Room 4 Rent: A Steamy Romantic Comedy

by Shey Stahl

  I nod nervously.

  She laughs. “Oh, I see. Trying to make your new house guest feel welcome?”

  My body slumps forward. “What the fuck am I doing?”

  Her eyes land on the lemon pie cooling on the counter. “I don’t know, but can I take some of this?”

  “Uh, yeah. No, wait. Later. I’ll put some in the fridge for you.”

  “Why can’t I take some now?”

  Taking the pie from the counter, I open the fridge and place it in there. “Because it has to cool in the fridge for a couple hours.”

  Sadie leaves after spending some time with Tatum, and I’m nervously awaiting Cason to show up. Believe me, I’m keeping an eye on the camera to see when he pulls in. I left a note on his door that says “Come to the house” in hopes that he will.

  I set a plate down on the table for Tatum with the casserole, knowing full well she won’t eat it but wanting to try before she turns into a chicken nugget and macaroni and cheese for brains.

  “I don’t want that.” She pushes the plate away.

  “It’s what’s for dinner.”

  “I want dino nuggets.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest, like bitch, now I know you’re lying.

  “Okay, how about you try two bites?”

  The furrow deepens, and it’s adorable. When she was born, she came out scowling, and I thought it was the cutest thing ever. Fists up, scowling, and ready to take on the world. She’s been kicking ass and taking names ever since.

  “Fine.” She blows out a breath. “But can I watch Frozen?”

  “Yes.”

  I wait. She picks up the fork, takes one bite, and spits it out. “It’s yucky.”

  Groaning, I turn toward the kitchen and take out the dino nuggets from the freezer. I know, I’m a pushover. I have to pick my battles. Ones that don’t come with me sitting at that damn table all night begging her to eat something she hates.

  It’s after seven. I’ve eaten already, as did Tatum. Dino nuggets dipped in applesauce.

  I’ve set up a spot at the eating booth with a plate, napkin, glass… it looks like a damn restaurant. Why am I doing this? Is sex really the answer? I told him he could rent the room, and the moment he works his way into my life, he wants to offer up his dick too?

  Who is this guy?

  Hello, I’m Sydney, and I have an addiction. His name is Cason Jarrett Reins, and I’d like to know how I can resist him. Is there some kind of vaccine? Please let there be one!

  Tempted to run over and remove the note, forget about serving him dinner, that’s when I hear a knock at the back french doors. I glance over, my heart in my throat.

  With shaking in my goddamn bones, I make my way over to the back doors. I’m sure you can guess what Tatum’s doing. Watching Frozen and ripping all the couch cushions off the furniture. Jumping from one to the next, she treats them like stepping-stones as she sings, “Do you wanna build a snowman?” while it’s seventy-five degrees outside.

  I catch sight of Cason, his hair disheveled and eyes bright. “Hey, honey, I’m home,” he whispers seductively and grabs my ass when he comes in.

  Thankfully, Tatum doesn’t notice. I motion toward the booth. “Cute. Now eat.”

  “Bossy. I like it.” He glances toward the kitchen booth. Something, an emotion, I’m not sure, but it flickers in his eyes, and then it’s gone just as easily. His eyes move to mine. “You made me food?”

  “Yeah. Did you eat already?”

  He shakes his head and drops his hand where his phone is ringing. He ignores it and slides it into his pocket. “No. Ez stole my Chipotle.”

  I smile. “He did his job. I shall give him Sadie’s number now.”

  Cason’s shoulders shake. “You really shouldn’t be using Ez as your ally.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” We move toward the table.

  A smirk surfaces as he sits down and eyes the spread I’ve laid out on the table. “You cooked for me?”

  I swallow over the lump forming. “I made dinner. I didn’t cook for you specifically.” I’m the worst liar ever.

  He quirks his head to the side quickly and then back. “I think you did, and you don’t want to admit it.”

