He was a handsome guy—sexy as sin, in all honesty—and they were in a bar filled with people looking to hook up. Maybe he just needed to release some tension in the bedroom, and since, sadly, she couldn’t help him in that area, she’d do the next best thing and find him someone who could.
She glanced around the bar, looking for the perfect match to help August work off his…tension, but when she tried to imagine any of the dozens of beautiful women in the room grasping onto August’s arm, whispering sexy words in his ear, taking him back to their place for some bedroom acrobatics, a strange burning sensation filled her gut.
Weird. Must be heartburn from brinner. Yeah, that was it. She probably shouldn’t have ordered the extra side of bacon.
“Okay, so you don’t believe in love, but how do you feel about hookups?”
That got his attention. August turned his head to stare down at her, his brow pinching in confusion.
“What?”
She indicated around the barcade to the groups of fantastically dressed women, subtly bobbing her eyebrows and giving him an overexaggerated wink.
“Are you trying to get me laid?” August asked in disbelief.
“I’m trying to get you to have fun, August.” She took another chug of her beer. “I figured since nothing else could get those boxers of yours out of your butt, maybe a good trip to pound town could.”
He set his half empty glass down on a small high-top table with a loud thunk. Beer sloshed in the glass, a few drops popping out and running down the side of the cup. “I think it’s time to head back to the apartment.”
Talk about ungrateful. Her annoyance at the evening’s bust started to fume into full-blown anger. Mo hated being angry. It was an ugly emotion she tried to avoid at all costs.
“Well, excuse me.” She placed her own glass down, gently and without spilling any beer. Stepping closer, she craned her neck, tilting her head up so she could stare into his cranky, churlish face. “It’s not my fault you’re allergic to fun.”
He bent his head down, nose inches from hers, eyes blazing with frustration. “Did you ever stop to think that your version of fun might not be everyone’s cup of tea?”
Um, no. Not really. Who didn’t like good food and playful activities? And why was she all of a sudden second-guessing herself? Mo never second-guessed herself. August was messing with her head in more ways than one, and she didn’t like it one bit.
His frown intensified. “I like the things I like, and I’m not going to change myself. Not for you or anyone else.”
She poked him in the chest with her finger, anger rising to the boiling point. “I didn’t ask you to change. I asked you to loosen up.”
August reached out, lightning quick, and grabbed her finger away from his chest. But instead of simply removing it, he held her hand in his large palm, thumb gently rubbing along the sensitive skin of her wrist. She didn’t even think he was aware he was doing it. His touch might be soft, but his eyes were hard. And the heat was back, blazing, burning her up from the inside out as he stared at her face, gaze moving down to her lips.
Unconsciously, her tongue came out to wet her bottom lip. She thought she heard August growl, but the room was so noisy. It could have just been an arcade game or something. They stood like that for a moment or minutes, she couldn’t tell. Time seemed to slip away as August held her immobile with a soft touch on her wrist and sizzling look in his eyes. His head started to dip down. Holy crap, was he going to kiss her?
Just as she thought it might be a good idea to indulge in a bad decision, he reared back, as if good sense had returned to him. Dang it. Then he stepped back, dropping her hand and turning toward the door.
“Forget it. Thanks for the…night out. Can we go home now?”
Suddenly, she felt like she had as a kid, when she did something wrong and her parents weren’t mad at her but disappointed. Guilt gnawed at her stomach. This had been the most frustrating and weirdest night she’d had in a long time. She was totally fine with calling it.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They headed out the door and back to the car. Guess her wingwoman skills needed work. Her friendship skills, too, because of the many confusing things that had happened tonight, one thing was crystal clear. August Porter did not want to be her friend.
This did not bode well for her plan to make nice so he continued to rent from her. Unless she wanted to be apartment hunting or rooming with the Bella Swan wannabe, she needed to fix this situation and fast.
She racked her brain for ideas. She could simply apologize and move on, but that sounded so boring. An idea popped into her head, one so perfect and delicious, a smile curled her lips. She’d make him an apology treat. Her nonna always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She didn’t want August’s heart per se, but she needed to soften the guy up somehow. What better way than with baked goods? It was sure to get August to accept her apology and be her new bestie.
Okay, that might be taking it a little far, but hopefully, it would score her a few points in the Mo’s-not-the-worst-roommate-ever category.
Time to pull out the big guns and apologize…Mo style.
Chapter Seven
August stepped up to the front door of his apartment, mentally exhausted after another day of dodging his grandmother’s not-so-subtle attempts to convince him to take over the flower shop. The old woman was relentless. She mentioned no less than five urban farms within a five-mile radius. Like the thought of people growing things within city limits would change his mind or something.
He knew people could grow things in urban areas; he just didn’t know why they would want to. Why stay in a crowded, polluted hub when you could have your own little plot of land out in the countryside? Fresh air, lots of sunshine, no frustrating roommates trying to shove you into a crowd of people and calling it a good time.
Maybe it was the introvert in him, but being around too many people gave him anxiety. Perhaps he could live just outside the city limits, but after growing up in a crowded, bustling city, August knew what he wanted, and more of his childhood wasn’t it.
