My roommate had accused me of trying to seduce him. Again.

Furious, I sent my online boyfriend a picture of my legs.

Me: Do you like them, puppy?

He didn't reply.

Instead, a muffled sound came from the bathroom.

I looked up—and froze.

Zachary Hayes, my perpetually sharp-tongued roommate, stood in the doorway with his shirt disheveled and his face flushed.

Clutched in his hand was a pair of lace stockings.

Exactly like the ones in the picture I'd just sent my boyfriend.

Pink and white. Blue lace trim. Little bows. Slightly sheer.

They were unmistakably the pair I'd mailed Z a few days earlier.

I sucked in a breath and instinctively stumbled backward.

My back hit the cold wall. My knees gave way, and I slid to the floor.

Zachary caught my eye.

For a split second, something like panic flickered across his face. Then his expression turned cold.

He turned away, hurriedly buttoned his shirt, and shoved the stockings into his pocket.

After straightening his clothes, he walked over and stopped in front of me, blocking the light.

I hesitated, then lifted a hand. For some reason, I thought he was going to help me up.

He merely stood there, looking down at me.

His handsome, chilly face held undisguised disgust.

"Sam, how many times are you going to pull these pathetic little stunts?"

"I don't like you."

"And I don't like men."

My face burned.

"That's not what happened! The bathroom door is broken. It opened by itself. I wasn't trying to look at you!"

He ignored my explanation, turned around, and took hold of the bathroom door.

With one neat click, he shut it firmly.

"Sometimes it closes. Sometimes it doesn't," I muttered.

Even I could hear how unconvincing that sounded.

Zachary gave me a cold look.

"This isn't the first time you've done something like this."

"I have a girlfriend. We're very happy together. Whatever you're thinking, stop it and keep your distance."

Then he walked away.

I was so angry my eyes stung.

By "something like this," he meant what had happened at the beginning of the semester.

I'd seen a jacket hanging over his chair.

Black and white, with a tiny embroidered logo on the chest.

It looked just like one Z had shown me in a photograph.

I stepped closer and caught the faint scent of cedar.

Exactly the same scent as the clothes Z had mailed me.

My heart skipped.

Before I knew what I was doing, I'd lowered my head, wanting to check whether the smell was really the same.

"What are you doing?"

The icy, angry voice came from behind me.

I jerked around, feeling as though I'd been caught stealing.

Zachary snatched the jacket away.

He towered over me, his voice practically dripping with malice.

"Learn some boundaries, Sam."

"Do this again and I'll report you to housing for harassing your roommate. You can find somewhere else to live."

Only then did I realize what he thought he'd seen.

I opened my mouth, desperate to explain, but nothing came out.

What was I supposed to say?

Sorry. I thought you might be my online boyfriend.

Knowing Zachary, he would only think I'd invented another ridiculous excuse to get his attention.

He left before I managed to say anything.

After that, whenever we passed each other in the residence hall, I tried to find a chance to explain.

But one look at those eyes—cold enough to keep anyone ten feet away—and the words stuck in my throat.

I pulled out my phone and unleashed everything on my boyfriend.

Me: Babe, my roommate is such a freak. He's arrogant and mean, and he thinks he's irresistible. He keeps accusing me of trying to seduce him! The man is completely delusional!

Z replied almost instantly.

Z: Don't be upset, baby. Some people are born without a brain. His hands would be better employed unscrewing his own head.

Z: Stay away from him. Don't waste your time talking to him. If you don't like living there, move out. I'll buy you an apartment.

Then he sent me five hundred dollars.

Half my anger vanished on the spot.

I'd obviously lost my mind earlier.

How could my generous, wonderful boyfriend possibly be that cold-hearted narcissist Zachary Hayes?

Another message appeared.

Z: By the way, baby, did you make a typo? You called him "he" a minute ago.

My fingers stopped moving.

A chill ran over my scalp.

That had been close.

To Z, I was supposed to be a sweet, adorable girl.