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She stares at me.
"It’s only because all of the other rooms in that house are taken, and only until they figure out a solution."
"And when will that be?"
I scowl. "I didn’t get a timeline, which I would have pushed for, except Mr. Grumpface and the admin manager seemed to gang up against me, and that was not a great experience. Also, she only had eyes for him. I doubt she registered that I wasn’t happy with having to share a room with him.”
"Were you jealous they seemed to be in agreement against you?"
"What? Of course not." I flip my hair over my shoulder.
"Hmm." She makes that irritating noise again.
I throw up my hand. "Fine, okay, maybe I was a teeny-tiny bit. She looked at him like he was a god who'd come to her rescue, and he seemed only too pleased about it."
"Definitely jealous—" She holds up her hand as I try to cut in. "But I’m not one to judge. I don’t have time for anyone except my book boyfriends, and here, you get yourself into a forced-proximity, one-bed situation with a gorgeous hunk of a man who—"
"Watch what you say next," I warn.
"—whose dishiness I haven’t noticed at all. Not at all," she inserts smoothly.
"Good answer. Also, it’s not a one-bed situation. He did say he’d take the couch.”
She scoffs. "We all know how that one goes. You’re going to have a nightmare, and he’s going to slip into bed and calm you, and then you’ll wake up with him wrapped around you, and—"
"Stop, right there. I don’t get nightmares… Although, keep up the scenarios you’re painting and I might. I don’t want anything to do with his alphaholeness, at all."
"Ooh, you called him an alphahole."
"Because he is, and that was not a compliment."
"Alphahole?" A voice drawls. I glance to the side to find said alphahole prowling toward me.
“Is that him?" Mira asks excitedly.
"Uh, no, it's a homeless person. I took his bench and now I need to leave—"
"But—" Mira begins.
"Okay, gotta go." I disconnect before she can say anything else.
Mr. Growly-ass slides onto the bench next to me. The man eating his sandwich must have left some time ago.
I begin to rise, when he curls his lip. "You running scared?"
11
Gio
"Of course not." My butt hits the bench with a thump, but I don’t look at him. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of thinking he’s driven me away. Doesn’t mean I have to listen to what he has to say.
He must sense my conflicting emotions, for he raises his hands.
"I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot—"
"You have a funny way of showing it.” I tip up my chin.
He raises a shoulder. "I’m good at keeping my emotions to myself."
