My Straight Roommate

MM Contemporary Romance
by Jace Wilder

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Bi Awakening, Roommates to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Possessive MC, Praise Kink, Jealousy, Gay For You

He’s not into guys. Then why can’t he stop?

Ethan Cole doesn’t do guys.

He’s sure about that. Has been his whole life. So when he moves in with Noah Reyes — openly gay, annoyingly hot, and completely off-limits — it shouldn’t be a problem. Except Noah walks around the apartment shirtless. And he smells like something Ethan can’t stop noticing. And when they’re on the couch at 2 AM and Noah’s thigh is pressed against his, Ethan’s brain short-circuits in ways he can’t explain.

Noah Reyes knows better than this.

He’s been the experiment before. The “I was just curious” casualty. He swore he’d never be that guy again. But Ethan isn’t curious. Ethan is consumed. And the way Ethan touches him — desperate, shaking, like he’s terrified and starving at the same time — Noah can’t walk away from that. Even when Ethan keeps saying this doesn’t mean anything.

One of them is lying to himself. The other is about to get his heart broken.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Straight-to-gay bi awakening with a slow-burn fuse
✅ Forced proximity roommates who can’t keep their hands off each other
✅ “I’m not into guys” to “I’m obsessed with you” pipeline
✅ Possessive, dominant MC who doesn’t know he’s possessive until it’s too late
✅ 9 explicit scenes that escalate from experimental to earth-shattering
✅ Jealousy so sharp it has teeth
✅ An emotional journey that earns every beat
✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes), strong language, sexuality questioning, and depictions of identity crisis and emotional distress. Intended for readers 18+.

📖 Read Chapter One Free

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Chapter One

The guy was shirtless before he even made it through the door.

That was the first thing Noah Reyes noticed about Ethan Cole—not the square jaw or the sun-darkened forearms or the way he filled a doorway like he’d been engineered for it. No. It was the fact that the man had apparently decided shirts were optional for apartment viewings, and nobody had thought to correct him.

“AC’s busted in the hallway,” Ethan said, shouldering past Noah with a box like he already lived here. Sweat tracked a line down the center of his chest, disappearing into the waistband of jeans that sat low enough to be a personal attack. “You weren’t kidding about the walk-up.”

“Fourth floor,” Noah said. “I mentioned that.”

“You mentioned it. You didn’t mention the stairs were designed by a sadist.” Ethan dropped the box on the living room floor and straightened, rolling one shoulder. He had the kind of body that came from actual labor—thick through the chest, broad across the shoulders, nothing sculpted or vain about it. Just dense, functional muscle under tan skin.

Noah locked that down and went to the kitchen.

“Water?” Noah called over his shoulder.

“God, yes.”

Noah filled two glasses and took a breath. He could already feel the shape of this—the easy energy, the instant comfort, the way Ethan moved through a room like gravity bent around him. He’d seen this movie before. He knew how it ended.

Not this time.

Ethan took the glass, drained half of it, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is nice. Way nicer than the last three places I looked at. One of them had a bathtub in the kitchen. Like, in the kitchen.”

“Welcome to New York real estate.”

Ethan grinned. Crooked, unguarded, the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. “So what’s wrong with it?”

“No catch. My last roommate moved out for a job in Boston. You’re the twelfth person to respond to the listing and the first one who didn’t make me want to change my locks.”

Ethan laughed—open, unself-conscious. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a month.” He offered his hand. “Ethan Cole. Construction foreman. I don’t leave dishes in the sink for more than a day, I don’t care about noise, and I pay rent on time.”

Noah shook his hand. Ethan’s grip was firm, calloused, warm. It lingered a half-second longer than necessary, and Noah filed that away in the part of his brain labeled Do Not Open.

“Noah Reyes. Freelance graphic designer. I work from home, so I’m always here.”

“Done.” Ethan clapped Noah’s shoulder—casual, automatic, like they’d known each other for years instead of four minutes. “When can I move in?”

“You have boxes in my living room and no shirt on. I think we’re past the interview stage.”

That grin again. Wide, easy, dangerous in ways Ethan Cole would never understand and Noah Reyes understood too well. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ve got more stuff in the truck.”

It took three hours to get Ethan fully moved in, and by the end of it, Noah knew several things he hadn’t planned on knowing.

One: Ethan was recently single. Three-year relationship. “She said I was emotionally unavailable. She was probably right. I just—never felt it with her. Not the way you’re supposed to.”

Two: Ethan had absolutely no concept of personal space. When they both reached for the same cabinet, Ethan’s arm went right across Noah’s chest, pinning him briefly against the counter. “My bad,” Ethan said. He didn’t move for a full two seconds.

Three: Ethan smelled good. Not cologne—just clean sweat and soap and something warm and woody that Noah’s hindbrain catalogued against his explicit instructions not to.

Four: Noah was in trouble.

By ten o’clock, the apartment had settled into its new shape. Noah was on the couch with his laptop when Ethan emerged from the bathroom.

In a towel.

Just a towel. White, slung low around his hips. He was talking—something about the water pressure—and looking at Noah like this was normal. Like walking through a shared apartment damn near naked while making small talk was something people did.

“That’s great,” Noah said to his laptop screen. His voice sounded normal. It was the performance of a lifetime.

“Night, Noah.” Ethan knocked his knuckles against the doorframe. His body angled toward Noah, the towel riding the absolute limit of what physics would allow.

“Night.”

Noah closed his laptop. Pressed his fingertips into his closed eyes.

He’s straight. He’s your roommate. You know exactly how this story ends.

He went to his room. Closed the door. All the way.

This is going to be a problem.

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The New Couch — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Ethan finds a couch on the sidewalk. Noah objects. They christen it anyway. Broad daylight, locked door, no attempt at quiet. The filthiest, funniest, most joyful scene in the book.

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