Wrong Bed, Right Roommate (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  She didn’t need anyone distracting her when she had to ace her first batch of edits. Getting her foot in the door at Honeywell Press was one thing. Now she had to make sure she could stay there.

  Just because Shawn had been nice to her that morning didn’t mean they’d have anything else to say to each other. He was charming, sweet, and cared about things like whether she ate breakfast. But he’d flirt with a rock if it flirted back. What could they possibly have in common?

  The Shawn she knew never would have stood that close to her when she was fifteen—unless it was because he’d accidentally plowed into her when he was running down the hall, or barreling home with his smelly gym bag, hardly stopping to say “Hi” or “Sorry” or “Oh, look, a human being in my way.”

  So what if she looked a little different than she did when she was a teenager—she was never making the bangs mistake again, she hadn’t had braces for years, and she finally had glasses that fit her right. Those were superficial changes. She was still the same Jessie she’d always been. Bookworm, pro chocolate-chip-cookie-maker, lover of blankets, wine, her red pen, and Saturday nights curled up at home. Maybe the wine was a new development since she was a teenager. But other than that, she felt pretty much the same.

  And maybe he wasn’t even flirting. She’d had peanut butter all over her face, for Pete’s sake. Just thinking about it made her want to set her alarm for five a.m. to make sure she was out of the apartment every morning before he got up and lock herself in her room all night working so she never had to see him again.

  Not that she held out much hope that their schedules would overlap. He’d said his shift went late, and it sounded like he’d have a lot to do. After that, he’d probably snag himself a date, or twenty. He had to be the same as he’d ever been—nobody changed that much. And this was a new city, with new fish for him to catch.

  More power to him. As long as it didn’t affect her, she had no reason to care.

  That thing her stomach had done when he’d reached out and brushed her lip with his thumb—that was just the last flutter of some dumb childhood crush. It was the secret, hidden part of her that was hurt when Shawn wanted Ellen, he wanted Steph, he wanted a million other girls in their school…but he never wanted her.

  As soon as she’d realized why he was touching her, the flutter had turned into a boulder in her gut. She was over all that stuff from the past. Couldn’t she go five minutes now without embarrassing herself in front of him?

  She ate alone in front of her laptop, reading a new manuscript an agent had submitted. Marlene wanted Jessie’s eyes on it to see whether she thought they should bid for it, and what suggestions Jessie had for the edits. Marlene was getting a feel for her and her tastes and abilities. She had to make sure her answers were perfect.

  She worked until her eyes ached and the words swam on the computer screen. Then she talked to her mom about her day, texted with Talia, and got ready for bed. So things were a little lonelier than she’d wanted. It just gave her more time to focus.

  But sleep wouldn’t come.

  Her brain kept churning, thinking about the manuscript she was reading and the cold way Marlene’s eyes bored into her when she was giving directions. And then thinking about…other things.

  She tossed onto her back. Then her stomach. Then her side. She tried hugging a pillow close to her, as though she could trick herself into imagining there was someone in bed with her, his warm, comforting body wrapped up in hers in the night.

  Five seconds later, she pushed the pillow away because, fuck that, she was happy being single and she didn’t want anything else.

  She counted backward from one hundred. Then she turned on the light and started a New York Times crossword puzzle on her phone because, hey, what better time to discover she was turning into her mother than when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t too horny to sleep.

  Finally, she had to concede that it just wasn’t happening.

  She got out of bed and opened her door a crack. The lights were out. Shawn’s door was closed. There was no sign of him. And he’d told her he was going to be late.

  She didn’t know why she was being so quiet, or why she felt like she had to hide. This was her apartment, she was a grown-ass adult, and for once it was perfect timing to have the place to herself. She wasn’t like her mom, who got all stammery and bug-eyed if she even heard the word “sex.” So she wanted to have an orgasm before bed—was there anything wrong with that? She’d tried last night but hadn’t been able to get in the mood. Well, now she was in the mood. Big time.

  She pulled out her favorite red toy. Exactly what I need. After the stress of the day, it was time to enjoy herself so she could fall asleep.

  She started off slowly, teasing the head of the vibrator around her clit, easing into the sensation. But already, she wanted more. It wasn’t long before she pressed it inside her, feeling the sweet, perfect opening of her body as it transformed. She was no longer the tense, driven, no-nonsense girl who went to work and came home and always had her glasses on and that infernal red pen behind her ear, but a woman who was soft and wet and could let herself give in.

  She never really thought about anything specific when she touched herself. There was no one in real life she fantasized about, porn made her feel like she was doing something icky (thanks, Mom!), and her past sexual experiences felt far removed from her actual life. Fantasizing about an ex-boyfriend only made her think about the ex, which didn’t exactly make for fun sexy times. So she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, enjoying the delicious sensations coursing through her body.

  She heard a noise and realized she was moaning out loud. It just felt so damn good. She began to imagine a man’s fingers circling her clit and then pushing inside her. Stroking, teasing. There, that was the spot. The perfect place his cock would hit when he thrust it in deeply, sending spasms through her body and his.

  She amped up the vibration and moved the vibrator around, spending time on her clit before plunging it back inside her. She touched her breasts, playing with her nipples, and turned the vibrator up higher. It was loud, but she didn’t care. That was the whole point of being home alone.

  Whenever she was with a guy, she wound up worrying about what he was feeling, and did he like her body okay, and was it weird that she’d just made that noise, and why was he putting his fingers there? Masturbating let a different side of her emerge. She wasn’t quiet, or shy, or afraid of what her body might do. She just closed her eyes and felt it.