  I slide into the booth across from him. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

  His eyes move to the plate. “You made me Thanksgiving?” You can’t miss the spark of emotion in his eyes and the trip in his words. At least I don’t.

  I nod.

  “I haven’t had a homecooked meal in five years.”

  My heart melts. “What? Really?”

  He swallows, pain evident, and shifts in the booth, as if he’s uncomfortable sharing the personal details of his life with anyone. Picking up the fork, he brings the first bite to his lips and I watch with fiery desire as his mouth closes around the twines.

  “You don’t go home on breaks?”

  Another shake of his head. “No. I left after graduation for summer ball in the Cape Cod league. Then freshman year started.”

  “And you haven’t been home since?”

  “No, not really. Not to Lake Charles where I grew up. I go up to Washington. Sometimes. Not often though. Baseball takes up all my time. If I’m not playing in school, I play in the summer leagues.” He winks. “Nobody cooks like this for me though.”

  Heart. Melted.

  “I’m curious,” he begins, taking a drink of the beer I offer him. “How is it that you know so much about baseball?”

  “My dad was the head coach at the University of Arizona.”

  He searches my eyes. “Was?”

  “He passed away seven years ago. Two days after my mom died of cancer.”

  “Shit.” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” It sucks, but what are you going to say to that. Me too? I am sorry that he’s gone, and Tatum never got to meet her grandparents. But there’s also not much I can do about it.

  It’s sometime after he’s had two helpings of the casserole, sang with Tatum, and danced with her to “Let it Go” that I think I want to keep him. Forever. I don’t want to give him over to baseball or college or wherever else he needs to be aside from this little spot in my heart giving me hope that not all men are fucking assholes.

  After I put Tatum to bed, we’re standing in the kitchen, and I have the baby monitor in my hand. “You really lock her in the room?”

  “You have to or she’ll get out and turn on Frozen.”

  Cason chuckles, twirling his key around in his hand. “What’s with her and the snowman?”

  “I don’t know. She wasn’t this obsessed until Collin died. Now she keeps watching it over and over again.”

  He steps closer, the energy between us changing. Backing me up against the counter, he closes the distance between us. “That’s not that weird. Distractions can be good.”

  Oh, I see what he did there. Clever. “I suppose so.” I gasp at his touch on my hips, searching his eyes.

  “Did you think about my proposition?”

  I nod.

  “And?”

  He looks hopeful, and I find it endearing. “Just sex?” I trace my fingers over the spot where his T-shirt dips in the middle to reveal the tendons in his neck. “Nothing else?”

  There’s some hesitation on his part, more than I would have thought before his mouth dips to mine. “Just sex,” he pants, barely able to get the words out through his harsh breathing and capturing my lips with his.

  That’s all it takes for us to find our way to my bed.

  This guy, the one hovering above me between the sheets, the one talking dirty and making me come, over and over again, I think he’s exactly what I need. My talking snowman.

  Let’s face it, if he hadn’t been here, I would have lost my shit a long time ago.

  When a fielder dives to make a play on a batted ball.

  SYDNEY

  Do y
ou see that woman wearing yoga pants?

  I caved and bought a pair. Fucking sue me, but can I just say Lululemon is worth the hype.

  Look at that woman? Do you notice the smile, the flush to her cheeks, and her breathing light and easy?

  Do you want to know what her secret is?

  Maybe it’s Maybelline.

  I’m kidding, but that’s a catchy saying, isn’t it?

  Seriously though. I’ll tell you what the secret is.

  Sex. I know, so simple, right? She’s having lots of freaking sex. At night, of course. And there’s not a goddamn thing wrong with that, so don’t you dare burst my bubble.

  And I’ll tell you another thing. Cason Reins can do more than pitch. But you knew that already.

  While he plays ball during the day and while I try to negotiate single-parent life, at night behind the closed doors of my bedroom, he shows me that his way of putting a Band-Aid on my emotional scar is the perfect way to stop the bleeding.

