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“Who are you?”
“The guy that’s going to call the tenants’ association and my lawyer if you don’t pay up.”
Silence falls on the line, and that was an easy victory. Dickwads like this are just taking advantage of people, and once you push back with enough force, there’s a quick back down. I’m not lying either. The record label has a legal team for personal cases. But I am lying with the threat—regardless of whether this asshole pays, I’m calling the tenants’ association.
“Fine, I’ll refund the money.”
“Good. Hopefully, you’ll never have to hear from me again.”
I hang up the phone. “He’ll refund the money.”
Despondence morphs into shock and then gratitude. Unfortunately, that also causes the tears to spill over and leave behind fat, glistening trails on her cheeks. “Really?”
“Yes, really. There are legal rights for tenants, and he knows that he’s liable. Every town has a mietervereine, an organization that helps tenants, and I threatened to call the local one.”
She clutches her hands under her chin and she hastily wipes the tears away. “Thank you so much. I . . . Can I hug you?”
I suppress a sigh. Really? I do a nice thing and have to subject myself to Sara’s body pressing up against mine and her smell getting all up in my nose? “Sure,” I mumble, expecting a quick, fleeting hug, but Sara all but leaps at me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and her cheek presses into my breastbone. When I get over my surprise, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, resting my chin lightly on her head.
Just like I thought, Sara’s body is warm and fits perfectly against mine. She smells like coconut and baby powder, and goddamn it, the hug changes, and my dick starts to get ideas.
I pull back first, taking a step back to get some fresh air.
“Sorry.” She wipes her face again. “It was just really scary. Logically, I know that I have enough money to survive for a little while, but it was such a big risk to build up my business while also paying for Zoe’s college, though, of course, she’s so smart she got scholarships and financial aid, so it’s not like I have a huge amount of expenses, but I’m definitely not earning enough yet, and I was so worried I was going to be spending two or three times as much on rent than I was expecting.” She snaps her mouth closed. “Sorry, now I’m rambling. My money troubles are definitely not your concern.” Her gaze drifts over to the monstrosity of a house that I’m renting. “But thanks for helping me with this.” She smiles cheekily. “Danke.”
Still charmingly terrible pronunciation.
“Bitte.” She’s still looking at me, reminding me of adoring fans, which sours my mood. Adoring fans come with expectations and pressure. I cross my arms. “I grew up with a working mom who struggled to pay bills, and rent was always difficult. But she was smart, and we learned quickly about tenants’ rights.”
Pity flashes on Sara’s face, and that’s better than adoration. “Oh. I should have thought of that. I mean, I’ve owned my house for a long time. It was a wedding gift from my in-laws, so I never had to deal with renter’s rights.”
She’s married? Oh shit.
There’s no ring on her finger, and I just assumed she was single.
I’ve slept with plenty of women, but I do draw a line—I don’t fuck married women.
Not that I was going to fuck Sara.
Sara sees the surprise on my face, and she explains. “My husband passed away a long time ago. It’s just been me and Zoe, my daughter, in our starter house all those years.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, and ignore the part of me that’s relieved.
“Thank you. Anyway,” she says with the practice of someone who’s long had to brush off platitudes. “I suppose I should start getting ready to move out once I get the refund—look for another place and sign a lease. I’m definitely going to pay more this time if it means I have a mushroom-free bathroom.”
She glances back at the house and frowns. This arrangement was not what I expected when I suggested she move in here, but it works. We rarely see each other, and I actually wrote one halfway-decent song this week.
I fold my arms over my chest. “What else do you need?”
Her finger taps her chin as she thinks. “I need a two-bedroom place so that I have a better location to practice and film yoga. I was going to move as much out of one bedroom as I could. The previous place—” She waves her phone to indicate the mushroom farm. “—also had a proper office chair.” She puts a hand on the small of her back and stretches, looking up at the sky and thrusting her breasts toward me. They’re smushed into a tight sports bra, giving her deep and high cleavage, and I unfocus my eyes so I don’t stare at them. “The kitchen chair is killing me.”
When she relaxes back to standing, I avert my eyes. None of those things are impossible here. She’s a quiet roommate, and the most I see of her are signs of her cooking. She definitely won’t find a kitchen that equals this one. Nor a place with a room so suitable for her yoga practice.
“Stay here,” I say. “We can get you a desk and a chair, and you can use any of the rooms to do yoga. You’ve been a great roommate.”
“You don’t know that. We hardly ever see each other,” she protests.
“That, I think, makes for a pretty good roommate,” I point out. “Besides, I’m used to having people around. It’s too quiet out here.”
