That hope is crushed when I hear footsteps. My eyes lock on the bedroom door, and every muscle in my body tenses. There’s nowhere to go unless I can magically escape out the window, and there’s no way to make that happen without drawing attention to myself.
If this is it . . . if this is how I’m going to die . . .
“Who the fuck are you?” a shadowy figure asks, sounding more irritated than anything else.
I step back again, my legs hitting the bed. My brain cells abandon me, and my ability to speak goes right along with them. Scanning the room, I search for anything that could be used to render him unconscious long enough to make my escape, but my flighty mind can’t concentrate.
“You have two fucking seconds to answer me, or I’m going to pick your ass up and throw you out!”
I inhale then exhale, trying to calm my jittery nerves. Please let this be part of one of those God-awful reality shows, like What Would You Do? or something. “Lila. My name’s Lila,” I answer quietly.
He steps forward, until the light of the bedroom gives me the first glimpse of his face. I didn’t know scary could be so easy on the eyes. “And what the hell are you doing in my apartment, Lila?”
Shaking my head, I try to get a grip. If I had anywhere to run, I would. I’d like to get as far away from here as possible.
“I thought . . . I thought this was my friend Mallory’s apartment. The key worked and—”
“Wait, Mallory knows you’re here?”
Unable to stand on my shaky knees any longer, I fall back on the bed. I think my dreams of a hot bubble bath and glass of wine just went out the window. “Yeah, she’s letting me stay here until I find a place of my own. Who are you?”
“Her brother,” he bites back. A few more steps and he’s fully in my view. Gorgeous, not in the magazine cover way, but the kind that makes you drool because there’s no way you can take him home to Mom on Christmas. He’s the type of guy a girl wants to be with for one night just to see how good it could be, to fuck away every bad sexual experience she’s ever had in her life. Dark blond hair, partially covered by a gray beanie. A light sprinkling of facial hair along his jaw. Black leather jacket. Faded blue jeans. Black motorcycle boots. And from what I’ve heard so far, a dirty mouth to match.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
His eyes scan my breasts before meeting mine again. The muscle in his jaw ticks as he scrubs his hand over his face. “I live here.”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean live here?”
He raises an eyebrow, giving me a glassy stare. Those sapphire eyes could end me, but I’m not going to let them. “As in this is where my mail comes.”
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. This is never going to work. A couple minutes in the same room, and I already know that much.
“Let me guess, perfect Mallory didn’t mention that when she handed you a key to this place.” His voice drips with heavy sarcasm.
I swallow, trying to dislodge the huge lump in my throat. “No.”
He laughs, covering his hips with his paint-stained hands. “That’s typical. How long are you planning to stay? A few days?”
“A few months probably. Mallory’s not coming back until spring, and she said to stay as long as I need.”
“That’s just fucking great,” he groans, and, without another word, walks out of my room. A door slams, and the whole apartment goes quiet as I lie back on my new bed. I have an asshole as a roommate. A sexy asshole, and the only thing that’s keeping me from pounding on his door is the exhaustion that’s taken over my body. All I want to do is fall asleep—to forget most of this day even happened.
I reach for my purse, rummaging through it until I find my phone. I don’t care what time it is in Spain; Mallory owes me an explanation.
After three rings, I’m fuming. Four rings means voicemail, and I’m not in the mood to wait.
“Hello,” she answers, sleepily.
“Mallory,” I groan, skipping pleasantries.
The sound of blankets shifting comes through the phone. “Oh God. You met him, didn’t you?”
“Mallory, I swear—”
“Look, I didn’t think he’d be home tonight. He’s going through one of his phases where he usually disappears for a few days to paint and sort his shit out.”
I sigh, rubbing my fingers over my forehead. “So when exactly were you going to tell me?”
“Tomorrow, or maybe the next day . . . after you got all settled.”
“I can’t live with him,” I say, honestly.
“Look, just give it a few days, okay? He’s not home often so you won’t even know he’s there,” she pleads.
“I hate men.”
“I know,” she mumbles, sounding tired again.
“I’m going to kill you the next time I see you.”
“I know.” She’s drifting off. Her voice is fading.
“What’s his name?”
She yawns. “Blake. Can I go back to sleep now? It’s four in the freaking morning, Lila.”
“Fine, but I hope the bed bugs bite.”
“Love you, too,” she whispers.
“You’re lucky there’s an ocean between us,” I add. I don’t feel like all the pissed off energy has evaporated yet.
“Night.”
“Night,” I answer back, throwing my phone across the bed.
PANS CRASH TOGETHER IN THE KITCHEN, waking me from a deep slumber. I open one eye just enough to read the time on the alarm clock. 7:00. There has to be a roommate ordinance against this.
Folding one side of the pillow over my head, I try to fall back to sleep. It works, for a few short minutes, until I hear metal clanking in the kitchen again. This is not going to work, I think to myself. After getting only a few hours of sleep the night before, I was looking forward to sleeping in before I have to begin my job hunt . . . and apartment hunt.
When the rustling continues, I throw my covers off and roll out of bed. My bare feet pad against the cool hardwood floors as I make my way into the living room. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I focus in on a shirtless Blake standing in front of the stove with his strong back to me. His body is sculpted. Wide shoulders. Waist tapering in at just the right angle . . . there’s probably not a pinch of fat on the guy.
I quietly walk up behind him, tapping my finger on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”
He spins around, his arm brushing against mine. His hair is mussed—a look he wears well . . . too well, as much as I hate to admit it.
“I only made enough eggs for me.” He smirks, and two stupid dimples form. He’s cute—stupidly so.
“I’m a cereal kind of girl,” I say, crossing my arms.
His smile widens. “Fruit Loops or Captain Crunch? I’m guessing you like the ones with the cute little cartoon characters on the front of the box.”
“Wheaties. I prefer to stare at a sexy athlete while eating my breakfast.” I stop, moving my hands to my hips. “Look, can we make a rule? No loud noises until at least nine. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
His brow lifts. “Now that you mention it, your eyes are a little dark and puffy. It’s nothing a little make-up won’t fix.”
“You’re an asshole!”
He laughs, nibbling on a piece of egg at the end of his spatula. “That’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Are you done? Because I’d really like to crawl back into my nice warm bed.”
He looks back to the stove. “Yep, breakfast is served.”
“Good. I’m going back to bed.”
I start to walk away, but his voice stops me. “Hey, Lila?” He says my name with extra emphasis on the second syllable—in a way I haven’t heard it before. I turn around, taking in his dark, hooded eyes. “If you’re going to walk around looking like that every morning, I might be okay with this roommate thing.”