Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

Theft

The door to our room is unlocked when I return, which I'm grateful for. Aside from a change of clothes, I also left my phone and keys in the room when I rushed off to practice this morning.

My phone sits beside my bed, and I pick it up, checking for any action. I don't have any notifications, but when I open my messages, I see a conversation with Jill that I never took part in. A pit forms in my stomach. I scroll through the texts, looking for the last one I sent her before our call. I find it far further up than I expect, even as the realization settles. Sam hijacked my phone. That's why it was in his bed this morning.

I begin to read the conversation. Jill's first text came in around 2am, about the exact time she would have woken up in Spain.

Jill: So? How's life with the sex god?

"My" response is almost immediate.

Me: You mean Sam Evans?

Jill: Who the heck else would I mean? He's totally your type isn't he?

Me: He def is

I groan. "Idiot," I mutter at Sam's little text bubble.

Jill: Called it. Tats and piercings for my girl! To think you claimed Ryder was all lax bros named Chad

Me: Well I didn't know that men as fine as Sam existed anywhere tbh

I think this is when Jill should know it's not me. Not only is this constant raving over Sam unlike me, I never use text abbreviations. So far Sam has used two. But then I read the next line and throw a hand over my mouth.

Me: I bet he's great in the sack

Jill: You're in a perfect position to find out

"Nooo," I moan, my eyes scanning ahead and catching her next message.

Jill: OMG sexy roommate sex! What a way to lose your virginity!

Me: Sounds like the start of a great porno

I close my eyes. Oh God, God, God. No. After Jill's thumbs' up emoji, there is—thankfully—a topic change.

Jill: Okay, tell me everything. How's MacMillan? Did Coleman buy your story?

Me: He totally bought it

Jill: Eek! You're going to be such an asset this year

Jill: What about Justin? Did you see him?

Me: I saw him. Still a tool.

This makes me laugh. So Sam thinks Justin's a tool too, huh? Not bad.

Jill: Uh, hello? Enough with the name-calling. Did he say anything about me? Is he as cute as I imagine after his summer on the Vineyard?

Wait a second...Sam wrote "still" a tool. No wonder that felt accurate; I called Justin a tool after I first met him at a party at the beginning of the summer. Jill and I texted about it; she was pissed at me. Which means, if Sam's saying "still," he knows...he read through all my messages with Jill??

I don't bother to continue reading the rest of the conversation. I can do that later. I need to see what other incriminating information's accessible on my phone.

Directly below Jill's name, there's a text to an unknown number with a single word: "Grey." I save the number in my phone as "????" and continue my investigation.

Just under the unknown number is a text to Ryan Jesien. I cringe. I haven't texted Ryan in months, not since he kissed the hell out of me in his backyard, then started to act a little too weird and clingy. Above his last text—from December ("Logan, can we talk about this? I'm cool with going back to being friends, but I don't want it to be weird")—is a new message, sent last night around 4am. Looks like I told him that I can't stop thinking about him and want him back. He hasn't responded.

It doesn't look like Sam's reached out to anyone else. Below the text to Ryan are a bunch of innocuous texts to friends and relatives that I know I sent. Some of those discuss my dad, but it's not until I stumble into the messages from my summer therapist, Dojah, that I grind my teeth together in frustration. Sam has no right to those parts of me.

My blood is boiling when Sam enters the room, his hair dripping. He's wearing only a pair of boxers. The bold contours of his hips are not lost on me, but I'm too angry to be distracted. Sam fucked with my life—my real life—and he knows things about me that he has no right to.

"What? Admissions didn't fix their little error yet?" He grins as he rubs a towel heartily through his hair, making it stand in all directions.

"What the hell is this?" I hold my phone up.

"That's called an iPhone, Grey," he says in the placating voice one uses to settle a fussy toddler.

"You know what I mean," I hiss.

Sam drops his towel on his desk chair and folds his arms over his chest, raising his pierced eyebrow. I keep my eyes steady on his, waiting for him to crack. Finally, he shrugs and turns toward his wardrobe, grabbing a white t-shirt and pair of jeans.

"Don't get all pissy with me. I'm just trying to get to know my new roommate."

I get in his face. "This is not 'getting to know your new roommate.' It's snooping, spying. It's bullshit!"

"If I recall correctly, you were wearing a hat you found inside my closet when we met. That sounds like snooping to me."

"First off, your closet was open. Second, I didn't read your text messages. Some of that stuff was personal!"

Sam laughs, running a hand through his wet mane. "Don't worry, Grey. I already knew you were a virgin."

My face reddens. I'd almost forgotten that little gem. "Stay out of my stuff," I demand, turning and storming—rather pathetically—to my side of the room.

"I guess I should apologize now for your panty situation then," Sam says, not bothering to disguise the look of glee on his face.

I glance at my duffel bag. It looks exactly as it did when I left it, though, in my defense, I was pretty rushed this morning.

"What do you mean?" I ask. Sam turns to his wardrobe, grabbing a black hoodie and slipping it over his shoulders.

"I mean, what good is my getting to know you if the rest of the guys can't?"

I narrow my eyes on Sam, not moving from my bed.

"Anyway. Gotta run, roomie. Keep it classy." He leans in, grinning conspiratorially. "Though that will be tough when you're rocking the Ryder Academy uniform commando."

"You mother—" But Sam's gone, waving over his shoulder as he closes the door on me. As soon as it's shut, I leap off my bed and dig into my duffel bag. I always pack my underwear into the side pocket, and I fumble for the zipper. I expect everything to be gone, but it's not. In fact, I think I can account for all the panties I own.

After ten minutes I settle down, realizing that everything's in order. Sam was just messing with me. Which makes me realize...

I snap my head toward the window, then the door, expecting to see him peeking through one and laughing. He's definitely gone.

I set a passcode on my phone before texting Jill to let her know that her whole conversation last night was with Sam. She doesn't respond right away so I drop my phone on the bed and move to my duffel, thinking about how I can protect my stuff from Sam's grabby little hands going forward. Looks like I need to get some locks and alarms for this room. And maybe some pepper spray (for good measure). I set to work unpacking my duffel—it's been torn apart anyway; might as well—and plotting my revenge on Sam. He wants to get to know me? Great. Wait until he gets a good, long taste of what I'm capable of.