by L. B. Dunbar
My main concern is I shouldn’t draw Leon into my drama, but Trent was here the other night. I saw him outside lurking in the street, and I didn’t like it. I also noticed him following me home from the high school a few nights back, so I drove to my mother’s instead of my place. I can hardly sleep some nights knowing I might never be truly safe unless I leave my hometown, which I don’t want to do.
My second issue with our arrangement—I’m highly attracted to my neighbor turned roommate.
The first week has awkward moments, like dinnertime. I suggest we eat together. I sense the Ramirez siblings already uphold this as a family practice, or at least try to, but Lys has hinted it’s often disrupted by a fight between Lena and Leon. Dinnertime can be chaos, I recall from my own upbringing, but it’s also an important time to reconnect and check in with one another.
“So,” I begin after three nights of quiet meals. “Tell me one sweet and one sour from your day.” I make this suggestion as a way to start conversation during dinner because I can’t stand the silent tension. My current kitchen table is too large for the room, and I shoved it up against the wall, removing two of the chairs for more floor space. The arrangement was fine for just me, but with four of us in the house, I set the dining room table each night and purposely place Leon and Lys facing Lena and me.
“Don’t you mean sweet and suck?” Lena murmurs. That is the name of the game in some places, but suck has a sexual connotation, and it’s not a good word to use with high schoolers. I’ve learned these things the hard way—hard being another troublesome word, along with balls and shaft, just to name a few.
“I prefer sweet and sour,” I say.
“We do this in one of my classes,” Lys informs the table, and I smile as I actually took the idea from a special education teacher who told me about it.
“Leon, why don’t you begin?” Two silver eyes pierce me like sterling silver knives at the suggestion.
“I don’t know what to say,” he grumbles. I can think of something. He could say the sweet was that I kissed him earlier this week; the sour is that we haven’t kissed again, but that’s not really dinner conversation.
“Fine, I’ll start,” I decide, knowing a teacher should always give an example first. “Sweet. I’m happy to have you all living here with me.” Lys’s head pops up while Leon continues to watch me, fork frozen mid-lift to his mouth. “Sour. I think Leon snores.”
He continues to stare at me, and Lys giggles. Our rooms butt up to one another, so I can hear Leon making noises in the night. The bed jostling. The rustle of his sheets. Sharp, breathy noises. I’m reminded of watching him touch himself through the window, and I wonder if he’s doing it nightly in the bed on the other side of the wall. Then again, he could be having bad dreams, which has crossed my mind a time or two, and I’ve wondered if I should wander into his room to check on him.
“I do not snore,” he mutters, his eyes still looking into mine.
“You do too,” Lena refutes. She imitates him with the most exaggerated noise she can make. I slowly smile, and Lys giggles.
“Fine,” Leon hisses, turning to Lena. “Sweet. We lived through Mrs. Drummond’s. Sour. My sister is a pain in the ass.”
Lys’s giggles immediately subside, and I softly gasp. The sweet was a little abrupt, and the sour was kind of mean.
“Sweet. I got an A on my math quiz. Sour. Leon,” Lena quickly adds.
“I don’t think—” I begin.
“Sweet,” Lys interrupts. “Ms. Carter made a nice dinner. I like chicken and rice.” She kindly smiles at me before her expression falls a little. “Sour. I miss Mami and Papi.”
Crap. The table settles into a stilted silence like it was prior to this game. Leon glances at Lys, and I want him to touch her. I want him to comfort his sister by reaching out a hand to her. His eyes leap back to me, and I’m expecting blame. However, as I’m staring at his sister with heartache in my expression, Leon sits taller in his seat.
“I’m amending my sweet and sour. Sweet is that Tricia’s letting us live with her and you two are with me.” I sense the hesitation in Leon as his eyes shift to his younger sister. I hold my breath for some reason, and then he does what I’d hoped. He cups her cheek. Tenderness.
