I tried hard not to fall for the bad guy. My new roommate, Blake, is a jerk—an unemployed artist with a chip on his shoulder. I can’t stand him unless his hands are on me. He makes me desperate for him, and everything he makes me feel. And then there’s my new boss, Pierce–successful, charming, and extremely good-looking. He goes after what he wants, but what does he see in me? I try to stay away, but I end up in the arms of exactly who I was hiding from. And when I find out what’s being hidden from me, my heart twists in ways it never should. I thought I knew him. I didn’t. The way he kissed me. The way his hands traveled every inch of my skin. I thought it meant something, but as it turns out, it was all lies unspoken.
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.”
Looking down, I’m suddenly reminded that all I have on is a sleep shirt that reads: “I don’t hate morning people. Mornings have nothing to do with it.” It barely covers my ass, and the wide neck falls off my shoulder. It’s certainly not something I’d want to be caught in by him.
“Definitely an asshole,” I groan as I hurry to my room and slam the door shut behind me.
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Lisa De Jong is a wife, mother and full-time number cruncher who lives in the Midwest. Her writing journey involved insane amounts of coffee and many nights of very little sleep but she wouldn’t change a thing. She also enjoys reading, football and music.