Wesley bounces out of his seat to hover over my shoulder. "It works?"
"You were missing a closing parenthesis, idiot!" I shove his shoulder and quickly save the information to a flash drive. I hand it to him and shove my laptop into my backpack.
Emily rolls her eyes. "All that trouble over a fucking syntax error? Amateurs."
I ease out of my seat, stretching my arms over my head. "It is what it is." I yawn. "But I'm gonna call it a night."
"Are you serious, Nick?" Emily groans. "Party pooper. This might be your last hurrah before you move to that god-awful town no one's ever heard of."
I tsk at her. "If you wanna hang out with me, you'll come over and help me pack tomorrow."
"Um...I'll pass,” she chortles.
I bump fists with Wesley. "Thanks, man," he says as he pockets the thumb drive. “You’re a lifesaver!”
I salute him before turning to Emily. "Call me tomorrow, Em," I tell her as I move toward the exit.
I hear her calling after me, "And tell your new roommate to change her password. That shit was way too easy to decrypt."
Chapter 3
Blakely
This is not how you make a first impression.
I glance over my shoulder and scowl at my reflection in the bookstore's glass door. My crazy red hair sticks out every which way from under the trucker cap pulled low on my head and the coffee I dropped on my sweatshirt earlier left a huge brown stain. Plus, I had to apply about a liter of concealer to hide the fact that I'm running on exactly two and a half hours of sleep. So now, instead of your classic dark circles under my eyes, I have sickly-looking green circles.
Fantastic!
I'm not usually so unkempt but I was on a deadline. I barely managed to submit the final manuscript for Taken by my Bad Boy Massage Therapist to Amazon a few minutes before coming down here to interview my new potential roommate.
And of course, the minute you hit 'submit' on one manuscript, it's time to get cracking on the next. This self-publishing game is crazy.
But it's also lucrative if you do it right. Or so I've heard. Some authors are bringing in $100 000 per month. I'm nowhere near that end of the spectrum but I'm freaking proud of where I am right now. I've only been self-publishing for a short time but I'm earning a steady $500 or $600 extra each month. And that's much more than some of my professors are making off of their writing as they continue to secretly peddle for traditional publishing deals between classes.
(Yes, I'm talking about you, Professor Cohen! You gave me a 'C' on my Creative Fiction Writing paper, meanwhile my stories are reaching audiences you can't even fathom...Jackass!)
I've been self-publishing in stealth mode for months, unbeknownst to my nearest and dearest. Sure, I've had a few close calls, like when my sister, Isla, walked in on me while I was putting the finishing touches on the menage scene in Taken by my Bad Boy Uber Driver but generally, family and friends have no idea what I'm up to and are constantly trying to figure out why I'm so secretive when I'm on my computer.
I would die of shame if they ever found out.
Anyway, my first royalty check went toward a down payment on a car and I've been making my monthly payments out of my Amazon checks ever since.
My novels have also paid for refurnishing my apartment. Annaleigh was a slob. She never took care of our furniture and she didn’t give a damn about maintaining tidiness. She used to say that cleaning and decorating our rundown apartment was like putting lipstick on a disfigured pig. So when she moved out, I quickly gave up on trying to clean her pen ink and pasta sauce out of my used-to-be-white couch. I upgraded my furniture. Now I'm basically living in an Ikea catalogue. Everything is cute, cozy and color-coordinated. Just the way I like it.
My disfigured pig has got swag!
That's one of the reasons why I'm reticent to get a new roommate. I like the way I'm living and I don't want anyone to disrupt that. Go ahead – call me a ‘neat-freak’. But I can't afford to pay my rent all alone. I tend to go a little overboard with my spending so even with my student loans, my book royalty checks and the tiny salary I'm pulling as a part-time receptionist at my sister's yoga center and spa, I'm barely making ends meet.
Yup, I've gotta curb that spending...
But in the meantime, I need a roommate. I'm just really nervous about having some guy under my roof.
I'm not good with guys. They make me nervous and red-faced and stuttery.
I draw comfort from the fact that this Nicholas dude is a tech nerd. Wesley swears that he won't get in my way. He'll stay in his corner and I'll stay in mine. Should work out just fine.
I glance up from my seat at the picnic table in the narrow hallway just outside of the campus bookstore. My eyes meet Annaleigh's and she sticks out her tongue at me from behind the cash register. I laugh. She insisted that I meet up with Nicholas here so she could keep an eye on us – y'know, just in case he's a serial killer.
Anyway, he just texted to tell me that he'll be running a bit late. He got stuck in traffic because of the rain then he took the wrong exit on the highway and has to loop around.
I should probably pull out my laptop and get to work on my next manuscript but after last night's all-nighter, my eyes can't stand another second of staring at a computer screen. So, I people-watch to kill the time.
A beautiful couple walks by, talking and laughing giddily. They look so happy. Inspiration strikes immediately.
