The Arrangement Algorithm

Chapter Three: Welcome to Hell (Or Home)

Chapter Three: Welcome to Hell (Or Home)

Boxes littered the floor. A half-empty suitcase slumped against the hallway wall, and the air was still laced with the scent of fresh paint and pinewood polish. The apartment was bigger than I expected—but that didn’t change the fact that I was now living with Kalix freaking Hayes.

I kicked off my shoes and tossed my keys in a bowl by the door, sighing.
“This is insane,” I muttered. “Absolutely, cosmically stupid.”

Our parents had called it ‘a bonding opportunity’. I called it torture.

Just as I bent to pick up one of my moving boxes, the bathroom door creaked open.
I froze.

Kalix stepped out, damp hair tousled from a shower, a towel lazily slung around his neck, water trailing down the sharp line of his collarbones. He wore nothing but dark grey trousers hanging low on his hips, and—

Oh my God.

I blinked, then blinked again. Eight. Pack. Abs. Carved like sin. Glinting slightly from the moisture still drying off his skin.

He didn’t notice me at first, stretching slightly as he rolled his neck. His muscles flexed—flexed—as he walked into the kitchen, completely at home, like he hadn’t just committed visual homicide in front of me.

“Put on a shirt, you maniac,” I snapped, louder than I intended.

Kalix turned, finally spotting me near the couch. One eyebrow arched. “You’ve been standing there for two minutes. If you wanted to keep staring, you could’ve just asked.”

My mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I was not staring!”

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured water, the veins in his arms twitching slightly with movement. “Sure. Must be my imagination then. Or the way your eyes nearly fell out of your skull.”

“I—That’s not—!” I picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at him.

He caught it, one-handed, not even blinking. “Nice throw. You’re getting better.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m aware.” He leaned against the kitchen island, casually sipping water like he wasn’t a walking Greek statue. “But you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. This is home now.”

I crossed my arms, trying hard not to look directly at his abs again. God, look somewhere else. Ceiling. Floor. Literally anywhere but there.
“I’ll be setting clear boundaries,” I said. “Starting with a mandatory shirt policy.”

Kalix grinned, and somehow that was worse. “Oh, you want rules? Fine. My rule is I get to walk around however I want in my own apartment. Including shirtless. Or less.”

“Try that and I’ll tase you.”

He leaned in, just slightly. “Kinky.”

“Kalix!”

He chuckled and walked past me, the scent of his body wash—a mix of mint and something annoyingly masculine—lingering in the air.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding more from rage than… anything else.

Yeah. Rage.

I was going to murder him. Or marry him. Or both.

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