Page 86 of Rival for Rent

I was skeptical. "If they’re not real journalists, they don’t have deadlines. They could be out there all damn day."

Kinkade knocked again.

I gave Kai a look. "It’s gonna be a long day if they keep that up."

"Please," he said again, eyes wide with desperation.

I sighed and raised my hands. "Alright. I won’t. At least if they’re here, your stalker’s not likely to make a move."

I did call the cops, though. Figured someone should complain. I didn’t know if any of Kai’s neighbors would bother—or if they’d rather talk to the press instead.

It was a bad start to what turned out to be a shitty day. Not because the reporters lingered—they were gone by eleven. And not because Kai and I fought. No, it was the opposite.

Kai ignored me. It was like I didn’t exist. And when he couldn’t ignore me, he was polite. Excruciatingly polite. Like I was a foreign dignitary. Or an aunt he only saw twice a year. Or a bomb that might explode.

A wall had gone up between us, and I hated it. We were still in the same house, never more than a hundred feet apart, but I missed him like he was halfway around the world.

This is what I got for thinking I could have someone like him. I should’ve known better than to let myself fall. To fall inlove.

My heart ached when I watched him. Even when I was turned on at the same time, which was pretty impressive, if you asked me.

Since Kai was acting like I wasn’t there, he kept wandering around the house like he was completely alone. That first morning, he went upstairs to change out of his towel, but he came back down in pajama pants and nothing else. Just walked into the kitchen like it was any other day, while my cock yelled at the rest of me to stop being noble and push him up against the cabinets.

He opened the refrigerator, bending over to grab a jug of orange juice. I did my best not to stare at his ass, but come on. Those pajama pants draped over him obscenely, and I was intimately familiar with the parts of his body they were covering. My imagination ran wild.

If he was aware of the effect he was having on me, he gave no sign. I cleared my throat and opened a cabinet, pulling a glass free for him. I slid it towards him on the counter. He ignoredit, pushed past me, and got himself an identical glass from the cabinet.

“Seriously?” I said as he poured his juice, drank it all in one gulp—I tried hard not to stare at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed—and put the jug back in the fridge. “I thought you didn’t even like orange juice.”

He shrugged and walked back upstairs, that same hurt look in his eyes.

At lunch, I brought up a bag of food for him again, but he shook his head and said, “Thanks all the same, but I’m not hungry.”

Which I knew was a lie, because half an hour later, he walked back downstairs—still shirtless—to make himself a sandwich. He was doing his best to cut me out of his life while I was still present, and that hurt more than I was ready for. By that evening, I felt like a ghost. I knew I was still alive in the house, but Kai managed to make me feel like I wasn’t.

The next morning, he came downstairs in just hisunderwearwhile I was making a smoothie. I’d learned he really liked mango, and I still thought he should eat more leafy greens, so I’d taken to making him mango-pineapple-lime-baby spinach smoothies in the mornings.

I didn’t hear him come down with the blender on, and when I turned around to see him standing in front of the fridge in nothing but his briefs, I jumped.

“Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He looked up and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to next time.”

His voice was perfectly courteous, but I felt the wall of ice between us.

“And could you maybe consider wearing some actual clothes?” I snapped, still unsettled by his presence and unnerved by the distance between us.

Kai looked at me, looked down at his body, and then looked back again. He didn’t act like he was trying to tempt me. But he didn’t look ashamed either.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize this bothered you. I’ll go change.”

“No, Kai, that’s not—” I began to say. I didn’t know why I was objecting, because I did want him to stop torturing me like this, but he didn’t let me finish anyway.

“I’ll go do that now.” He reached into the fridge to grab a yogurt, then pulled a spoon out of the drawer and headed for the stairs.

“Wait,” I called. “I made you a smoothie!”

“It’s okay,” he said, not even turning around. “You can have it.”

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