Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 16

Emersyn

The air is filled with the mouth-watering aroma of garlic and rosemary, a signal that Cruz's famous roast chicken is almost ready. Our Saturday night tradition—roommate dinner and game night—is about to begin. Fowler, in his usual laid-back demeanor, lounges next to me on the couch, one arm stretched out along its back. His eyes are fixated on the screen of his phone, probably scrolling through some meme feed.

I shake the small bottle of nail polish—a deep plum color—and carefully unscrew the cap. "So, Fowler, you're going down tonight. I hope you've prepared for your imminent defeat."

Fowler chuckles without looking up. "Girl, you keep dreaming. I am the reigning champ of Monopoly, and you know it."

I roll my eyes and focus on painting my nails. "You're the champ of bankrupting everyone else because you make risky deals nobody should ever agree to."

"That's called strategy, Emmie."

A timer dings from the kitchen, and Cruz hollers, "Chicken's done, folks!"

We all make our way to the kitchen, my nails still a bit tacky. I hover over the plates, eyebrows raised. "Uh, guys? A little help here?"

Locke chuckles. "Still wet? Come on, Em, timing!"

Cruz, oven mitts still on, starts carving the chicken. "Don't worry, I got you." He loads up a plate for me—roast chicken, some garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed veggies.

"Make sure to grab a roll, too," I say, nodding towards the basket of freshly baked bread.

"Can't forget the carbs," Cruz winks and places a warm roll next to the chicken.

Fowler trails behind Cruz, piling up his plate with almost more food than it can handle. "I'm a growing boy."

"You're a black hole," Locke quips, following suit but with a more reasonable amount.

We move back to the living room, where the Monopoly board is already spread out on the coffee table. Before we can settle, Marx appears at the railing of the loft. His body is graceful as he descends the stairs.

"One minute," he says, and then he's back with his dinner, sitting across from me as we all gather around the coffee table. I look at my Monopoly piece—a tiny dog—and then at my still-drying nails.

"So, who's gonna be my hands?" I ask, glancing around the room.

"I'll do it," Marx offers, "unless you don't trust me with your real estate ventures."

"Are you a ruthless capitalist?" I shoot back playfully.

"In Monopoly? Absolutely," he grins.

"Good," I laugh. "You're hired."

The game kicks off. Fowler's the banker, handing out fake money like it's going out of style. Locke tries to broker deals left and right, and Cruz is just happy if he can pass 'Go' without landing in jail.

As Marx moves my piece around the board, our fingers accidentally brush against each other. A tiny spark, but it feels like so much more. My nails are practically dry now, but I don't say anything, letting Marx continue to be my proxy.

"Ah, landed on my property! Pay up, Emmie!" Fowler gloats as Marx lands my piece on Fowler's ridiculous hotel-covered property.

Marx chuckles and counts out the Monopoly money, handing it over to Fowler. "You really are ruthless."

"Like you're any better," I retort, "Mr. 'I own all the railroads.'"

"He's got a point," Locke says, taking a sip of his wine.