Page 11 of Screwed By My Roommate

“The lasagna is gonna burn. I need to get changed,” he says, rushing away.

What the fuck was that?

There’s no way I’m wrong in what I just felt and saw. But is it possible that after all this time Jace Riggs wants me?

I spin around trying to get myself under control and check on the lasagna and garlic bread. Good thing too, because just a little longer and it would’ve burned. I pull it all out of the oven and laugh when my stomach growls. I guess I forgot to eat today.

I get our plates ready and bring them to the table. I look in the cabinets to see if I can find a bottle of wine, but I’m not sure exactly where it would be. There are wine glasses, but I guess that doesn’t mean there’s wine to fill them. I should’ve gone and picked a bottle up today.

“What are you looking for?”

Jace’s deep voice has me jumping and I spin around. Fucking hell. I should’ve just kept my back to him. He’s changed into a pair of jeans and a black shirt that shows off just how muscular he is. It’s tight and I want to rip it off even more than the button-down he just had on.

“Penny?”

Shit. “Oh yeah, I was looking for wine. I should’ve grabbed a bottle today, but I just didn’t think about it.”

He moves into the dining room and opens the bottom of the banquet table. Inside it is filled with alcohol. Good to know.

He grabs a bottle and brings it back to the kitchen, pulls open a drawer and grabs the corkscrew. I watch his muscles flex as he opens it and need to bite my lip to keep from sighing.

Once it’s open, he pours us each a glass and looks up at me. “We don’t keep the alcohol in the kitchen.”

I nod, grabbing my glass. “Right, I get that now.” I glance at the table and back to him. “Would you like to sit and eat?”

He doesn’t say anything but walks toward the table. We both sit down, and I peek at him. He’s staring at his plate, and I can’t tell if he's annoyed or what.

“Do you not like lasagna anymore?” I ask.

His eyes slide to mine, and they are darker than just a moment ago. “You remembered?”

I lightly laugh as I pick up my fork. “Of course, I remember.” I take a deep breath and take a risk. “I’m not the one who wants to forget we used to be friends.”

His hand tightens on his fork, and I take a bite of my food. I let out a soft moan because damn I do make a good lasagna.

“Don’t do that,” he growls.

My eyebrows dip as I look at him. “Don’t eat?”

“Don’t fucking moan.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Jace, tell me what I need to do. Tell me what will get us past this, because I’m lonely and would really enjoy being able to at the very least have a civil conversation with you. You’re confusing and infuriating, but I miss being able to laugh with you, watch TV with you, hell, have a simple meal with you. So tell me what the fuck I need to do.”

He rubs his mouth with his hand and sighs before turning toward me. “Is that what you want? You want to go back to being fucking kids?”

No, it’s not what I want. I want so much more.

“I know we aren’t kids anymore, you made that very clear. I don’t want to go back; I want to move forward. I don’t want to feel anxious and nervous around you,” I say, sipping my wine.

He tosses back his entire glass of wine and shakes his head, focusing out the window in front of him. “I make you anxious and nervous?”

“All the time,” I admit.

I see him swallow roughly and he turns his head to me. “Are you scared of me?”

Am I scared of him? No, not in the sense that he’ll hurt me physically, but I am scared of pissing him off more. Causing him to treat me even worse.

“I’m not scared of you, but I’m afraid of how you’ll react to me,” I admit.

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