“Sour.” His hand drops from Lys and lowers to the table. He takes a deep breath, contemplating. “I don’t have one.” His head pops up, and he glances across the table at me. “Today was a good day, and I’ve learned to appreciate them more.” It’s so not what I expected, and my shoulders fall in relief but also sorrow. I’m reminded he’s been in prison, and I can only imagine how bleak some days were.
I want to reach for him, to cup his cheek and tell him I’m glad he’s here. It’s been a strange comfort having them in my home even though I’d wanted this time to myself. I feel a tiny bit safer knowing Leon’s on the other side of my bedroom wall, and even if Trent Walker is outside my home, this man is inside it. Despite his tough exterior, Leon’s inside is softer than he’ll admit. He does care about his sisters.
Eventually, I assign a chore list. Leon really is working hard, and his sisters need to appreciate him a bit more. I make the girls pick something in order to help out around the house. Their brother is covering their rent, and they need to contribute somehow. This was the way things were in my house growing up. We didn’t receive an allowance for chores. You worked because you were a part of the family. Lys is much more accepting of her new responsibilities while Lena grumbles and groans like her brother can, but eventually she does things, albeit begrudgingly.
“That’s all you want? I take out the trash and shovel if it snows.” Leon stares at my work chart, posted on the refrigerator where he’s been penciled in as well. I have another way he can help me around this house. Jess told me he thought Leon was handy and could use some distraction outside of work. It prompts me to suggest he assist me in renovating the house.
“Well, I have something else in mind for you.” I don’t mean it to sound breathless or suggestive when I speak, but I haven’t been able to get images of us together out of my mind whenever we are in the same room—or even when we aren’t. My head clouds with visions of his bare chest over me and my hands cupping that firm backside of his.
I can’t believe I kissed him the night he moved in. Obviously, it had no effect on him as he didn’t respond. It was like the night he kissed me—a soft sweep and then nothing. I, on the other hand, could hardly sleep that night. My heart fluttered with disappointment. I wanted him to hold me close, pull me to him, and give me what I can’t ever remember feeling with a man. Having roommates has curtailed any personal pleasuring time, and it would be fine if the man of my fantasies wasn’t suddenly in my space. Too bad I want him closer. The truth is, I shouldn’t want those things from him at all, and perhaps, he acted in my own best interest by not responding to me. If Leon ever touched me, I’d be a lit match bursting into a hot flame.
“I’d like your help assessing what needs to be done with the house. Jess thought you might be able to help with some minor stuff that won’t cost me much to begin renovating.”
His dark brows furrow, but he nods.
“I’ve made a list, but maybe you could add to it or cross things off. If they are simple enough, we could get started. And by simple enough, I mean cost-efficient and things I am physically capable of doing.” I don’t want anything that’s an obvious improvement because I don’t want Trent to catch a whiff of my agreement with Mrs. Drummond.
“You know, this house is kind of a dump, just like that one.” Leon nods in the direction of the house the fire chief has condemned until further inspection, which really means until Mrs. Drummond gets it fixed for residential living. It turns out, there is mold in the basement, which might have aggravated Amaryllis’s allergies. Plus, in addition to the furnace issue, the gas line to the stove was found to be corroded, and the dryer vent was not installed correctly.
“It might be, but it’s not going to stay that way,” I reassuri
ngly state of my own place. “It has potential, and soon it will be all mine.” I look around the ugly kitchen and imagine what the future holds.
“Why do you want this place so badly? Aren’t there other homes on the market?” Leon already knows about my rent-to-own process, but he’s been sworn to secrecy on the deal.
“Who’m I going to tell?” he’d teased.
“There weren’t other places I could make a deal like this on, and I wanted a place in town, close to home.” My mother lives on the next block over, which Leon also knows. “I wanted a place with character. I see it as giving this place a second chance.” Tom told me the house had good bones when he inspected it for me, but he admitted it needs lots of TLC to rejuvenate the place.
“Like me,” I add.
Leon snorts. “What do you need a second chance at?”
