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I hear the jangling of the keys—Jace.
“That’s my roommate,” I tell him.
But Pushkin doesn’t relax until the noise in the living room is gone.
I dry him off and take him to the kitchen.
“Welcome to your new home, cutie. At least for a day or two until I find out where you came from,” I say as Pushkin sniffs my feet. I open the fridge to see what I can possibly find for him to eat. “You must be hungry, huh?”
I scan the Russian food in the fridge that he probably won’t be a fan of. Except… Moscow salami—that’s a thought.
He growls angrily, and I turn to see Jace freeze at the door to his room.
“We have another roommate!” I announce with a smile, though Pushkin growls again.Not so much into Jace, huh?
Jace is a handsome guy. Without those glasses that give him a too-serious look, he’d actually be hot. Maybe even hotter without the usual bulky hoodie that hides his strong body.
“Where did he come from?” Jace asks as he stares at Pushkin like he sees a ghost.
Pushkin responds with another growl.
“I took him in,” I say. “He’s lost I guess. I’ll try to find his owners. Meanwhile, meet Pushkin.”
“Pushkin?”
“Yeah, like the Russian poet.”
I glance at my new roommate and catch his eyes on me. Every time our eyes meet, my heartbeat spikes, my lips hitch in an uncontrollable smile, and hope flickers for just a second that Jace will sit down and chat with me, tell me more about him, and ask me about myself.
He doesn’t.
His glances are quick like he’s stealing them. He moved in only two days ago and feels like a guest, while I want to talk more and make him feel at ease.
Pushkin keeps growling.
Jace playfully narrows his eyes on him, his lips curling into a little smile—Jace is daring Pushkin, and Pushkin goes off in loud barking.
“Pushkin! Stop!” I shout, laughing, but he backs off with a vicious growl as Jace starts slowly walking past him and the kitchen island.
“I’m gonna go get some groceries,” Jace says without looking at me.
That means he’s planning on spending more time at the condo.
“See you!” I say enthusiastically.
I’m excited about my new roommate.
Pushkin—not so much. He watches Jace like a hawk with his one eye. I should do something about his gouged eye. But right now, Pushkin is gonna get his first taste of Eastern European cold cuts. If he likes them, I might just keep him.
The last week brought two cuties to my condo. One of them is already eating out of my palm. The other one is a mystery, but I’m determined to learn more about Jace. From an artistic point of view, he is a perfect model. I want to paint him. What else can an artist wish for but a live-in model?
Pushkin follows me to my room, his pink tongue licking the remains of the salami off his nose.
I need to write. I need to start a new painting. Becky found me another client. They want a full-body portrait in a Gothic style. I need to do another teddy bear painting for my solo exhibition.
Work, work, work.
Only a year in New York, and my life is fireworks. My online following is growing. I have my first solo exhibit scheduled in two months. I keep diligently writing romance stories online, amassing enough views to make money through in-app ads. I’ve been living in a luxury apartment that I house-sit for Becky’s clients who moved to Europe indefinitely.