  Thursday, he doesn’t have class, and instead, before leaving for California, he has me cornered in the kitchen. Thankfully, Tatum’s at preschool and can’t see her mother being undressed.

  “You need a pair of these in every color,” he notes, sliding the legging off me.

  His hands slide up my body and palm my breasts. I thread my hands in his hair, a smile tugging at my lips. “What are you doing? I thought you had to leave.”

  “I can’t leave without eating breakfast.” And then he drops to his knees on my kitchen floor. “I wouldn’t be able to focus on school anyways.”

  Let me tell you, his mechanics for pussy licking are as good as his pitching. His two-finger fastball is accurate as hell. Okay, I’m done.

  No, seriously. I am.

  Holy fuck.

  He brings my clit between his teeth, smirking, knowing I came all over his face. As I struggle to catch my breath, he lifts his head, yanks his jeans down, and climbs on my kitchen island with me. After rolling on a condom, he doesn’t give me time to say much before he thrusts inside me, a beautiful groan falling from his lips.

  It’s a good goddamn thing I live in a gated community and have cameras to know if someone shows up because imagine walking in on this. Oh, hey, Janice. Would you like some coffee? Yeah, those are my marble countertops, and over there, next to the bananas, I got fucked.

  Also, I don’t know anyone named Janice. So I don’t know why I fake invited her into my home.

  Cason draws me out of my own head, thankfully, as he’s starting to lose control. Resting his weight on his elbows, Cason’s mouth finds mine, his kiss as eager as his movements. He’s screwing me. Fucking me like we don’t have much time, or tomorrow.

  I’m here to tell you, we might not.

  Maybe there’s no tomorrow for us.

  His pace breaks, his pumps quicker, deeper, and messier. “Fuck,” he gasps, his hips twitching. He pushes into me, long, punishing strokes I can’t get enough of, and here I am, bare to him in the worst possible lighting a kitchen has to offer, and completely oblivious to everything else around me.

  I feel him everywhere, our sweat cementing us together, and his cock so hard and thick inside me. Breaking the kiss, he sucks his way down my neck, so hungrily.

  Time slows down, for me at least, and I watch him as his orgasm takes over, merciless and grunting hard with each thrust. The raw noises get louder and louder, the closer he gets. It’s breathtaking to witness him so vulnerable.

  He groans into the curve of my neck when he comes, fisting my hair in his hand as he empties himself inside me.

  Steading his breathing, his thrusts slow, and he lifts his head and kisses my nose.

  He fucked me on my kitchen island. And I need to bleach it later.

  Time stretches between us for a minute before he sighs, his eyes moving above me. “Can I have one of those bananas?”

  I burst out laughing like it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.

  AFTER CASON LEAVES, I pick up Tatum from school and stop by the mailboxes. At this point, I’m sure you can imagine my terror for opening my front door and my mail.

  Warranted if you ask me and guess what?

  Today was one of those days.

  Sadie stops by after class as I’m bringing Tatum and the mail inside and carrying the last of my inventory from my shop before handing over the keys today. As depressing as it is to see that part of my life ending, I think maybe I’m meant to be here, working from home again and closer to Tatum. She needs me. And her talking snowman.

  I look through my emails and orders from my website. I have sixteen pending orders that basically wipes out all my Wilderness collection I have that’s inspired by the Pacific Northwest. I love that collection, and up until now, it’s never sold very well.

  Scrolling through the orders, I look at who ordered them, and I’m not surprised. Cason. Sixteen paintings. My heart beats faster as I look at the shipping addresses. Washington. Louisiana, North Carolina…. He’s sending paintings to everyone in his family. But why?

  I set my phone down and remember the mail.

  Despite my amazing morning with Cason, reality slips back in, and that weight returns as I stare at the envelope.

  It’s from the bank, and I’m not sure I want to open it. Can you blame me?

  Sadie scrunches her nose and sets two bottles of wine on the counter. “Why does it smell like bleach in here?”