“A safe home of my own.” My eyes drift to his for only a second before I look away. It’s more than I want to admit, but I don’t like his tone. “Here’s the list.” I lay the clipboard with the lined notepad on the kitchen table and walk out of the room. I’m at the end of my threshold with Leon and his snark. Over the past couple of days, he’s been short and sharp with me like he is with his sisters, but I don’t believe it’s because he cares about me.
I’m almost to the staircase when an arm circles my waist. My heart races even though I know it’s Leon. I stiffen in his hold.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters into my hair, his breath brushing near my ear. “I’m a dick.”
My eyes close, and I bite back how I want to agree with him. Instead, I want to melt into him, absorbing the heat radiating off his body.
“I’ve never had a home. I’ve never lived in a house until that shithole next door. It’s a nice dream,” he continues, his mouth still near the shell of my ear.
I nod, keeping my face forward. It’s the only part of me that moves as I’m holding my breath. My heart hammers in my chest, trapped between fear and frustration. Ultimately, I’m not afraid of Leon, not in a physical, stalkerish sense like the way I fear Trent. My roommate just startled me when he grabbed me. I’m not good with people sneaking up behind me and for good reason.
“What’d I do?” he whispers to me, still holding me around my waist. “You’re so stiff.” His arm releases me, and he steps back. I spin to face him, finding his hands in the air in surrender. “I get it, pretty lady. Took my kiss a few weeks back but don’t want my touch. No harm, no foul. That’s not what I’m here for anyway.”
“No harm, no foul?” I repeat, the words thick against my tongue as I speak. “Not what you’re here for.” I stumble over the comment. I took his kiss? What about the one I gave him? Neither should matter, but they do. Deep, deep down, I want his kisses because it would be the first act of tenderness I’ve received in years. More than a dozen years, to be exact. Of course, his lip brush was all for show because of Trent. Mine . . . mine was a genuine act of attraction.
“Yeah. I’m not here to get in your pants. I just need the room upstairs for a bit until I can figure out what to do next.”
I stare at him, eyes prickling for some reason, crushing the allure I shouldn’t feel for him. I don’t know whether to slap him or scream in frustration.
“Tricia.” His voice softens as my lids rapidly blink. “I’m not your type anyway.”
I stare at him, startled by his directness.
“Right. Of course not. Roommates.” I ramble, dismissing the fact he’s tall, dark, and handsome, and the opposite of Trent. When Leon smiles, my heart bursts into flames, and that dimple ignites a spark in a part of me long ignored by another human’s touch. He quotes Shakespeare when he’s frustrated, and it’s kind of sweet and totally sexy. The truth is, I’m not his type. I’m tomboyish with an athletic physique, plus a teacher with motherly tendencies, and none of that seems like it would attract a man like him. I’m comfy cardigans while he’s black leather jackets.
I turn toward the staircase and race to my room like a heartbroken teen. He’s absolutely correct. He’s not my type. He has dangerous written all over him, and I don’t want dangerous. I don’t even want a man. I just want to get my divorce and earn my house.
A home of my own where I’m safe from harm and heartbreak.
+ + +
The worst thing about roommates—especially the hot, handsome, devilish looking type of roommate—is showering. Not that I’m showering with him or even sharing the bathroom with him while he’s showering. It’s simply the concept of knowing he’s naked in my shower, just feet away from my bedroom. My imagination runs wild with images of him under the hot spray, rivers of water rippling down that firm chest which I’ve seen on display a few times. Because the thing about Leon showering is he always walks out of the bathroom with only a towel slung low around his waist, hinting at deep hip Vs. Suggesting something lower is thick and lengthy. And I conveniently find myself in the hallway when he exits the bathroom post shower.
On one occasion, Leon and I collide as I’m scurrying to my bedroom.
“Umph,” I stammer. The wind catches in my throat as Leon bumps into me, forcing me to the wall across from the bathroom door. The upstairs hall is such a small space.
