She held up her hand to stop him from coming any closer.
He took another step.
“Stop,” she demanded.
There was something about her voice that almost compelled him to follow the direction. It didn’t stop him from protesting though. “I just want to check you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Just . . . don’t come any closer.”
He frowned. Why won’t she let me help her? “I really should—”
“No.” Her tone was firm and it brokered no further argument from Drew.
Upon seeing the kicked-puppy look that crossed Drew’s features, Amity almost felt like she owed him an apology. Only she couldn’t say what she needed to in order to sweep away his confusion. How could she? She couldn’t exactly explain that it hadn’t been the force of the impact of Drew’s forehead that had left her hurt and stunned—she’d endured way worse than that over the years and physical pain meant little to her if she didn’t allow it to.
No, it was simply the fact that Drew had touched her, which had hurt. Just as she’d known it would. Ever since she’d forced him off the road—and away from a confrontation with Becca and Evan—Amity had been walking a fine balance trying not to touch Drew. When she’d had to, she’d taken every precaution to ensure no skin to skin contact. She’d almost succeeded except for a couple of incidents.
Drew stood with his head cocked slightly off-center and his arms crossed over his firm, bare chest. He was watching her with a careful, assessing gaze—as if he could see through all of the layers of fake humanity which she’d cloaked herself in and right down to the very core of her. To her grace.
Amity dropped her gaze from his, before realizing that she was inadvertently staring at his semi-aroused cock pressing against the stripy cotton of his boxers.
“I am sorry,” he said again. The words were almost petulant, as though her refusing to let him help her was the worst slight she could have made against him. He took a backward step and sat back on the edge of his bed.
“I know. But it’s really fine.” She tried out a smile. “See.”
“Okay.” He nodded before turning back to look at his bed. Amity could almost see his mind ticking over. His hangover. The rumpled sheets. Her presence.
She started to realize why knocking him out, scrambling his memories, and bringing him home might not have been the best idea. Or maybe that part was fine, but choosing to stay until the morning was the part that was going to cause her grief.
“So . . .” he turned back toward her with a coy smirk on his lips. “Last night—”
“Nothing happened!” Amity practically shouted the words to cut off his question. It was a little bit of a lie, but the truth was something she couldn’t admit to. Or at least, wasn’t willing to examine in any more depth than she already had.
He’d been drunk by the time she used her charm to convince him to leave the bar, and they’d barely taken three steps outside the door before she’d pulled him against her, ready to zap his ass back to his house. He’d obviously thought she was making a pass though, and his lips had caressed hers before she’d had the sense to pull away. The sensation of his lips brushing across her mouth had caught her off guard. Mostly because it hadn’t caused the pain she’d been expecting. In fact, it had been different. Almost . . . pleasant.
Regardless of whether or not she’d enjoyed it, it had been the cue she needed that it was time to return him home. An instant later, she’d lowered him onto his bed, removed the memories of their conversation—where he’d spilled his heart to her, telling her his every feeling for Becca—and then left him to sleep off the effects of two different types of brain-scrambling. Only one self-imposed.
She should have left then and there. Should have gone back to Heaven and planned how best to help him with her newfound knowledge, but she couldn’t. The truth was Drew intrigued her. He was a bit of an enigma. An alpha male who wasn’t afraid to tell everyone around him of his opinions, but who also owned his emotions and loved completely, even when that left him hurt. If his drunken ramblings about the reasons Becca might have left him were to be believed, he clearly didn’t back down about voicing his thoughts, yet he was nothing but sweet when describing his love. It had made Amity more resolute in her decision to show him how to heal himself rather than try to force him to understand again by use of another miracle.
“Oh.” Drew’s disappointed exclamation pulled her from the memory.
It took her a second to realize that it was her admission that caused that little sound of regret.
“Why not?” he added, sounding as though he was concerned about his virility—or maybe his reputation.
Amity’s lip twitched as she wondered whether she’d accidentally wounded his pride. She could have kicked him while he was down, the set-up was almost too easy, but she didn’t. “Do I look like that kind of girl?”
His eyes swept over her body, drinking her in as desperately as he’d downed the alcohol the previous evening. When his gaze lifted back to meet hers, his eyes screamed, “Yes,” even as his lips formed the word, “No.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I don’t know what kind of girl you mean.”
She could see through to the heart of him. He was an open book. He’d had easy women in his bed before, but he didn’t want to offend her. She chuckled as her little way of calling “bullshit,” but let his statement fall mostly unchallenged.
“Why are you here then?”
“Don’t you remember?” she asked.
His lips twisted into a grimace. “Sorry, last night . . .” He scraped his fingers across his scalp. “Well, to be honest, it's a bit of a blur.”
She took a small step closer to him now she was certain he wouldn’t try to reach for her again. “Last night I told you what I am and you asked for my help.”
“What you are?” He blinked in confusion. “What are you?”
