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Elijah’s chuckle is low, and if he wasn’t infuriating me, I might even consider it sexy.
But he is annoying me, especially when he says, “Trust me—those European women were in it for the same reasons I was, and they certainly didn’t leave my bed poor. Not with the rich orgasms I gave them.”
I gape, and I wish my cheeks weren’t so flushed because of the filthy way he breathed orgasms. It’s like he was picturing each dirty thing while he said it.
How inappropriate!
And freaking hot, but never mind that…
“You definitely think highly of yourself, don’t you?” I step back, mocking, “I’m Elijah Hastings. I think every woman should bow down to me just because I know how to sing and play guitar, and I do both at the same time.”
Humming, he paces a circle around me, and I freeze in place, my skin prickling with awareness. Is he assessing me?
“What do you think—” I start.
“Most people call me Eli,” he muses. “My manager even calls me E, and my assistant refers to me as Jay. Of course, many women scream oh, baby, when they’re around me too.”
I think I just threw up in my mouth.
“I’m definitely going to keep calling you Elijah,” I assert, pursing my lips. “Definitely no need to give you any delusions that we’re friends, let alone anything else.”
Shit.
I’ve started my parade of definitelys, which means I need to wrap this little exchange up—stat. The more nervous I get, the more I use that word, and I can’t afford to let arrogant and obnoxiously sexy Elijah freaking Hastings know that he gets under my skin.
Most of all, he cannot know that I’ve had the biggest crush on him for years. I’d never live it down.
“God forbid we’re anything else, right?” He stops in front of me, his sarcastic question hanging in the air like the rope necklace dangling from his neck.
Is he coming closer? I can practically taste cigarette smoke mixed with last night’s whiskey on his breath. The combination should appall me, but instead, I lean in for just one more whiff.
One more hit to give me an accurate indication of exactly how spicy his taste would be.
“Roommates,” I blurt. “That’s all we are.”
Being anything else with Elijah Hastings would be stupid, and I’m definitely not stupid.
Definitely not.
Chapter 2
Elijah
Pia the prude.
Of course the very first thing she’d ban me from is sex. She was a damn killjoy last year, and she hasn’t changed a bit.
Except for her tits. Those have changed for the better, at least—more plump and mouthwatering. I’d bet she finally worked up the nerve to let someone near them in order to find the right bra size.
The woman can’t even properly be basic and drink a pumpkin spice latte. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gone most of her adult life wearing the wrong bra size.
The kicker? I have zero doubt that Pia has thought about me naked.
It’s been three days since I moved in, and while she tries to hide the way she undresses me with her eyes, her deep blush is a bigger tell than a nose twitch during poker.
The crimson spreads across her cheeks and down her neck like a wildfire through a forest. I can’t help but have my fun, which is why I’ve gone out of my way to mess with the perky little woman.
Once we established that we’re only roommates on my first day, Pumpkin proceeded to tell me more of her rules. It took me all of a single day to break each one.
