When I first moved in with Jamie, I didn’t think much of it. I just needed a place that wasn’t my parents’ house and she was looking for someone to split the rent after her last roommate moved out. Jamie and I had known each other from college—a couple of classes together, a few mutual friends, but nothing close. She was the kind of girl people noticed in a low-key way: tall, curly auburn hair, usually in baggy ripped jeans and old band tees, her moods flipping from sharp wit to deep focus depending on what she was reading.
I wasn’t really looking to hook up with anyone at the time. I was coming off a breakup and wanted a quiet six months to get my shit together. That’s why, when Jamie asked if I’d like to move in, I just saw cheap rent and company I’d at least get along with.
But living with her was different from the dorms or random housemates in the past. Jamie was comfortable in her space, and that made me relax in ways I hadn’t realized I needed. Evenings on the couch, Netflix on, working our way through terrible reality shows, laughing about the wildest moments, or just sitting quietly with our own books.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice her—like, really notice her—pretty early on. We’d both be home late, toss on pajamas, order pizza, and I’d catch myself looking at her bare legs, the way her oversized shirt framed her shoulders. Sometimes she’d slip off her socks and stretch out across the couch, and I’d feel this unfamiliar tightness in my chest and between my legs. I tried not to read into it. The last thing I needed was roommate drama and the awkwardness that comes with catching feelings for someone you wake up to every morning.
Still, it kept creeping up on me. I’d think about her laugh at the strangest times, and I’d replay moments in my mind—her brushing past me in the hallway, her hand on my forearm when she wanted to show me something on her laptop.
The night shit started changing, things had been building all week. It was late April, the weather finally warm enough to open the windows, and we’d both had a couple drinks after a crappy week of work. I remember looking at her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, whiskey in hand, eyes sparkling as we argued about which reality show villain was the worst.
“You’re literally defending him?” I laughed, poking her with an empty chip bag. “He’s a psycho.”
Jamie grinned, leaning toward me. “He’s strategic, which is more than I can say for half that cast. Besides, he’s hot.”
“Hot, but crazy.”
She shrugged, swinging her legs so that one brushed against my hip. “Sometimes that’s the fun part.”
“Not when you have to live with them,” I shot back, but my voice sounded different to my own ears. Almost shy. Jamie raised her eyebrow and tilted her head, and there was a little pause. I could feel something, thick and electric, hanging between us.
I busied myself refilling our drinks, needing an excuse to step away, heart racing for reasons I was trying hard not to name. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jamie watching me.
“Hey. You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, but I couldn’t quite meet her eye. “Just tired, maybe.”
We headed to the living room, and at some point the conversation got slower, the space between us on the couch shrinking. She put her feet in my lap, grinning like it was just something she did all the time, and I made myself focus on the stupid TV instead of the way her toes traced circles on my thigh.
But the drinks, the warmth of her body, the lazy comfort we’d always had—it made my senses feel muddled. My eyes kept dropping down to her lips. She’d glance at me, eyebrows raised in a way that felt like a question.
Toward midnight, we found ourselves side by side, pressed together. Jamie moved her hand to my knee, fingers warm, pinky sliding under the hem of my shorts.
I sucked in a breath, heart thudding stupidly hard.
“Hey,” she said softly, voice different now—lower, careful. “I’ve been wondering something for a while. Can I ask you?”
I turned and met her eyes. Her face was so close; I could see the little flecks of gold in her hazel irises.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Ever think about… like, us?”
My brain stuttered. I tried to play it off, but I was sure my face was betraying everything I felt. I meant to say something casual, but it came out as basically a whisper.
“Yeah. I think about it.”
It felt like a wall between us crumbled. We both hesitated, breathing fast, neither wanting to make the first dumb move. Jamie smiled in this nervous, wicked way I’d never seen.
“I was scared to mess things up,” she admitted.
“Me too.”
She slid her hand up my thigh, so slowly I thought I’d lose it, her touch shy but insistent.
“We don’t have to…” she started, but I shook my head, suddenly desperate for more. I reached for her, fingers threading through her curls, and pulled her into a kiss.
God, her mouth was soft but needy. She tasted like whiskey and mint gum. My lips tingled, heat zipping through my whole body. Jamie’s hands tangled at my hips, pulling me closer as she groaned softly into my mouth. I ran my fingers along her neck, feeling how her pulse jumped beneath my touch, her body squirming closer until she was practically straddling me.
“I’ve wanted this, fuck, for weeks,” she whispered. My own hands slid up under her t-shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of her back, down to the curve of her ass.
Jamie pressed her forehead to mine, hips grinding against me just enough to make me moan. She grinned. “You like that?”
I nodded, dizzy, and moved my hands down, gripping her harder, guiding her against me.
“Bedroom?” I managed, voice half-gone.
“Yes. Now.”
We stumbled to her room, tripping over shoes, giggling like idiots. As soon as the door closed, Jamie tugged her shirt over her head, revealing black lace underneath. She looked nervous, breathing fast, but bold, too—like she was done hesitating.
“Are you sure?” I asked, pausing long enough that her eyes flicked up and held mine.
“Yeah,” she breathed, grabbing my shirt and hauling me into another kiss. She was hungry for it—her hands moving under my shirt, her palms hot on my skin, my body aching in ways I hadn’t in a long time.
I fumbled her bra open, palms cupping her breasts, feeling her nipples harden under my touch. Jamie moaned, biting her lip, hips moving insistently against my thigh. We half-fell onto her bed, all tangled limbs and sharp laughter, the air thick with want.
She yanked my shorts down, her hands tracing over every inch of skin she could find. I gasped as she pressed her thigh between my legs and rocked against me, the friction sending a gorgeous jolt through my body.
Jamie’s mouth was everywhere—my lips, my neck, her tongue flicking teasingly across my ear. “Been wanting to do this since the first night you moved in,” she muttered, fingers slipping down, finding me slick and ready.
My breath stuttered out as she slid two fingers inside me, slow and deep. I arched into her, the sensation burning through every nerve ending.
“Fuck, Jamie,” I gasped, clinging to her shoulders as she moved, steady and confident, her mouth capturing mine again and again.
I pushed her back, hungry to taste her, sliding my hands down her hips, tugging off her panties. She grinned, spreading her legs, her desire obvious. I ran my tongue over her, making her curse and shudder, her fingers knotting in my hair.
For long, dizzy minutes, we gave ourselves over to it—kissing, touching, laughing breathlessly, losing ourselves in each other’s bodies.
Afterwards, tangled in her sheets, Jamie pulled me close and kissed the corner of my mouth. She smiled, her eyes soft.
“This is going to make brunch awkward tomorrow, huh?” she murmured.
I grinned, feeling warmth spread through me. “Not unless you want it to.”
She shook her head, wrapping her arms tight around me. “I don’t want anything to be awkward. I just… want more of you.”
And lying there, my body humming from everything we’d just done, I knew I wanted more, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be simple, but for the first time in months, complicated never sounded so good.