He woke up this morning feeling slightly bad for the way he handled last night. No, he hadn’t enjoyed himself. Every moment from the time they left the apartment to the time he slipped into his bed had been torture. Loud and busy. Grating on his very last nerve. But he also knew Mo had just been trying to be friendly. The woman was a walking cloud of energy and rainbows. She was nice, but she was also a bit…much.
So, yeah, he could have handled last night better. Probably shouldn’t have gotten in her face like that. It was rude and put him in far too close a proximity to the woman. A big problem, because as much as she annoyed him with her “life is wonderful” attitude, there was something about Moira Rossi that intrigued him. Tempted him. Something he was sure as hell going to ignore for the next six months. And to do that, he had to keep his distance.
Kind of hard to do while he lived with her, but September was almost here so the fall wedding season would be in full swing soon. Ought to keep her busy and out of his hair. Plus, he intended to spend a lot more time at the shop with Gran. Not only did she need the help, but he wanted the time to point out why selling and coming to live by him would be a great idea. He’d get through to her eventually.
A small chuckle stuck in his throat as he realized that was the exact thing Gran was trying to do to him. The very thing he’d been complaining to himself about just moments earlier. Guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the grandtree.
August pulled out his keys, fitting the tiny piece of metal into the lock as a loud crash and a muffled scream came from the other side of the door. He turned the lock, throwing the door open as his heart leaped into his chest. A dozen scenarios entered his mind: Mo caught a robbery in action, a serial killer was attacking her, the pile of crap he’d seen her shove in the hall closet the other day
came crashing down on her and cracked her head open.
But when he flew into the apartment, gazing frantically around, fists at the ready to defend his roommate against any criminal who might have forced their way into their home, he was greeted by something far more shocking.
“Oh…hey.” Mo gave a little wave of her gooey-covered fingers.
He blinked, taking in the scene before him, not quite sure of what he was seeing. Mo stood in the kitchen. Scratch that, she stood in a disaster zone that used to be the kitchen.
Dirty bowls, spoons, and measuring cups were stacked in a precarious tower in the sink, threatening to fall over at any minute. Some kind of fine white powder covered every available surface, including most of Mo’s face and hands. Three cooling racks were shoved haphazardly on the table, two of them filled with what appeared to be cookies of some kind. And there, in the middle of the mess, stood his tiny whirlwind of a roommate, hands clenched in front of her, pink-streaked hair a frizzy mess, a baking tray at her feet, cookies scattered around her, and a sheepish smile on her face.
“I didn’t expect you home so early.”
He was still processing the scene before him as he answered, “Traffic was light.”
“Oh, um, that’s good. No sports games this weekend, so that’s probably why.”
He nodded absently. “What’s all this?”
“Ah, apology cookies?” She glanced down to the floor. “Well not these ones, obviously. But the ones on the table are delicious. I promise.”
“I’m not a big sweets guy,” he said, his mind still distracted, calculating the amount of time and disinfectant it was going to take to clean this mess.
“They’re snickerdoodles.”
That got his attention. August glanced at the table again, taking in the golden brown cookies sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and taking a deep breath for the first time since he entered the apartment. The sweet spiciness of his favorite childhood treat threw everything else from his mind: the mess, Mo, the issue with Gran. Everything. For just a moment, he was a ten-year-old kid again. Sitting at his grandmother’s kitchen table, enjoying the special treat she made just for him on his visits between being foisted off on his mom’s new family and his dad’s.
“Agatha said they were your favorite.”
He turned his head, focusing on Mo. “You asked my grandmother what my favorite cookie was?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I asked her what your favorite treat was, and she told me you’ve always loved her snickerdoodle cookies, so she gave me the recipe.”
“This is Gran’s recipe?”
Mo nodded, rolling her lips. “Yup. They probably don’t taste as good as Agatha’s, I’m not the best cook in the world, but I’m pretty okay at baking.”
He took a few steps to the table, grabbing one of the delicious-smelling cookies and lifting it to his lips. His eyes closed as the aroma of freshly baked heaven surrounded him. They sure smelled like Gran’s. He parted his lips, placing the warm, soft cookie between his teeth and biting down. The moment the sweet sugar and cinnamon hit his tongue, his taste buds exploded in delight. Time seemed to slow down as the cookie melted in his mouth, the creamy taste of butter following the sweet and spicy covering he knew the dough had been rolled in before baking.
“Oh. My. God,” he moaned, quickly grabbing another cookie and shoving it in his mouth. Healthy eating be damned. He could afford a cheat cookie or two. Or twenty.
“Good?” Mo’s eyes lit with hopeful eagerness.
“Amazing,” he answered after swallowing another mouthful. “These are exactly like Gran’s. Maybe even better.”
Her face brightened. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“Oh, August.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You realize you just gave me blackmail for later when I want something from you.”