  Yes, I bleached the hell out of my kitchen island. “I cleaned,” I mumble, the music from Frozen starting up in the background. With a sigh, I pick up the letter from the bank.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s from the bank. Probably about the foreclosure?”

  Sadie shrugs. “You paid it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but maybe they wouldn’t accept the payment?”

  “Nahla would have said something.” She nudges me, working on one of the wine bottles. “Remi wants to come over.”

  “Are you asking if you can have a play date?” I snap, tearing open the letter.

  “No. I’m just letting you know she asked about you, and she’s worried.”

  “She should have thought about that before she fucked my husband.” My heart stabs me. I know, you’re thinking, Syd, your heart doesn’t have a knife. It can’t stab you. Well, my heart is talented and made one from my ribs because that ninja bitch stabbed me. I’m sure of it by the pain radiating through my upper body. That’s what it feels like when I read the letter.

  Collin’s accidental death policy has already paid out.

  But not to me. And they can’t tell me who without a power of attorney.

  Again. It’s a good goddamn thing he’s dead because if you’re think, when’s this bitch going to snap? That time is now.

  A strong throwing arm.

  SYDNEY

  “I fucking hate him!”

  “I think I hate him more than you do,” Nahla says, reading over the insurance policy and the letter the bank sent. Collin had changed his beneficiary there too, but not to Tatum.

  Nahla pours me more wine, setting the bottle on the counter with a light thud. I know what you’re thinking: damn, she’s drank every night since her husband died.

  You’d be right. I have. It’s called adulting. Stop judging me.

  I stare at the bananas, and though I want to smile that Cason has taken up residency inside my head, in my body, I’m reminded while that’s a distraction, reality keeps bitch-slapping me. “It’s not even about the money at this point. I can make it on my own. But why? Why would he have done that? Was I that much of a monster to him?”

  The empathy radiates from her touch. “Collin… that was just Collin. I’ll see what I can find out for you.”

  “I have a feeling I know who it went to,” I mumble. I bet you do, too, without me having to say it.

  Nahla and I exchange a look before Tatum’s singing draws my attention. She’s in the family room with Cason. “Me too. But let me see what I can do before you say anyt
hing.”

  Nodding, my anger subsides when I watch Cason hold my daughter. They barely know each other, yet she’s worked her way into his arms every time she sees him.

  They look so cute there on the couch with him braiding her hair. Fresh out of a bath, she’s wearing his baseball jersey. She’s drowning in it, but I’ve never seen anything so damn cute in my life.

  Cason looks up from braiding her hair. “So she never needed her boyfriend? Only her sister?”

  Tatum stares at the television but says, “Yeah.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  She smiles over her shoulder at him, leaning back against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know.”

  Two weeks. They’ve known each other for two weeks and are apparently best friends.

  Nahla shakes her head, smiling. “She really likes him.”

  “I know. It’s going to suck when he graduates.”

  She eyes me carefully. “For you or her?”

  I toss the ripped envelope at her face and pour myself more wine. “Shut up.”

  Nahla ends up leaving, and I take a seat on the couch next to Tatum and Cason. He’s finished braiding her hair as the credits roll, and she’s rewinding to the parts with Olaf. The couch is covered in jelly beans and organized by flavors. “Don’t touch the butter popcorn ones,” Cason tells me, popping some into his mouth. “They’re mine and I don’t share.” He points to the pink ones. “And those are Loretta’s.”

  “Am I allowed to have any?”

  “Yeah, the cinnamon ones. They’re bullshit. I don’t know why they make them. I’ve written countless letters, and they still make ’em.” He chews slowly. “It’s like they’re not getting them or something.”

  I laugh, knowing he’s probably completely serious.

  “Bullshit!” Tatum screams, twirling around.

  “Tatum.” I sigh, shaking my head and face-palming myself.

  Cason covers his mouth. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She was cussing long before you came around.”