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Fuck… My head’s screwed on wrong today.
“Up early today,” a voice says, and it’s a punch straight through my chest.
“Whoa.” I stumble backward, still off-balance from the dream, my heart trying to burst out of my goddamn chest. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Guessed wrong,” JC says.
“What?” I belatedly notice that he’s dressed in pressed gray slacks and an immaculate white shirt, the cuffs rolled up over powerful forearms. “What are you talking about?”
“JC doesn’t stand for Jesus Christ.”
“What the fuck.” I sigh. “You’re fucking weird.”
He shrugs.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What does JC stand for?”
Instead of a reply, I receive a mug of black coffee that he pushes over the counter at me before sitting down at the table.
Frowning, I bring it to my lips and almost gag on the amount of sugar. “The hell, man. This is diabetes waiting to happen.”
He sips his own coffee, peering at me over the rim. His eyes are dark. “Bad night?”
I shrug. “Bad month.”
“Girl trouble?”
“You could say that.”
He nods thoughtfully. “You’d better get over her.”
“Come again?”
“If she’s the one that has you moaning her name all night. Get over her, or go out with her. Only way.”
I gape at him. Is he serious? “For fuck’s sake. Can’t a man have some privacy?”
“If you bring chicks home, just keep it quiet,” he mutters. “Is all I’m saying.”
Then he winks. The asshole winks.
"Stay out of my room and out of my business.” I stab a finger at him. “I mean it.”
“As long as you stay out of mine,” he says easily, pushes off the counter and leaves the kitchen.
What. The. Hell.
I can’t figure this guy out, and it’s driving me nuts. This roommate thing isn’t working out so well after all…
I wasn’t moaning anyone’s name… Was I? JC is fucking with me.
But the question is stuck in my mind. Before the nightmare began, did I dream of psycho girl? Did I dream of touching her, kissing her, fucking her? It would be far from the first time, and even now, pissed off as I am at my roommate and still shaken from the bloody dream, I think of dark eyes and a sexy mouth and I get hard.
So hard for her. Every time.
Elliot is chattering in my ear, something about classes and girls and… mothers? What the hell? I’m tempted to ask if he’s on drugs.
I’m equally tempted to pull on the headphones hanging around my neck, jack the volume up and get lost in music—but I don’t, because that’s the easy solution.