He groaned, but truthfully, these cookies were worth whatever outlandish adventure Mo planned to drag him on next. In fact, he— Wait a minute. He paused in his scarfing of the delicious treat. Brain clicking back to what he heard before he rushed in here and what he saw now. Mo was still standing by the stove with a tray and pile of broken cookies at her feet. She still had her hands clasped together, too. No. They weren’t clasped. One was clutching the other as if she… Shit. He was a self-absorbed ass. He’d been so distracted by the delicious cookies, he hadn’t noticed that Mo hurt herself.
“You okay?” He nudged his chin in the direction of her hands.
Mo immediately dropped her joined hands, hiding them behind her back. “What? Oh yes, never better.”
He glanced skeptically to the floor and back up to her. “Moira.”
“Okay, fine,” she huffed, bringing her hand back out in front of her and lifting her left palm. “I might have accidently grabbed the spatula to transfer the cookies from the hot baking sheet to the cooling rack with my oven mitt–covered hand and the hot baking tray with my uncovered hand and gotten a small burn, which caused me to drop the tray and scream because, duh, getting burned hurts, and I was going to clean it all up, but then you walked in and—”
“You’re rambling,” he pointed out.
She lifted her chin. “Rambling is just explaining in long story form.”
He shook his head with a small laugh. This woman sure was something else. “Come here,” he said, motioning to her. “Let me see it.”
“Oh, did you abandon your pretty flowers and go to medical school since last night?”
“Moira.”
“Ugh, fine.” She stomped over to his side, holding her hand out, palm up. “I was just about to put some ointment on it.”
He put down the cookie in his hand. Though he really wanted to shove another in his mouth, she needed his help, and he needed to pace himself. Gently, he cupped her small hand in his larger palms. Ouch. The entire surface was red from the base of her fingers all the way to the meaty bit right above her delicate wrist. Luckily, he didn’t see any blistering. August might not have any medical training, but he’d gotten his fair share of cooking burns over the years helping Gran make cookies.
“Do you have any aloe vera?”
“Yes?”
He glanced up, feeling a small smile tick up the corner of his lips. “You don’t know if you have aloe vera or not?”
“Lilly used to keep it around. I’m not sure if she left any when she moved out.”
Mo might be bubbly and great at baking snickerdoodles, but he was coming to find she wasn’t the best at planning. Or cleaning.
“All right.” He pulled out one of the table chairs and guided her into it, placing her palm faceup on the table. “You just sit right here, and I’ll go see what I can find.”
“Yes, doctor.” She nodded grimly.
He shook his head, finding her odd sense of humor slightly adorable. Heading to the front bathroom, the one Mo used, he searched the medicine cabinet and under the sink, rifling through various face toners and cleaners, painkillers, feminine hygiene products, and a ridiculous amount of hair dye in every color of the rainbow until he finally found a small, half empty bottle of aloe vera. After checking the expiration date to make sure it was still usable, he headed back to the kitchen and Mo.
“Oh good, you found some.” She smiled. “It’s really starting to hurt. I was about to dunk my hand in some ice water.”
“Do not do that.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “Ever.”
Terrible idea. Ice might seem like a good idea, but he knew it only damaged the tissue further. “May I?”
He held out the bottle. Mo nodded. He opened the cap, squirting a bit of the slimy goo onto the tips of his fingers. Placing the bottle on the table, he gently grasped her hand in his and used the other to spread the aloe all over her palm, getting every inch of red he saw. A long, low moan escaped her lips, a
nd August had to shift in his seat as the sound caused his jeans to tighten.
Jackass. Here she was enjoying the relief from pain and he was conjuring up dirty images of her in his mind. All because of a little moan. This was not good.
“Feel better?” he asked to distract himself from his very inappropriate thoughts.
“Yes, a million times better. How did you know to do that?”
“Gran,” he answered, continuing to rub the aloe into her skin with gentle circular movements. “She taught me everything I know about flowers and plants. Including how aloe is good for burns.”
“Agatha is a peach. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Mo’s lips curled up in a soft smile. “You know she and my nonna were best friends.”
He squirted a bit more gel on her hand, rubbing between her fingers, making sure to get every area the hot pan had touched. “No. I didn’t. She mentioned something about knowing your grandmother, but it’s…been a while since I’ve come to visit.”
One pale blonde eyebrow rose. “Nonna and Agatha met at Stitch and Bitch and—”
“What is stitch and bitch?” He looked up in horror. He’d never heard his grandmother swear in her life. She washed his mouth out with soap if he even said damn as a kid.
“It’s a kind of knitting and crochet group where a bunch of people get together to work on projects and gossip.”
Gossip had never been his thing, or large groups of people for that matter, but he could see his grandmother enjoying something like that.
“It’s a blast! I went once, but I’m crap with yarn. I tried to make a scarf, and it ended up looking like a…I think Nonna called it a blanket not even a feral cat would use.”
“Harsh.”
Mo laughed. “Yeah, Nonna was a hoot.” Her smile slipped, sadness entering her eyes. “I miss her.”
“When did she pass?” Because from the way she was talking, he knew it wasn’t a distance kind of longing.
The Roommate Problem Page 6