The Roommate (Roommates, #1)

At twenty-eight, a woman began to question things. Big, complex things like destiny, fate, and what I was supposed to be doing with my life. I was fairly certain my grand purpose didn’t include working fifty hours a week and never experiencing anything more exciting than splurging on spicy Thai takeout every Friday night. Surely there had to be more to life than that.

But lately life had been like a cheap pair of underwear-sneaking up, surprising you with discomfort at all the worst times.

Little did I know that destiny was about to smack me in the face with her irony.

My phone rang, and I grabbed it from the counter. “Hello?”

“I need your help, Paige,” my best friend said as soon as I answered.

Abandoning the stack of junk mail I’d been flipping through, I leaned against the dining table. Enchilada was snoring underneath it, dreaming about whatever tiny dogs dream about.

“Sure, Allie. What’s going on?”

She hesitated, making me wonder what kind of favor she had in mind. Allie was like a sister to me; she had to know there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.

“Cannon needs a place to stay,” she finally said.

Except for that.

Suppressing a sudden twitch in my jaw, I slipped off my heels and took a sip from my water bottle. Cannon? Share my tiny place with her geeky little brother who I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years? Awkward much?

I was a private person, and I valued my alone time. It was why I chose to have no roommates and no drama. This was not the news I wanted on a Thursday evening after a hectic day at work. Allie, Cannon, and I had been pretty much inseparable growing up, but after we’d moved on and left for college, I hadn’t kept in touch with him at all.

“I don’t know, Allie. My place is pretty tight as it is.” I lived in a six-hundred-square-foot duplex, and while I did technically have a spare room, its only furnishings were a lumpy futon and a writing desk. Just thinking about sharing this sardine can with another person made me feel stuffy, so I wandered into the living room to open the window. “Why can’t he stay with you and James?”

Allie hesitated for a beat, and I knew I wouldn’t like her answer. “James doesn’t think that’s a good idea. He and I have only just started living together. It’s a big step, you know?”

Funny how your decisions as a couple seem to line up with his wants more often than yours. It was just another reason on the growing list of why I didn’t like her new fiancé. But I didn’t want to get back into that swamp of a conversation again, so I merely offered a noncommittal grunt.

As she kept trying to persuade me, I idly watched a man approach along the sidewalk leading to my house. I lived in half of an old Victorian house a few blocks from the University of Michigan campus, so I was sure his destination wasn’t actually my house, but a girl could dream. Dressed in a black V-neck sweater, dark jeans, and boots, he was tall and muscular. His messy hair was cropped neatly on the sides, but long enough on top to grab during rough sex and hang onto for what would surely be the ride of my life.

I shook my head, shocked at my suddenly dirty mind. What the hell? Where had that thought come from? Lack of sex and being overworked, most likely. I pushed the thought away and tried to pay attention.

“His apartment was ransacked, and he’s basically homeless,” Allie was explaining, her tone pleading.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to stand my ground.

The guy outside stopped in front of my house and studied the house numbers. In my spot from the second-story front window, I stayed mostly concealed, peeking out from behind the heavy drapes.

Now that he was closer, I could make out green eyes fringed in thick black lashes, and a five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. He was perfection.

His mouth was etched into a firm line, his expression impassive. If you were going to get a read on this man, first you were going to have to work to get beneath his steely reserve.

“He’s in his last year of med school, and in just over two months, he’ll be moving away for a residency. It’d be stupid for him to sign a new lease. Please, Paige?”

Ugh. All right, already. I swore I could hear her puppy-dog eyes over the phone.

“Fine. Two months.”

Allie squealed her thanks, but I wasn’t listening anymore. Those long legs had started carrying the man forward again, and this time, right up my front steps.

Shit! He was headed for my door. My heart pounded faster, and my mouth went totally dry.

“I have to go, Allie.”

“Thanks, Paigey! I owe you one,” she sang.

I tossed my phone on the coffee table and hurried toward the door. As I went, I snatched a glance of myself in the hall mirror, and was relieved to see that I still looked pulled together from work. Black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, my blond hair tied into a long ponytail.

The confident series of knocks on my front door made my stomach flutter. My fingers curled around the doorknob and when I pulled it open, my breath caught at what I saw. If I thought he was merely attractive before, nothing could have prepared me for having him so close. He towered over me-at least six foot three, I’d wager-and had a muscular build that advertised hours of dedication at the gym. His scent was maddening. It wasn’t cologne. It was subtler than that, maybe bodywash, but it was crisp and masculine and mouthwatering nonetheless.

“Paige?” he asked.

Shit, even his voice was hot, deep and smooth and rich.

More importantly, Mister Sex-on-Legs knew my name.

I squinted at him, my mouth opening, then closing without a sound. Recognition clawed at the edges of my brain.

“C-Cannon?” I forced out, my voice breathless and thick.

His mouth pulled into a happy smirk, and he held out a hand. “God, it’s been years.”

“At least five,” I said, placing my palm in his. His hand was warm and solid, and the touch of his skin sent tingles rushing through me. My nipples hardened into points beneath my bra, and my ovaries did a little happy dance. It had been months since I’d had a man in my house, and my entire body was primed and ready.

“You look well,” he said, still smirking at me. And still clasping my hand.

“You’ve grown up,” was all I managed. Holy hell, had he ever.

He’d gone away to college at Yale, where he’d finished early, then moved to Pennsylvania for med school. He’d transferred to Michigan at some point last year, although I wasn’t clear on why. Allie occasionally gave me updates about his life, but he and I weren’t close anymore, not like when we were kids. He was her kid brother; I had no reason to know the intimate details about him. But standing before him now at the threshold of my small home, something felt very intimate about this moment.

“So have you.” His gaze traced down the length of me, pausing briefly at my breasts-which had never been more achy and full. I suppressed a flash of disappointment when he finally dropped my hand.

The fuck . . . this was Cannon. And here he was staring at my breasts. My brain struggled to catch up to what was happening.

He’d always been somewhat serious. In high school, he’d preferred science over field parties, and was more comfortable as captain of the debate team than he ever would have been as captain of the football team. He was intelligent and curious, and made no apologies about his interests. Not that being a little different had hurt him any in the popularity department. He was the type to easily move between social circles, hanging out with the nerds and the jocks alike. But he’d clearly grown into his own man since the last time I saw him.

He might be young, twenty-four years to my twenty-eight, but his eyes spoke of wisdom and maturity. This new Cannon was civilized and sharp-witted. Cultured and dashingly handsome. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what had changed, though his physical presence was a large part of it.

Just standing near him made my heart pick up its pace. My fingertips tingled with the desire to reach out and touch him. Seriously, what the hell is happening to me? This was Cannon freaking Roth. Soon to be Dr. Cannon Roth. That had a yummy ring to it.

Shaking my head against the rush of desire to play doctor with him, I scolded myself. He was Allie’s brother, which meant he was practically family. And Allie would kick my ass if anything happened between us. She’d always been a mother hen, and although she was fiercely overprotective of everyone she cared about, her precious baby brother got the brunt of it.

“I know you spoke with Allie, but I wanted to come by myself and make sure you were comfortable with this.”

Just the act of standing near him made my mind wander to things like sheet-clawing sex, the smell of latex, and regrets the morning after.

My best friend’s little brother wasn’t so little anymore. And he’d just marched into my life, turning my girly bits into warm, aroused mush.

Fuck!

“Of course,” I lied.