Page 3 of The Grumpy Roommate Gamble

As the bag landed, the woman whirled and spotted me. With a scream, she stumbled back, clearly terrified. And fair enough. I probably looked pretty rough right now. Whenwas the last time I’d even shaved? But damn it, this was my house. Why was she in it?

I flipped on a light.

My uninvited guest froze, throwing a hand up to shield her eyes from the glare, but not before I saw the familiar wide green gaze that I’d been imagining in the middle of that firefight when we’d all been sure we were gonna die.

“Felicity?”

TWO

FELICITY

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

There was a massive, bearded man in the house, and I was stark naked except for this towel.

I stumbled backward, unable to see a damned thing because he’d turned on the light and blinded me. Not that I could see clearly without my glasses, anyway. Was there anything at all I could use as a weapon? Was he coming toward me? Could I get to my room and actually barricade the door? Big as he was, he could probably burst through, even if I could muscle the dresser in front of it.

Oh my God, I’m gonna die.

“Felicity?”

Wait, the terrifying home invader knew my name?

Somehow that interrupted the panic spiral. I froze where I was, blinking as my eyes finally started to adjust. I squinted, peering more closely at the man who’d stopped just past the head of the stairs. Though his outline was hazy—damn my myopia—I could tell he wore Army fatigues and a frown. Something about that frown was familiar. As recognition dawned, relief almost melted me to the floor on the spot.

Not aderanged rapist.

Gabriel Bishop.

Who had every right to be here, because it was his house.

“Gabe?”

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” He seemed more baffled than angry, which I took as a good sign.

“I will be more than happy to explain, but… um, can I please go get dressed first?” Now that I wasn’t blinded by fear, I was aware of the lack of coverage from this towel for whole other reasons. Towel manufacturers didn’t think about girls like me when they picked their dimensions. If I moved even an inch the wrong way, I was going to be flashing the promised land.

Gabe blinked at me, his gaze tracking from the messy bun on top of my head, all the way to my purple-painted toes, and back up again in a way that made every single inch of my skin heat. Then he shook himself and turned away, as if in afterthought. “Yeah, of course.”

Right. Clothes. Clothes would help.

I turned toward my room and promptly walked into the doorframe because I’d misjudged the distance.

“You okay?”

Likely to expire from sheer mortification…“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

I made it into my room and shut the door behind me with rather more of a slam than I’d intended. Then I bit my fist to hold in a scream because my nose and shoulder were stinging from where they’d banged into the door jamb. And also because Gabe Bishop, the guy I’d had a raging crush on since he’d moved to Huckleberry Creek back in high school, had just seen almost every ample inch of mein a towel.

Had he liked what he saw? I wasn’t the best judge of such things, even when I could see. But it had seemed like maybe his gaze had lingered just a little…

I shook off that errant thought as I heard his footsteps go down the hall toward his room, presumably to dump his stuff.

So not the point. Because right now, so far as he knew, I was a squatter in his house.

Dropping the towel, I dragged on underwear and yoga pants and the nearest oversized sweatshirt. I felt the need to cover everything. Maybe in a year or so, I wouldn’t feel so naked. I glanced at myself in the mirror, noting the slightly wild green eyes behind my large-framed glasses. The sweatshirt readI’m a Florist. I’m used to dealing with pricks.

Perhaps not the best choice, but I didn’t have time to dig through my entire wardrobe to find something potentially less offensive, because he’d already headed back downstairs.

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