“A personal trainer.” She grinned at him, hoping her confidence would sell the lie. As the angel of truth, her whole body and personality bucked away from untruths, so it was much more difficult for her to be deceitful than was fair. She just hoped she could avoid looking like a complete idiot by skirting around the truth rather than coming out with a blatant lie. She lifted her cheeks just a little higher, trying to force her lips into a winning smile. “And life coach.”
“And why exactly would I want a life coach?” He sounded more like he was talking to himself, but Amity was ready with an answer anyway.
“You said something about needing to get your life back in order after Becca.”
The name hung in the air between them as Drew’s gaze shot back to meet hers.
“I told you about that?” He pushed himself up off the bed and raked his hands through his hair. “Why would I tell you about her? You’re a complete stranger.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “That’s not what you said last night. Besides, we’re not strangers. We’re roommates.”
“Huh?”
Forcing an exaggerated sigh through her lips, Amity pushed the lies as far as she was willing. “This would be much easier if you could remember. I told you that I was new in town and didn’t really have anywhere else to stay other than more nights in lonely hotel rooms. When you heard that, you invited me here to stay because you didn’t want to be alone when you were at home. You even said it would make our arrangement easier.”
“The personal training and life coach arrangement?” he clarified.
She nodded. “That’s the one.”
“So how will this work exactly?”
“You tell me. Your well-being and state of mind are all that matter to me now.”
“Are you going to wake me like this every morning?”
“No.” She quirked her lips into a smile. “Just the ones where you’re too hungover to function properly.” She laughed, allowing her stress to melt away now that he seemed to buy her lies.
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, her wor
ds full of sincerity.
“I meant—” He sighed. “You know what, never mind.”
“Why don’t you go have a shower and I’ll get some breakfast.”
He grimaced. “I’m not so sure food is a good idea right now.”
“You should eat.”
She saw his gaze flick down to watch her hands—firmly planted on her hips—before lifting back to her eyes.
“Is there any point in arguing?” he asked as a smirk lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Not really.”
“Okay, fine. Who knows, maybe I’ll actually feel like eating after a shower.”
Amity smiled. Not only had she managed to find an adequate cover to give her time to help him heal, but she had also lied successfully.
Maybe things were looking up for her after all.
Chapter Eight
Drew thought he had negotiated through the whole stranger in his bedroom debacle fairly well. Except for one thing. He hadn’t asked her to refresh his memory and tell him her name. Which meant there was a woman—a beautiful woman—whom he’d apparently invited into his house, to live no less, making him breakfast just feet away from where he was currently naked, toweling himself off after a shower, and he didn’t even know what to call her.
Fuck!
He wondered the best way to approach the name situation now. He couldn’t just come out and ask her now, not since such a long time had gone by, could he? By the end of the conversation, they’d been talking as friends—or at the very least acquaintances—could he really admit that he had less than zero clue about what her name might be? It didn’t seem right, but he had to figure it out eventually or else the living arrangement could become very awkward very fast. What if a day went by and he still hadn’t learned what to call her? A week?
He figured that he’d handle it however seemed right when he walked out into the kitchen. It was only after he’d been obsessing over the name situation for a full five minutes that a thought occurred to him: he’d spent a full five minutes obsessing over a woman who wasn’t Becca. It had to be a record or at least the longest since his return to Flint.
While he pulled on his attire for work—where he was going regardless of what his father had said the day before—he turned his thoughts away from the errant intrusion by the one who’d broken his heart and back onto the blonde who’d apparently invaded his life.
Would it really be so bad to have such a bombshell as a roommate? Maybe she’d prove to be just the distraction he needed to get over Becca. The fact that all thought of the latter had been washed away by the mere mystery of a name made it seem hopeful. Although similar dalliances hadn’t helped much before; in fact, they’d often made him want to get out of Orange County and back to Flint as fast as he could, that didn’t mean it couldn’t work now.
They were all vapid and vacuous women who were more interested in my paycheck than my dreams or desires outside the bedroom.
Was this woman—the nameless one in his kitchen singing a melodious, bell-like tune—just like them? Or was she something more? Beauty and brains.
Like Becca.
Just thinking her name hurt, but surprisingly not quite as much as it had the day before. That little fact alone solidified his already strong desire to go to the hospital, regardless of the fact he was supposed to be having a personal day. He couldn’t in good conscience take the day off when so many people were relying on him to be there. And he didn’t want to when Becca might be there. He wanted to see her just as badly as he didn’t want to face her. Eventually, he’d have to deal with the fact that unless one of them moved, which was unlikely, she would be at his place of employment regularly. He just had to learn to grin and bear it. It would have been nice to try to do that on a day when his head didn’t pound and his mouth didn’t taste like ass.
Once he was dressed, he headed out to greet his apparent new housemate.
“Hey . . . you,” he said. His pride left him unwilling to admit to his memory slip when it came to her name, but he needed to address her in some way.
“Feeling better?” She slid a plate of pancakes in front of him.
Despite the way his stomach twisted with the aching emptiness of his hangover, the scent of the food was divine and somewhat wholesome. It almost reminded him of the ones his mom used to make, back when she was still with his father. His mouth watered as he leaned over to inhale the delicious scent. His housemate—he really needed to find some way to work out her name—poured a generous serving of syrup over the top.
