“Yeah,” she whispers, her soft lips slightly parted and as pink as her hair, just begging for me. “And then I’m out to sea.”
She’s not the one. Not even close. She’s everything I know that I don’t want. Not to mention, she’s leaving.
But…here we are. A month of being roommates, surrounded by the constant, palpable images of our one night together. All of the passion and intensity and freedom of that night.
Her eyes are as wide and blue as the ocean she claims is calling for her, and they’re sparkling with lust and vibrancy. Everything about her right now is beautiful and sexy. Her delicate nose and sweet lips and even her ridiculous-colored hair.
It’s just for a month. We can’t ignore this for a month.
Without another beat of hesitation, I slide my hand along her soft, delicate cheek and press my lips to hers.
Melody sucks in a breath of surprise and leans into me, wrapping her arm around my neck and arching her slender back.
The kiss is light and gentle at first, but it quickly turns way deeper. Her mouth moves slowly against mine, the heat and ache building hotter and faster between us. I slide a hand around her tiny waist and move it down onto the world’s most perfectly toned ass, giving her a firm grab. Yoga really is a gift.
This makes her give a dirty giggle into the kiss, and she runs an eager hand through my hair.
My mysterious and annoying captivation with her moves quickly from my mind to my dick, and suddenly every cell in my body is turned on and alive and desperate for more Melody.
I slide my hands around the curve of her ass and feel the smooth material of her yoga pants hugging her toned legs and wonder how fast I could possibly get them off.
My heart rate picks up as our tongues intertwine, and we grip each other’s bodies in every imaginable way. The bed is so close. My whole being is on fire and won’t relax until I have her again, and I can tell by her rapid breath and tiny whimpers that the feeling is more than mutual.
In a swift movement, I pick her up, and she easily wraps her legs around me, sitting her hips on my cock and leaning into me. Our mouths stay locked as I carry her to the bed and gently lower her down, soft pink waves falling around the most outrageously and wildly gorgeous face I’ve ever seen.
“Should we…” She pants and yanks at my T-shirt. “Be doing this?”
I rock against her, my hard-on raging in my pants and stealing any semblance of logical thought from my brain.
I rest my forehead against hers, feeling every curve and slope of her bendy little body writhing underneath me. Her eyes are a cocktail of reckless desire and a hint of concern, brighter than the Florida sun.
I draw in a reluctant breath and roll off, lying next to her on the bed. “Probably not.”
She gives me a side-eye, stretching her arms above her head. “I just don’t want things to get…” She purses her lips and sits up on her side, resting her chin in her palm. “Messy.”
I stare at the ceiling fan and force myself to rasp, “You’re probably right.”
I glance at her and watch her chest swell with a deep breath, confusion and frustration and steamy attraction settling between us.
Does her body have to be so fucking flawless? This whole roommate situation would be a hell of a lot easier if she weren’t some kind of athletic yoga goddess.
“If we start…you know…getting all frisky…” She winks playfully. “Things might get confusing. And I’m leaving. So I just think it would be better for the energy of the space if we keep things platonic.”
The energy of the space?
I grit my teeth and resist rolling my eyes at how utterly insane her way of seeing the world is. But I guess she’s kinda right about shit getting messy and confusing. She is hopping on a boat in a few weeks, after all.
But, goddammit. I want to bang her more than I want to breathe right now.
“All right, you’re right.” I sit up and run my hands through my hair, glancing over at her. “But please, God, no more…” I gesture at her legs. “Whatever those are.”
“Leggings?” She chokes on a laugh. “That’s, like, all I wear. I’m a yoga instructor. Besides…comfort.”
“Yeah, well.” I stand up and brush my shirt off, still reeling from the hot spell of attraction that Melody inexplicably casts on me. “No more leggings.”
I puff out a deep breath and try to shake off the tightness in every muscle in my body from being that turned on.
She hops up and walks out of the room, turning slowly with a flip of her hair and giving me a half smile, both sexy and sweet. “You’re crazy.”
No, I’m not.
But after spending a month not being able to bang the bouncy little yoga fairy running around my apartment, flaunting her perfect ass and adorable quirkiness, I just might be.
Seven
Melody
“What the hell are you doing? It’s, like, five a.m.” A very sleepy and squinty-eyed Dylan emerges from his bedroom, with perfectly messy hair and a tempting shirtless body.
“Sorry,” I whisper, pouring my second cup of coffee into my favorite unicorn mug. “Did I wake you?”
He runs a hand through his scruffy brown bedhead. “Well, it wasn’t the sun.” He glances toward the window. “Considering even the sun isn’t up yet.”
“Well…” I smile and take a long, invigorating sip of my warm coffee. “I teach six a.m. yoga on Saturdays.” I place my mug on the counter and stretch my arms over my head, drawing in a deep breath. “It’s called Rise, Shine, And Radiate.”
“Rise and shine weren’t enough, huh?” He rubs his eyes and walks closer to me, every inch of him striking and sexy. “Had to add radiate.”
“It’s a sequence of events. You rise in the morning when you wake up,” I say with a smile, offering him a cup of coffee.
“At ungodly hours.” He sips the coffee.
