. “No, you don’t. Don’t be ridiculous.” “Yeah, I do. I have a huge thing for you. I think it might be serious.” “You wouldn’t know a thing for someone other than yourself if it hit you in the face.”

I like how much he wants me, and I like the fact he doesn’t try to hide it. I like how he’s looking at me. Like I’m air, and he’s suffocating without me.

“You know these pieces of you?” he says softly, looking down at my lips. “The ones you sell to me? Well, they’re like anything else. Once I’ve bought them, I own them. They’re mine.”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, when the sun’s up, he’d still push me from a moving vehicle the first chance he got, but I think there’s a chance he’d regret it. Not deeply or anything like that. But probably a little. And I think that’s called progress.

He’s one of those people who needs space now and then, and as the future love of his life, I think it’s important that I’m sensitive to that.

Letting Miller fuck me is obviously a terrible, terrible idea. You don’t need to tell me that. I’m well aware, thanks. I know it’s insane. I know it’s reckless and idiotic. And I know it’s a horrible lapse in judgment. It’s clear as day.

“Nah, I don’t want washing machine sex. I want The Boyfriend Experience.”

“I love you, Ryan,” he says, kissing me again. This time, his lips press against my temple. “It’s the truth. It’s my truth, whether you believe it or not.”

“Hell, I’d pay good money just to see those lips wrapped around my cock.” “No.” I turn away from him and pull my jacket tight around my neck, pinching my face as tight and prissily as I can. “I would never. I’m not that kind of guy.” “No? Not that kind of guy, huh? Not the type to take a dick up your ass for money, huh? Ah, I get it. I understand. You got morals or some shit like that.” He stops the vehicle. “I don’t have any of those myself, but I’ve heard of them.”