by Roni Loren
I shook my head. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been trying to carry everything at once. It’s been a long day, and I was hoping to save myself a second trip up the stairs.”
“The joys of a walk-up.” Pike grabbed a few napkins and started cleaning up the noodles at my feet like it was his mess to worry about.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I lowered down to my knees. “I’ll take care of it.”
He grinned over at me, the mirror opposite of his roommate. Ian Foster was all suits and dark looks—a man who preferred to be called by his surname. Whereas Pike didn’t seem to even have a last name. He was a drummer in some popular local band—jeans, a sex-on-the-mind smile, and spiked, bleached hair his usual uniform. Not that I had studied either of them. Or listened to their escapades through the wall I shared with them. Not at all.
Keep telling yourself that, Cela.
Despite my protest, Pike helped me finish picking up the mess. “So what’s the big-ass bottle of tequila for? No one could’ve had that bad of a day.”
I glanced over at the bottle I’d set on the floor, debating whether I could be trusted to have a normal conversation with these two without sounding like I had a speech impediment. “I, uh, graduated today. It was a gift.”
“Oh, right on.”
“Congratulations, Cela,” Foster said. Just the sound of him saying my name in that smooth, dark voice had my stomach clenching. He was all Southern refinement, but I didn’t miss the glimmer of a drawl underneath it all.
Ay dios mío. My body clamored to attention like an eager Labrador ready to be petted. Down, girl. These guys were way above my pay grade. I wasn’t dumb or delusional. I’d seen/spied on/secretly hated the women who’d passed through their apartment door—women who looked like they’d earned their doctorates in the art of seduction.
I hadn’t even reached the kindergarten level in that particular department.
“Thank you.”
“You were going to vet school at Dallas U, right?” Foster had tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and though the question was casual, I had the distinct impression he was tense beneath that suit jacket.
Pike handed me a napkin for my hands and stood to toss the food into a nearby trash can.
I wiped off my hands and pushed myself to my feet, trying to do it as gracefully as possible in my restrictive skirt. “Yes, how’d you know that?”
“The scrubs you wear have the school insignia on them,” Foster said, as if it was totally normal that he’d looked at me that closely.
“Observant.” Especially considering I usually only managed a head-down, mumbled, hey-how-are -ya exchange when we passed each other in the hallway. Secretly listening to one of your hot neighbors having sex had a way of making eye contact a bit uncomfortable the next day—particularly if said eavesdropper had used the soundtrack to fuel her own interlude with her battery-operated boyfriend.
Not that I had. Several times. Whatever.
Pike sidled up next to Foster—a motley pair if there ever was one. “So, doc, now that you’ve got no dinner and clearly too much liquor on your hands, why don’t you join us? We already have pizza on the way, and we can play a drinking game with the tequila. Do college kids still play Never Have I Ever? I was always good at that one.”
Kid? Is that what they saw me as? Neither of them could be that much older than I was. Though in terms of life experience, I had no doubt they trumped me a few times over.
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” The refusal was automatic, long practiced. How many times had I turned down such offers—from guys, from friends? My parents had been so strict when I was younger that I almost didn’t know how to say yes even after living on my own the last few years. Studies first. Fun later. Yet, there never seemed to be any time for fun after the first one was finished.
“You sure? I don’t want you going to bed with no dinner because of us,” Foster said, frown lines marring that perfect mouth of his.
Going to bed and us was about all I heard. My father’s stern voice whispered in my ear. You don’t know these men. You’ll be all alone in their apartment. Medina women have more respect for themselves than that.
“Really, I’m fine. I had a big lunch,” I said, my smile brief, plastic. “But thanks.”
“Oh, come on,” Pike said, his tone cajoling. “We’ve been neighbors for what, two years? We should at least get to know a little about each other.”
Get to know each other? I knew that Foster was loud when he came—even if he was alone. Knew that Pike liked to laugh during sex. Knew the two men shared women. And the other sounds I’d heard over the last two years . . . the smacks, the commands, the erotic screams. My face went as hot as if I’d stuck my head in an oven.
“Y’all just want me for my tequila,” I said, attempting to deflect my derailing thoughts.
The corner of Pike’s mouth lifted. “Of course that’s not all we want you for.”
“Uh . . .” Oh, hell. Pictures flashed across my brain. Dirty, delicious pictures. I almost dropped my phone again. I had no idea what to do with my hands, my expression.