“And then you shine in your yoga practice.”
“It’s a miracle anyone can stay awake, but sure.”
“And then you radiate the glow of your practice throughout the rest of your day.” I lean against the counter in front of him, desperately trying to keep my eyes from taking a fun little tour down his chest and abs and…what’s below them. “It’s actually a wonderful class.”
He raises his brows, and his expression flickers with both irritation and amusement. “Sounds glorious.” The sarcasm is pouring from his lips, and I hate how insanely sexy I find it.
“I’m sorry for waking you, though.” I offer a sympathetic look.
Something about him standing in front of me all sleepy and half naked makes me feel like we’re about to kiss again. Like I want to. Like I have to.
We look at each other for a beat too long, and I slip away from the counter with a forced laugh. “I’ll be quiet if you want to go back to bed.” With me. I swallow.
He shrugs with a half smile. “Whatever. I’m up now. Besides, there’s…something I have to go and do. Might as well get it done early.”
“Ooh, secret football stuff?” I lift a shoulder teasingly.
“No,” he says gruffly.
“Well, I mean, the NFL is a money-sucking organization built on greed, so I’m sure there’s shady stuff happening. Are you embezzling money?” I joke, poking his arm, trying to elicit some sort of joy. Dylan is really not a morning person.
“No.” His tone is even more fed up this time, so I decide to shut up.
“I was kidding,” I whisper into my coffee cup.
“It’s not football-related.” He takes a swig from the mug and walks toward the window.
“Oh.” I walk over and stand next to him, admiring the beautiful view of the ocean, which sparkles even in the dark. “What is it, then?” I look up at him, but his gaze stays fixed forward.
“Not your business, that’s what,” he says without so much as a glance at me.
Hurt ripples through me. I stare down into my coffee, which I’ve suddenly lost my taste for.
Dylan walks back toward his bedroom, scratching the back of his neck. His energy is so negative and heavy right now. Maybe it’s me. Maybe he’s super annoyed. Maybe he’s really mad I woke him up by making coffee.
I should have just gone to Starbucks.
“Wow. You sure are cranky in the morning,” I say under my breath. “I hope whatever you’re going to do cheers you up a bit.”
He lets out something between a sigh and a groan. “Don’t worry about it. Please.”
I’m not usually one for shutting my mouth, but anyone with a brain would know to stop talking right now.
I sit on a barstool and tuck my legs underneath me, feeling drained of the morning’s initial positivity.
A few minutes later, his door swings back open, revealing a casually dressed and somehow even more brooding Dylan.
I opt not to say anything. Evidently, so does he.
He grabs his keys off the hook by the door and leaves the condo, the door slamming behind him.
Where could he have to go so urgently? Does he have a…girl?
The thought makes my stomach turn. I take a calming, counted breath and dump the remains of my coffee down the sink drain.
I feel a tickle of panic. But it isn’t my problem. We aren’t together, after all. He’s not mine, and he never will be.
Suddenly, the door clicks open, and he walks back in. His deep-brown eyes are filled with something…heavy. Sadness? Pain? Guilt?
The girlfriend thought rises higher in my gut.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just not used to sharing anything, really. But I was a dick to you just now.”
“Oh!” I try to hide the fleet of butterflies in my belly and the smile that slides across my face. I clear my throat and push my hair behind my ears. “That’s okay. You were right. Whatever you’re doing is none of my business. Sometimes, I get a little…”
“Curious,” he finishes with the first hint of a smile I’ve seen all morning.
“I was going to say nosy,” I add, giving an apologetic glance.
“Well, I feel bad, so here.” He reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out a shiny aqua-colored card, and sets it on the counter. “It’s a ticket to our home game tomorrow so you can sit in the family box seats. I figured Whitney will be there, and maybe you could…” He shrugs and bites his bottom lip, a tiny gesture that manages to send waves of heat through my entire body. “Change your perspective a bit. On football.”
I snatch the ticket off the counter and wave it in front of me. “Not because I want to support NFL franchises in any way…” I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “But it’s a chance to hang out with my favorite cousin, who basically has zero time for me now that she’s engaged. So…” I smile at Dylan. Grumpy, tired, smoking-hot, keeping-a-secret Dylan. “Thanks.”
“Mm-hmm. But I do have to go.” His eyes shadow for a second, and I feel the heaviness return to his demeanor. He walks back to the front door.
The door shuts, and I glance at the clock, realizing I need to get my mat and head out. Thoughts swirl and course and spiral through my mind. I’ve always hated secrets. God knows I pushed Whitney to tell me every gory detail about her secret sex games with Chase before they became an actual item. It’s not that I like knowing other people’s business, it’s just that I always want to help.
But something about Dylan’s mystery errand leaves an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I slide off of the barstool and shake it off, knowing my yoga practice will reset and realign my spirit.
He was right. What he does is none of my concern. We’re not sleeping together, and we’re certainly not a thing. I’m not sure if we’re even friends.
Just a month. A month of this super-weird and confusing living situation, and then I’m off to find my destiny and my fated mate on the water, just like Psychic Angela told me.
And then I’ll forget all about Dylan the Football Player.