I grab a pen from my canvas tote bag and the random stack of napkins sitting on the table in front of me as my mind moves into action. I jot messy notes down, expanding and embellishing and expounding upon what I just saw. I imagine in detail what their relationship must be like; the dates they go on...the gifts they exchange on anniversaries...their sex life.
Yes, I sit around daydreaming about other people's sex life. I'm a writer. We do weird shit like that.
Anyway, the plot starts thickening, the storyline starts forming in my mind. And just like that, book six in the Taken series, Taken by my Bad Boy Study Buddy, is born.
She wasn’t the type of girl that Kendrick would usually go for – although Gina was beautiful with her wind-blown hair and gray-flecked eyes, her interest in organic chemistry consumed most of her waking hours. Kendrick, being a jock, was failing the class and had only paired up with Gina to successfully complete his assignments. It was his only hope of finishing the class with a passing grade. But now that his lips were moving over hers for the first time, it was obvious that the Bunsen burner between them wasn’t the only thing on fire.
I re-read my work. Oh, yeh. Totally hot. I continue to scribble away.
Soon enough, the building's main entrance door swings open and I glance up as a tall, broad-shouldered man hustles in from the rain. He pushes back the hood of his gray sweatshirt with a big, masculine hand and reveals a messy head of thick, dark hair.
Something tightens in my stomach as I watch him shrug the hoodie off of his towering frame with movements that are simply powerful and virile. He pulls his glasses off of his face and wipes them with the hem of his T-shirt, briefly revealing his taut abs and his narrow waist. He's examining the campus map, a single droplet of rain clinging to his full bottom lip and I have the inexplicable urge to walk right up to him and lap up that drop of water with my tongue.
Mmm, now that’s what inspiration looks like...
With one swift motion, he turns my way and our eyes collide. I try to look away but it's too late. He smiles and my heart jumps right into my throat. I just sit there unresponsive, transfixed by his rugged beauty.
As the door closes behind him, a gust of wind sends my napkins fluttering in all directions.
"Fuck!" I whisper frantically as I dive under the table to chase down my wayward, salacious notes. The words 'fisting', 'anal' and 'peppermint lube' flash before my eyes. They're all scribbled onto those napkins that are trying to fly away from me.
Shit shit shit!
I'm on my hands and knees, scraping damp, ink
-blotted napkins off of the wet floor and shoving them into my tote when a pair of well-worn Chuck Taylors appear in my periphery. I look up way too fast and – bang! – my head crashes into the underside of the wooden table.
Now I'm staring up into the handsome face of the wet hottie who just strolled into the building. I’ve got stars in my eyes and I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve got a concussion or if it’s because I’m looking straight into the glimmering eyes of a demi-god.
With a large palm, he brushes water from his brow. "You okay there, Blakely?"
I gaze up at him, my mouth hanging open in shock, a stark contrast to the neutral expression on his face. How does he know my name? "Blakely?" I mutter the word like I don't even recognize it.
His eyebrows furrow with confusion, his brown-eyed gaze studies my face. "You're Blakely, right?"
I lick my lips nervously. "Y-yes?"
He stretches that enormous hand out to me. "I'm Nicholas Sullivan. Wesley's friend."
I fall back onto my ass and stare up at him.
Okay, this is not how you make a first impression. But hot damn!
I had expected a geek, lanky and pale from lack of sun exposure, deficient in facial hair with mild to semi-pungent body odor. Instead, a six foot two inch, dark-haired reincarnation of James Dean stands in front of me. Handsome in a classic Old Hollywood sort of way but with a rugged, tussled bad boy vibe, and so smart it shows in his twinkling brown eyes.
I place my shaky, ink-stained palm in his. His thick fingers clasp around mine, trapping my hand in a blanket of softness and warmth as he helps me to my feet. If his gesture was meant to stabilize me, it's having the opposite effect. My knees feel like cat tail bushes swaying in the wind.
Careful, careful movements take me back to my seat. I look up and find Annaleigh staring at us with wide eyes and amusement on her brow. Her smartphone is angled straight at us and I blink when her flash nearly blinds me.
I frown. She winks.
Nicholas sinks into the seat opposite mine, his broad back facing the bookstore.
The front of his shirt is wet, clinging to his skin and emphasizing his sculpted chest. His bulging forearms stretch the thin fabric. His expression remains blank as he blatantly examines my face. His gaze lingers on my lips for a long moment then his own mouth curves into a smile. I clear my throat and look away, feeling clumsy and self-conscious, cursing the fact that I'm sitting here in my ridiculous cap with my ridiculous hair.
After an eternal moment, he pulls a rental application form from his bag and slides it across the table to me.
Right...the rental application.
I focus my gaze on the paper and force myself to breathe despite my light-headedness. "So, Wesley tells me you're a programmer?"
"A developper, actually."
Aren't those two things the same? I don't ask for clarification because he says it like I'm supposed to know the difference.