Foster put a hand on Pike’s shoulder. “The lady said no. I think we should let her go celebrate her graduation however she wants.”
“All right.” Pike’s face turned hangdog, but he handed me the tequila bottle. “If you change your mind, we’ve got big plans. Supreme pizza and a Star Wars–themed porn marathon. The Empire Sucks C—”
Foster smacked the back of Pike’s head, and Pike ducked and laughed.
“Kidding. I mean, a Jane Austen marathon,” Pike corrected, his green-gold eyes solemn. “Pride and Pu—”
Foster was behind Pike, his hand clamping over his friend’s mouth in a flash. “I seriously can’t take him out. He’s like an untrained puppy. Maybe you can lend me a shock collar or something.”
Pike waggled his eyebrows, all playful wickedness.
I laughed, putting my hand to my too hot forehead, and turning toward the stairs. “Yeah, so, I’m going to go now.”
“Cela,” Foster said as I put my foot onto the first step.
I glanced back. “Yeah?”
His ice-melt eyes flicked downward, his gaze alighting along the length of me before tracing their way upward again in a slow, unashamed perusal. “Promise you won’t go to bed hungry.”
I wet my lips, my skin suddenly feeling too tight to accommodate the blood pumping beneath it, and nodded.
But it was a lie.
I always went to bed hungry.
And it had nothing to do with a spilled dinner.
***
NOT UNTIL YOU, the complete novel, is currently available for pre-order or you can start reading right now in serial format!
Sneak Peek: NOTHING BETWEEN US
And a special bonus for fans of the Loving on the Edge series--a sneak peek of NOTHING BETWEEN US, releasing January 2015!
Colby’s got his eye on his beautiful neighbor, but fate isn’t done throwing curve balls at him yet…
From NOTHING BETWEEN US
All Rights Reserved Berkley Publishing – Copyright Roni Loren 2014
The wind had picked up and was blowing along the sides of the buildings with a punch of cold. Thunder rumbled in the distance and promised a chilling rain. But the residual effects of the alcohol kept Colby warm enough for now. A few notes of music drifted through the air as people opened the doors to some of the bars and clubs. But as he neared the end of the second block, more than a snippet of a song hit his ears. Lonely notes of a familiar melody seemed to echo from far away and stopped him dead in his stride.
He glanced behind him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, but the sidewalks were empty. He closed his eyes, grabbing onto the faint sound of the song. Lyrics he should’ve have forgotten by now filled in the blanks in his head.
The yellow tape winds
The signs all warn
Fingers grab and twine,
And everything is torn.<
br />
I’m a trespasser, never will I belong.
My life is off-limits, everything is wrong…
Colby opened his eyes and shook his head as a chill moved through him. No, it couldn’t be. He must’ve had more to drink than he thought. He was so drunk he was hearing ghosts. Old demons were sliding out of the gutters and wrapping around him. He picked up the speed of his steps.
But as he moved forward, the sound of the guitar only got louder, the chords clearer. Like a man possessed, he took a sharp right, crossed the street, and followed the sound. The music grew crisp as he neared a closed record store. He turned another corner and found himself facing a small park. There was a statue of a horse at the center of a stone circle and benches surrounded it. On one of the benches sat a guy with a guitar and full sleeve tattoos, playing a song that didn’t belong to him.
“Hey,” Colby called out as he walked into the circle. “What song are you playing?”
The guy glanced up for a second, his face in the shadow of the canopy of trees above him, and the music stopped. “Five bucks and I’ll tell ya.”
Colby peered at the open guitar case at the guy’s feet. There were a few bills in it. “That’s not your song to play.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he said and started strumming again.
Colby stepped forward, his heartbeat pounding. “Tell me where you heard it.”
“Price has gone up to twenty,” the guy said, not even bothering to look up this time. Thunder rumbled closer now and a gust of wind blew over them, rattling the leaves above them.
Colby gritted his teeth and pulled his wallet out. He dropped a twenty in the case. “Tell me.”
The guy’s blond hair had fallen in his face, but Colby could see his smirk. “In my head. I wrote it, asshole.”
Well, that just pissed Colby off. He kicked the guitar case shut with a bang.
The guy’s head snapped upward. “What’s your pr—”
But his green eyes went wide and his words trailed off as his gaze met Colby’s.
For a second, the pieces didn’t register, didn’t fit together in Colby’s fuzzy head. He just stared for a few long seconds. But when it all finally clicked into place, it was like a swift, hard punch to the gut. “Keats?”
