Shirtless.Damp.With just a towel cinched around his waist.
My entire being constricts into a trembling kernel of need, and I’m pretty sure my vocal cords evaporate.I can see a gold chain around his neck, lying against his perfectly sculpted chest.My gaze travels the hills of his biceps, the grooves of his washboard abs.His hickory hair is tousled and damp and ready for me to run my fingers through it.
I don’t think he realizes I’m peeping his bathroom-to-bedroom journey, because he disappears wordlessly into his bedroom across the hall, and the door shuts behind him.I’m left gaping at the memory of his athletic physique, my bodily functions forgotten once more.
I move slowly toward the bathroom.And then the cologne hits me.Or the bodywash.Or whatever heavenly combination of manly scents Griffin applies daily.My eyes flutter shut as I bask in the lingering steam and scent of him.
I have to live with this man for the next nine weeks and somehownotmount him like a horse and ride him until the saddle falls off, as the heroine of my recent cowboy romance novel would say.
The door clicks shuts behind me, and I take a deep breath.I can do this.I can co-exist with a sexy man and not beg him to fuck me into quivering oblivion.Ican.
I use the bathroom quickly, trying to calm my racing mind.Because suddenly, I feel so very dumb.
Whose bright idea was it to say yes to his offer when I’m kinda sorta falling in love with my new roommate?I loved him from afar during high school, and apparently all I needed to kick the ol’ love engine back to life is a week or so of hanging out and one half-naked glimpse.
There’s only one thing worse than falling for a man you can’t have.
Being his roommate and seeing his half-naked bodyall the time.
Great.
I head into the kitchen, intent on making lunch.I don’t know what to do with my attraction.I want to put it somewhere else, outside of my body, but that’s not possible.It lives inside me where it will slowly consume me like a flesh-eating virus.
Yet the attraction serves no purpose, because I’m so laughably out of his league.I’m pretty sure that if I told him I had feelings for him—which I would never do—he’d laugh and pat my head and tell me to save up for Chicago.If anything, he sees me like another Piper.Just a sister and friend.
I’m ruminating on the pointlessness of physically reacting to Griffin’s hotness when I hear his bedroom door open.When I look up, he’s coming toward me in workout shorts and a sleeveless tee—his favorite outfit.And mine.
“Sup roomie?”He’s running his hands through his hair, and for a moment I can’t rip my gaze off his fingers caressing those barely-there waves.I’m dying to touch his hair for myself.
“I’m making us lunch,” I blurt, arranging eggs and vegetables on the counter.I must not look at his hair again.Or his body.Or any part of his face or his eyes.“Because I want to be a good roomie.”
“Well you’re doing a great job already.”He slides onto a barstool facing the kitchen island, settling in to watch me work.
“Thanks.I’m trying.”In the milliseconds of silence after my words come out, doubts crowd my mind.A million worries elbowing for attention prompt me to add, “We should talk about ground rules, right?”I keep my focus on the ingredients and the cutting board.“I’m just so worried you’ll hate me by the end of the summer.”
He laughs softly.“I promise I won’t hate you.”
“You don’t know that.I’m messy in the bathroom.Actually, I’m messyeverywhere.Including my life, as you’ve already witnessed.I just want to be transparent and…” I take a deep breath, Claire’s words from the other day ringing in my ears:You’re such a hot mess Casey.Working at a bar, living under your parents’ roof at age thirty.Come on.I finally dare to look at him.“I don’t plan on taking advantage of your generosity.I’ll clean up after myself.I’ll help cook meals.I’ll load the dishwasher.If you’re lucky, I won’t even need you to drive me to my trapped car in the farmer’s market again.”
Griffin nods, his gray-blue gaze so intense I almost need to look away.“Sounds great to me.”
“And I won’t…bring anyone over.”I nearly mumble the last words, because I’d rather avoid the topic altogether.I’d never assume I could bring a man into his space, but little does he know I want zero men.Except for him.
His brows draw together.“Like…friends?”
“No, like…friends.”I clear my throat.“Of the nighttime sort.”
Realization crests his face, along with something else.Distaste, maybe?Whatever it is, I hurry to clarify.
“I wouldn’t even invite people we both know over unless you explicitly give me permission.”
He scratches at the back of his neck.“You can invite people over.Just as long as they’re not…” When he seems to be struggling for the word, I prompt him to continue then he coughs it up.“Jake.”
I’m touched that he’s so loyal to me that he hates my ex.This is the type of ride or die bestie a girl needs in her life.“If I ever invited Jake over here, you’d have permission to admit me into a mental institution.”
“That sounds like a deal.”
“God, you’re so easygoing,” I pretend to complain, reaching for my last item on the agenda, a small white envelope I left on the counter.“Here, be easygoing about this.Take it, please.”