“Sorry,” he mutters with sarcastic apology. His eyes dip to my lips while the wall of his body keeps me pinned against the plaster at my back. His arms instantly raise in surrender, but he doesn’t step back. Mine lift defensively though I’m not afraid of him. I’m protecting myself because my body hums and my fingers twitch. My eyes drop to his tattoo, but I’m too wound up to try to read it. My fingertips want to coast over the firm plains of his pecs instead and lower to the deep ridges of his belly. Then I want to travel the peak of his—
“Tricia.” His deep timbre slowly draws my eyes upward. I should have taught geography. I’d use his body as a topography map.
“Yes,” I choke out, my tongue thick as those silver eyes lighten to polished metal, gleaming at me. His eyes stay on mine as he casually and cautiously leans forward. He presses his forearm to the wall near my head, and I’m trapped within the confines of his body.
“I’m not him.”
The statement startles me. My heart hammers in my chest as I stare up at him.
“Do you understand me? I’m not like him.”
I nod. I know what he’s trying to say without saying it.
“Put your hands on my chest,” he quietly commands.
I swallow. My heart thumps in my throat. “What?”
“Just do it.”
I note my defensive stance again. Arms raised. Fists formed. I unfurl my fingers and flatten my palms against his warm skin. I fight the desire to close my eyes and absorb his heat. His heart races under one palm.
“I’d never hurt you like he did.”
My fingers instantly curl into fists and withdraw from his chest as my eyes leap up to his. Those polished silver orbs dance in the dull light of the hallway, asking me to follow his lead.
“Place your hands back on me.” His voice deepens.
I uncurl my fingers once again and lower my shaky hands to his warm skin.
“You can trust me.” His gaze drifts around my face from my forehead to my ears, over my eyes and down to my lips. He does that slow lick of his lower lip, and I swallow back my thirst for him. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me.
“I’ll never touch you like he did. I’ll never touch you unless you want me to, but I think you want me…” He pauses for effect. “To touch you.”
His eyes focus on mine. I can’t find the words to tell him what I want. I want it all. Touch. Tenderness. Passion. He must read something in my expression because his fingers touch my hair at the top of my head. His other hand lifts to my cheek. His mouth lowers, and my eyes remain wide open, not wanting to miss a thing.
Then a door slams downstairs, and Leon’s head snaps upward. His eyes widen almost as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing. He was going to kiss me. I’m certain of it. Everything in my expression
, in my stance, told him to do it.
Only he steps back. His eyes are focused on my face for only a heartbeat before he slowly turns to the staircase, puzzled for another second. I can’t move. I’m pinned to the wall as if his body is still in front of me. My arms remain raised but tucked to my chest, protecting me once again. Leon glances back at me, and without a word, he clears the distance to his room. I expect the door to slam. The Ramirez siblings love to slam doors, but the soft click of his is almost worse.
My palms flatten to my chest, feeling the hammering just under my skin.
I’m not frightened. I’m scared out of my ever-loving mind because I wanted that kiss. I want him.
+ + +
When the weekend rolls around, Leon takes an extra shift on Saturday, and the girls and I plan a trip to the mall in Traverse City. Levi calls me just before we’re ready to leave and wants to come to my place again.
“I’m heading to the mall. Want to come with us?”
“Who’s us?” he questions through the phone.
“Lys and Lena Ramirez.”
“How do you know them?” He’s teasing me as though he’s forgotten I teach at the high school and know most of the students. I toy with telling him the truth, but I don’t want any information getting back to Trent, even if I trust Levi. He’s like the son-brother-good buddy I’d always wished I had. The boy who tells me I’m beautiful when my own husband didn’t. The kid who loved to play basketball with me when my man refused.
“They’re living with me right now.” Silence follows this information. “But Levi, I need this to remain a secret.”
“Because of Trent?” His voice turns a little colder, and I wonder if there’s been trouble between him and his brother over me. Trent must know Levi came to visit me, and this might have prompted him to question his younger brother for information. I can only hope it didn’t result in physical aggression.