“I thought you said you were a personal trainer?” he queried as he took in the decadent looking breakfast.
She laughed. The bell-like sound was a lot less grating now that he’d had time to wake properly and have a warm shower. In fact, he reasoned that after some aspirin and a proper breakfast, it might even be melodic, like her singing had been. “They’re banana oatmeal pancakes; higher in fiber, lower in fat, but just as delicious.”
“You know you sound like an infomercial, right?” Drew found himself chuckling despite how odd the whole scenario was. He knew for a fact that his house contained none of the ingredients, which meant that she must have gone to some effort to organize everything before waking him up.
“Just eat. I promise they’ll make you feel better.”
He nodded, more than willing to follow that instruction. With his first bite, he confirmed the pancakes were everything she’d claimed they’d be. And more.
“So, where are you from originally?” he asked between bites. He really thought if she was going to be living in his house, he should know something about her. Like her name, he chastised himself.
“Here and there,” she said evasively.
He tilted his head in question.
She pushed her hair back off her face, tucking the long, white strands behind her ears. “I’ve travelled a lot. So much that I haven’t been home in a very long time.”
He frowned at the sorrow in her voice. Something in her tone sparked a protective streak in him, one that had last come out to play on Becca’s birthday when he’d tried to warn that fucker, Evan, to stay away.
“Let’s just say, I come from a little north of here.” Her eyes danced in amusement, even though her words were not particularly funny.
“North? Canada?”
She smiled a secretive grin. “Something like that.”
It was clear she didn’t want to answer it more specifically than that, and he didn’t want to frighten her away with demands for information. If she was keeping it secret, he had to believe there was a reason for it. He wasn’t concerned about trouble; he could handle himself and she seemed to be able to as well. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a little curious though. “You’ve never wanted to return?”
“Wanted? Yes and no. But I feel like I carry home with me wherever I go. Besides, my brothers are never far away.”
“How many brothers have you got?”
She laughed. “Too many.”
It was a reminder that Drew was an only child. What he wouldn’t have given to have siblings. At least one other. Someone else to take some of the pressure off him. The never-ending need to be the perfect son; the perfect doctor as he followed in his father’s footsteps; and the perfect husband giving his as yet non-existent wife, endless support while letting her pursue her own dreams even as he relentlessly followed his own. All of his parents’ hopes and dreams for a successful married man producing multiple heirs to the Petersen name.
He was feeling so sorry for himself that the words started to tumble from him before he could stop them. “I always wanted a brother, or even a sister. I wouldn’t have been picky really. It just would have been nice to have someone to share things with when I was younger. Even now, it would be nice. With the whole thing with Becca, what I wouldn’t give to talk to someone about it. And being torn between two houses so far apart when my parents divorced was really hard. Honestly, living with my mother, and her crazy expectations for me to settle down and m
arry, was driving me a little insane before I left. I moved back here to live near Dad so I could get a break from it for a while. He helped me get a good position at the hospital, which could give me loads of experience. And I know that’s probably nepotism, but it will help fast track so many things and why shouldn’t I get the chance to get ahead just because my father is head of surgery? It’s not like I don’t work my ass off every day to get there. Then I have all this crap with Becca and the fact that she wants someone else—someone who’s not me and can’t offer her any of the things that I obviously can. He doesn’t even have a job, as far as I can tell. What sort of life can he offer her? Really? But despite that, apparently I’m not enough for her. And part of me thinks I should just pack up and move back home near Mom to get away from it all, but the women down there were all so fake.”
He sat upright as he realized what he’d said and how much he’d spilled in his rambling. The blood drained from his face, but she barely flinched at his long-winded admission.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know what came over me. It’s almost like I can’t keep any secrets for myself anymore. It’s been this way for over twenty-four hours now, and it’s part of the reason why I was at the bar last night. I really—” He clamped his hand over his mouth. It seemed to be the only way he could get his lips to stop moving and spilling all the gory, sad details of what his life had become. He took a few deep breaths until the compulsion to tell her his entire life story left him, and then he moved his hand away with a sigh.
His new housemate blinked for a moment, as if trying to figure out the best way to react to his rambling. Running away screaming was probably the logical reaction, and he figured it was probably on the cards. At least until she tilted her head after a moment and regarded him quietly.
“Has that been happening a lot?”
“That depends. What do you mean by a lot? Like I said, since yesterday I don’t seem to be able to keep my mouth still for long. And it is far worse this morning than it was yesterday. In fact, it’s so bad today I am actually considering speaking to Dr. McGregor the instant I get into work. He’s a psychiatrist, so maybe he can tell me whether this is some sort of symptom of the break-up or something worse. But how messed up am I if I have this sort of reaction to a simple relationship breakdown? Then again, how else do you explain the fact that I spent a significant amount of time yesterday telling one of my patients every intimate detail about the time I broke my leg when I went skiing with Mom and her beau du jour in Aspen. You see it was only the second time I’d gone—”
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