Page 15 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
Her brow furrows again. “She shouldn’t have told you that.”
“But thank God she did,” I say, sobering. “Seriously.”
The vibes in the room grow heavy as we both imagine what could have happened if I’d no idea she was sleeping at her restaurant tonight.
Finally, I nod. “So, itmightbe time to take a step back and admit that your stubbornly independent streakmightbe impeding your ability to make rational decisions. And that it’s okay to accept help when you need it. Maybe? You think?”
She wrinkles her nose, then scrunches her lips for good measure. “Fine. Yes. Valid. But that doesn’t mean we should bone. Not boningisa rational decision.”
Deciding to leave that debate to a later date, when we’re both rested and I look hotter than I do right now, I incline my head. “Agree to disagree, but it’snotrational to rush out of here tomorrow when I have all this extra space and you need a place to go. Especially not when I’m promising to keep things purely platonic until you’re back on your feet.”
She narrows her eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I assure her. “I want you begging for my cock because you’re desperate for it, not because you’re bartering pussy for shelter.”
“I wouldn’t barter pussy for shelter,” she says with another tired sigh. “Like you said, I’m too stubborn. I’ve already proven I’d rather live on a shelf than with a man I don’t like, so…”
“So, is that a yes?” I prompt after a moment. “Come on, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“You decide you can’t stand me once you get to know me better?” she whispers. “I know I’m a lot sometimes. Too much, some would say.Havesaid, and…” She shakes her head, trailing off with a wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say any of that out loud. I’m just… I’m really tired.”
“Then go to bed,” I say, silently wishing a raging, incurable case of athlete’s foot on every man who ever made this amazing woman feel like “too much.” She’s not too much. She’s just enough. The perfect amount. Perfect for me, anyway. “Sleep well and we’ll figure everything out in the morning.”
“Okay,” she says, avoiding eye contact. “Are you sure you don’t need help to your room?”
“No, I’m fine,” I say, not wanting an audience for my final limp to the finish line. “Feel free to grab a shower if you want. You’ll probably sleep better.”
“We should both shower,” she says as she backs toward the hallway. “Seriously, Parker. Floodwater is at least two parts poop. Everyone knows that. And youdosmell like mud and sewage. I wasn’t kidding about that.”
I curl my upper lip. “Gross. And good to know. I’ll get my ass in the shower ASAP.”
“You should, and…” She leans against the doorframe, finally meeting my gaze again as she adds, “Thank you. For everything you did tonight. I’m really glad I’m not dead.”
“I’m glad about that, too,” I say, adding as she turns to go, “and Mack?”
She glances back. “Yeah?”
“You aren’t too much,” I say. “They weren’t enough. Also, fuck them.”
She huffs out a soft laugh, but her gaze is softer as she nods. “Thanks. See you in the morning, Parker.”
“See you.” I stay in the chair for a little longer, listening to her close the door to the guest room and start the water for hershower. Then, I limp into my room and duck under the spray myself, leaning heavily on fantasies of how much more fun it would be to be showering together to ignore the way my knee throbs in time with my heartbeat.
Tomorrow, I’ll have to face reality—call Coach, the team doc, get an MRI, find out if I just fucked my entire career—but tonight I have fantasy Makena under the spray with me, complimenting my gorgeous cock.
And yeah, it’s crazy to be crushing this hard on someone I’ve spent a total of eight hours with in the past year, but…the heart wants what it wants.
And mine wants Makena DeWitt.
I’ve wanted her since I was twelve, and she was the first person to laugh at my raunchy jokes instead of telling me to behave myself. I’ve wanted her since I realized she felt more like family than my mom or dad ever had. I’ve wanted her since the New Year’s Eve we stayed up until midnight while my parents were out getting mean drunk at the country club, and she gave me a totally innocent New Year’s kiss on the cheek.
Twelve-year-old me thought it was the best first kiss ever. Even if she hadn’t meant it “that” way, even if I knew she still thought of me as a kid.
The years between then and now haven’t changed the way I feel; they’ve just given me the adult perspective needed to realize that the reason she feels like home is because she’s my person. My wild, free-thinking, dream-chasing, fearless, funny, secretly vulnerable person, and I’m hers.
Eventually, she’s going to figure that out and want me the way I’ve always wanted her.
It’s just a matter of time.
