I thought my new roommate was a girl. I called her “sweetie,” let her handle my lingerie, and offered to model my bunny outfit. Between expensive gifts and flirty texts, I was falling hard—until an emergency tampon run brought us face-to-face. Standing in my doorway wasn’t my girl bestie. It was a ridiculously hot college hockey player. He’s seen my underwear. He’s read every text. But did he know I had him all wrong—and what does he think I’ve been offering?