Eight
Dylan
“Did you remember the pasta, Dylan? I need my pasta.”
You could get out of that damn chair and get it yourself. “Yeah, I got it right here.”
I pile the grocery bags onto the countertop of the little, updated apartment I helped my dad get when my mom moved out a few months ago.
I press my palms into the cold granite and shut my eyes, feeling the weight pressing down on me of this secret and this situation and the fact that my father hasn’t stepped outside in months.
Chase’s words echo in my head from when he gave me shit about how my parents have a perfect, life-long love story, telling me that’s why I believe in the one, calling me Cinderella.
If only he could see the way things have unraveled recently. They did have a perfect love story, until my dad got…weird. Until he decided to sit in his recliner and never get out of it. For no reason at all. The man is more than healthy and capable. He just…won’t go outside. And it’s only getting worse.
“Dylan,” Dad grunts, “did you remember to pick up paper towels?”
I pick up the giant package of them and hold it up. “Right here, Pops.”
He shuffles over to the kitchen and rummages through the grocery bags. His shirt is stained and worn out, and his face looks hollow. He looks shorter every time I see him. “You’re here early today. You got practice or something?”
“Yeah, not until later, though. I just…woke up early.” I yank out a gallon jug of milk and swing it into the fridge. “Figured I’d just get right over here.”
“That’s a first,” he says with a raspy chuckle.
“Yeah, well…” I keep my gaze fixed on the groceries. Looking at his pathetic self just pisses me off. “I have this new roommate. Kind of. It’s not important.”
“Now, son, I know they don’t pay you as much as that star quarterback, but certainly you make enough to live on your own without roommates.”
I take a deep breath and swallow a wave of anger. “It’s not about money. She’s a…friend. Her apartment flooded, and she needs a place to stay temporarily.”
He pushes his thick glasses down and looks over them, his bushy black eyebrows raised to the sky. “She?”
“It’s a long story.” I place four boxes of pasta in the pantry and gently shut the door. “Like I said, it’s not important.”
He walks around the kitchen island and forces a smile. “You’re in some kind of mood this morning.”
I resist the urge to yell at him or slam my fist on the countertop or, even better, just walk out the door. “I’m not in any kind of mood, Dad. I’m just fed up. You know that.”
“With what?” He backs up slowly.
I notice the fear and loneliness shadowing his eyes, and my insides soften a bit. I know I’m all he has. Even though he’s only sixty-three, in perfectly good health, and was essentially normal just a few years ago.
I shouldn’t be all he has, but I am. He should still have my mom, and hobbies, and friends, and a life. His circle just got smaller and smaller over time. I don’t know when it got so bad that he literally stopped leaving the house, but Mom moved out, and now bringing him groceries and whatever the hell else he needs is my problem.
The world’s most perfect marriage crumbled in the blink of an eye when she decided she just couldn’t take it anymore. They’re not actually divorced yet, but I guess it won’t be long at this point.
“How’s ball going?” he asks, offering me a cup of coffee and a change of subject.
My mind flashes back to Melody this morning, skipping around at the ass crack of dawn, talking about radiating.
“It’s good. All good. We play Carolina at home tomorrow, but…” I take the coffee and turn around, resenting the icy emotion that twists in my gut. “I won’t bother asking you to come.”
“Sonny…”
“It’s January, Dad. The season’s coming to an end soon. It’s looking like we’re gonna make the playoffs. I get that I’m just the kicker, but you haven’t been to a single game. In
years.” I turn and examine him. My father was once the pinnacle of success and stability and what it means to be a man. But now…
“Come on, Dylan,” he says, walking back to his recliner, clearly unwilling to discuss the nine-ton circus elephant that’s been sitting in the room for almost a year now. “I’ll be watching it right here.” He gestures toward the enormous flat-screen TV that I mounted on the living room wall when I finally got him to move into this place. “You know those sorts of things are tough for me.”
But there’s nothing wrong with you.
I clench my jaw and draw in a deep breath. There’s no point. “Whatever, Dad. It’s fine. Football’s going well.”
“Good, good.” He welcomes the easing in my tone and plops back down in the recliner. “Can you sit for a while?”
I swallow hard as I finish up putting away the groceries and drink my coffee, knowing damn well this man will be completely alone with nothing but his iced tea and HGTV for the entire week.
I hate that I pity him. He doesn’t need pity. There’s no reason why he can’t leave the house or have a normal life anymore. He just…can’t. It’s endlessly frustrating to me, but also painfully pathetic.
“All right.” I walk into the living room and sit on the couch. “For a minute.”
He leans forward curiously. “Tell me more about this…roommate.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “She’s just a…friend. She’s actually Chase’s fiancée’s cousin, which is how I know her. Like I said, she needs a place to crash. Just until she starts this new job teaching yoga on a cruise boat. Anyway, she’s obnoxious and completely nuts.”
He rests his head back on the chair. “All the best ones are. Like your mother.”
I rub my forehead, trying to ignore the stab of that comment. “Yeah, well, not Melody. She’s way too quirky. One of those horoscope-loving, meditating, voodoo kinds of chicks. Not for me.”
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