That seemed to snap the guy out of his stunned state. He got off the bench with hurried movements and flipped open his guitar case to set his battered instrument into it. “No, man, ain’t me.”
Colby considered for a moment that he was seeing ghosts. He’d had a bad day. He’d had a lot to drink. Keats had been on his mind earlier. But when Colby gave the guy a longer look, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. The boy he’d known had grown a few inches and had inked up his skin. His hair was longer and he was leaner than Colby remembered. Harder. But there was no doubting those pale green eyes or the awareness that had flashed through them.
This was Keats. Alive.
Keats yanked his case from the ground and hitched a backpack over his shoulder, turning to go. He took two steps before Colby had a hand on his upper arm. “You’re just going to walk away?”
Keats tensed in his grip, and he turned cold eyes on him. “Unless you plan to throw more money at me, big man, I’m outta here.”
Colby let his arm go but squared off in front of him to block him, the dominant side of him shimmering to the surface. “Keats, if you think you’re going to blow me off and pretend you don’t know me, I suggest you rethink that.”
Keats’s smile was wry even though fear flickered through his eyes. “Blow you? So that’s what this is about? Not my thing, dude. But give me two hundred bucks and maybe I can forget that I don’t like dick.”
Colby stepped into his space, unsure what pissed him off more—that Keats was still keeping up this act or that what he said could be true—that the smart, quiet kid he used to know was now selling himself to keep afloat. He hoped to God Keats was just bluffing. But if the kid wanted to play this game, he could too.
“Fine.”
Keats blinked, the tough guy face faltering for a second. “What?”
“Five-hundred and you come home with me for the night.”
“That wasn’t the offer.”
“You’re going to turn down five-hundred bucks and a warm place to sleep?” he asked, knowing Keats had no more than thirty bucks in his case and that the cold rain would start falling any minute.
“Nobody gives you that much money for nothing,” he said, his expression tight. “And I don’t fuck guys.”
Even hearing the crass words roll off Keats’s lips had anger welling in Colby. So the kid was going to keep this bravado crap up. Colby crowded Keats against the side of the bench, using his size to the fullest advantage. He knew he wasn’t fighting fair. Keats was nervous even if he was trying to play it off. But there was no way in hell Colby was letting him walk away. If it meant playing dirty, so be it. He leaned in close, his lips next to Keats’s ear. “Do I look like someone who’d need to pay for a fuck?”
“Col—“ he started, then caught himself. “Shit.”
Colby smiled and backed off, victorious. He took the guitar case from Keats’s hand, the burden of Colby’s awful day lifting a little. The situation was beyond screwed up. Keats was on the street—or close enough to it to be busking in a park. He hadn’t actually asked him if he had somewhere to go. But he was alive. And that was enough to be thankful for. “Come on, kid. Let’s get a sandwich and get indoors before the skies open up. I need to sober up before I can drive. But when we’re done, you are going home with me.”
The nothing-bothers-me attitude dropped from his expression and he looked…lost. “Why?”
“Do you have some place better to go?” he asking, lifting a brow.
Keats’s jaw twitched and he glanced away, the shame in his eyes making him look more like the kid he used to know and less like—Colby counted off the years in his head—the twenty-three year old man he’d grown into. “Not if I don’t show up with some cash in my pocket.”
“That’s reason enough then. I’m guessing five-hundred will cover you. Come on.”
Keats followed him when Colby started walking back toward the main road. He fell into step with him. “Your…family isn’t going to mind you showing up with some stranger?”
Colby peered over at him, the question catching him off guard. “I live alone.”
“Oh.” Keats looked down. “That’s cool.”
Ah, hell.
This had trouble written all over it.
***
Want to know more about the book? Check out the Nothing Between Us page on Roni’s website! It’s also available for pre-order on all the major sites.
About the Author
Roni wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son.
If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock concerts. Yeah, that's it. She is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of The Loving on the Edge series.
Website: www.RoniLoren.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/RoniLoren
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Want to read more?
The Loving on the Edge Series:
Crash Into You
Still Into You (novella)
Melt Into You
Fall Into You
Caught Up In You
Not Until You (8-part serial available now; complete novel available November 2014)
Need You Tonight
Forever Starts Tonight (novella) – releas
ing September 2014
Nothing Between Us – releasing January 2015
Other Books:
FIFTY FIRST TIMES: A New Adult Anthology
with J. Lynn, Molly McAdams, and many others