"Ah..." I say casually, nodding my head. His focus falls to my lips again and settles there for a while before bouncing back to my eyes. He smiles.
God, help me.
Now, I'm stuttering, desperate to relieve myself of the tension building in my body. "So, um, you, uh, build software?"
He shifts in his seat and his long legs fall open, his knees brushing mine under the table. My lips part and a wispy gasp falls out of my mouth. He doesn’t move away. He's totally unaffected. Meanwhile, I'm suffering from sensory overload. He's so good-looking and he smells like rain and soap and pheromones. And now, his body is touching mine. My face runs hot as a thrill skitters up my thighs, hitting me square in the lady parts.
I slam my legs shut, crossing them one over the other to avoid further contact with the sexual livewire in front of me.
He seems oblivious to my agony as he continues to speak. "My stepsister and I developed Conquer: For Aspies, a cognitive app available for both iOS and Android systems that focuses on alternative communication methods and socioemotional learning instead of pathology as a means to help people with Asperger's Syndrome and other disorders on the autism spectrum to interpret social cues and formulate appropriate responses in social situ—" He stops himself mid-sentence and glances at my befuddled expression. A boyish grin comes to his lips. "Right...Most people don't understand what the hell I'm talking about when I say that."
I bite the inside of my mouth to hold down the smile fighting its way to my lips. I'm loving his little moment of self-awareness. Can a man be sexy-as-hell and cute at the same time?
He backtracks to explain himself. "Basically, aspies – people with Asperger's disorder – are hardwired differently from neurotypical – ‘normal' – people." He draws air-quotes around the word. "They have difficulty interpreting social cues, so just now when you crinkled up your brow and your eyes narrowed in on me, I figured it probably meant you didn't understand what I'd said and that you might need an explanation. Aspies aren't usually able to pick up on those cues, unless they've had years of cognitive therapy. So, my stepsister and I built an app to address that problem."
I swallow hard, not quite sure what to say. "Wow..."
Our eyes lock across the picnic table and we stare at each other for a long instant. It's a weird experience for me. I usually have a hard time looking strangers in the eye. But just this once, I give myself permission to hold his gaze despite the chaos taking place in my belly. I mean, he's hot, he's smart and he gives a damn about other people. This guy has got it goin' on.
I struggle to catch my bearings. "And h-how long are you in Reyfield for?"
"A few months. To help install a new computer system at town hall."
"Oh..." I squirm in the heat of his penetrating stare.
We sit quietly for a beat until Nicholas speaks in a husky voice. “You have a beautiful mouth.”
My cheeks are scorching as my throat closes up. My pussy just shuddered hard enough to make my teeth clatter. He didn’t say it in a sleazy way, but it sure was blunt.
He continues to stare. “Wesley never mentioned that you were so pretty."
My heart does a somersault that would make an Olympic gymnast green with envy.
Wesley never mentioned that you were so pretty, either...
His teeth sink into the corner of his plush bottom lip as he casually scratches his thumbnail over his chin. And why the hell is that so sexy?
Anyway, that's when I know that I can't live with him.
He's too...much. Too everything. I can hardly stand it.
I gather up my belongings with quick, clumsy movements. "I—I'm sorry, Nicholas. It turns out, uh, I don't think I need a roommate after all."
"What?" Surprise shines through his perfect features.
Standing to my feet, I continue to stutter. "No, I, uh..."
I what?
I find your gorgeousness overwhelming and exhausting? I have a lady-boner just looking at you? I might have a spontaneous orgasm if I hear you say my name one more time?
He stares at me with sharp eyes and the hollow of his jaw ticks. He's quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment.
Then, he pulls a thick wad of cash out of the pocket of his jeans and slaps it down on the table. My eyes bulge out of my head as I stare at it.
He leans forward to catch my eyes through the lenses of his glasses and whispers in a gravelly tone that makes the nerve endings stand at attention all over my skin. "Four months' rent in advance, Blakely." His eyes are firm and commanding as he thrusts his hand out to me. "Now, hand over the keys."
My heart gallops against my ribcage. My cheeks are on fire. My eyes dart around to see if anyone's watching when I grab the money and push it into my bag. Then, I shove my hand deep into my pants pocket and slap three jingling pieces of metal into Nicholas' outstretched palm.
“Thank you,” he says with a maddening, little smirk. He stands from the table, grabbing his bag and his sweatshirt. “I’ll see you at home.”
I swallow hard, my insides quivering as I watch him walk away. That was
really hot! So very alpha!
The realization is dizzying – I have a new roommate. And he just dominated the fuck out of me.
Chapter 4
Nicholas
I plop myself down onto the couch next to my computer and run a hand over my bare chest. It’s hot as fuck in this apartment and it isn’t even May yet. The air conditioner doesn’t work and the living room windows are jammed shut, refusing to budge. We’re going to melt like popsicles in this apartment once summer really sets in.
Dirty Lover (The Dirty Suburbs Book 5) Page 3