  She imagined sliding her hands inside a man’s boxers, and the first electric pulse of him growing warm and hard in her hand. The stroke of it, the weight in her palm. Feeling the seep of liquid at the tip, a sign of his pleasure, and hearing his low hum of approval in his throat. Getting down on her knees, tasting it, running her hands over his abs, his thighs, cupping his balls as she took his cock in her mouth. She’d slide it back until it filled her, pressing against her throat, and her fingers curled in the sandy hair that ran between his bellybutton and his—

  STOP.

  Her hips jerked as she shoved the image from her mind. The plane of his abs, the cut of his hips, the flash of ink as he gripped her in his arms—she couldn’t go there. She couldn’t think about Shawn that way.

  Concentrate on the vibrator.

  Just get off and go to sleep.

  Don’t think about anything else.

  But the fantasy wouldn’t stop. She imagined Shawn coming to her door. Shawn crawling into her bed. But this time, it wouldn’t be an accident, and she wouldn’t demand that he leave.

  He’d climb on top of her and spread her legs. “I couldn’t stay away,” he’d whisper as he kissed her deeply.

  Ugh. Could she be any cheesier? If she’d read a line like that in a book, she’d totally make a comment in Track Changes saying “Realistic?” or “Dialogue should sound like how people really talk.”

  Shit, that was making it worse. I’m the only person who’d think about work at a time l
ike this.

  She was going to take forever if she kept letting her editorial brain take over.

  No Shawn and no red pens.

  But she edited fantasy novels. Ever since she’d discovered new realms where ordinary girls defeated unspeakable evil and no one was too scared or helpless to know what to do, she’d been hooked. Lying under the covers with a book, she could block out the sounds of her mom being sick from another round of chemo. She could forget that her own life was so plain.

  So she knew all about how the mind longed to escape to another world. Granted, that was usually a world where horses could fly and magic wands were real. But why couldn’t she imagine a world where Shawn wanted to run his strong hands all over her body and rub the scruff of his jaw over her stiffening nipples as he kissed his way down between her thighs?

  It was just make-believe. It would never really happen. She’d never let it happen in real life.

  But for one night and one night only, she turned up the vibrator and let herself give in until she was gasping.

  Chapter Six

  It was late when Shawn finally came home, and he was exhausted from such a long day. He wasn’t sure he’d ever worked so many hours before—or so hard. He monitored temperatures and carbonation, then processed the specialty malts. If he could keep up with handling the raw materials, then Jean would be able to maintain the production schedule—or maybe even increase it. More units meant more profit, which meant more days they’d be sure to keep open their doors.

  It was a lot to keep track of, and a lot of pressure not to fall behind. But seeing Jessie go to work that morning, with her smart clothes and her tamed hair and her game face on, made him that much more determined to make Jean and Kevin glad they’d taken a chance on him.

  Besides, Talia’s rent may have been doable for Brooklyn, but it wasn’t cheap. There was no way he could afford to have Jean decide this wouldn’t work out. He’d still be on the hook for two and a half months of rent. And Kevin, Talia, his parents, Brandon, even Jessie—everyone would know that he’d failed.

  Talia would roll her eyes like she’d never expected anything different. His parents would be disappointed—again. Brandon would make fun of him for even trying. Kevin would regret giving him the opportunity and definitely wouldn’t help him again.

  And Jessie? He wasn’t sure what she’d think, or why it mattered to him. But given the way she’d been surprised he was awake before noon on a Monday, he could guess she hadn’t thought much of him in high school. She didn’t have any reason to believe he was all that different now.

  But he was. Or, at least, he was trying to be.

  “You don’t have any ambition,” his ex-girlfriend in Santa Fe had complained, right before booting him out of their apartment. Well, her apartment. Technically she’d only been letting him crash there after he lost his old place and didn’t have another option. “I just feel like I’m going to come home in twenty years and you’re still going to be sitting on that couch. You’ll have morphed into the couch. I don’t want a boyfriend who’s going to literally be the couch. I’m sorry, Shawn, but I’m looking for something else.”

  Maybe he should have argued more, fought back, shown her that she was wrong about him. But it just felt like…why bother? If she didn’t want him, she didn’t want him. It was easier to move on.

  When Kevin was desperate to send someone to Brooklyn, the words “Send me” had come out of Shawn’s mouth before he even realized what he was saying. But why not? It wasn’t like he had a relationship or a mortgage keeping him in Santa Fe. And Kevin had been working with the same right-hand man for years. There was no chance Shawn would be able to move up at the brewery if he stayed there. Maybe it was time for new things.

  An assistant brewer might not be enough to impress his ex. But he’d had a pretty great first day. Even if pointing out how low they were on Saaz hops for their pilsner had made Jean look vaguely sick to her stomach rather than happy to see him. He’d done something with himself. And he hadn’t spent a single second sitting on a couch.

  So there.

  The lights were out when he stepped into the apartment, but he’d expected that. Jessie had an early start to the day. She probably snapped off her lamp at nine p.m. sharp to be bright eyed and bushy-tailed the next morning. He tried to be as quiet as possible as he slipped into the apartment and closed the door, leaving his shoes next to hers and padding barefoot down the hall.

  He was just going to change his clothes, brush his teeth, and get into bed, maybe watch reruns on Netflix until his eyes started to close. But there, right outside her door, he swore he heard something.

  A buzzing noise.

  He stepped closer and pressed his ear—not right to the door, he wasn’t that bad. But close enough that he could hear better. At that point, it was unmistakable. He could definitely hear something loud and mechanical buzzing in there.

  He almost raised his hand to knock. Was everything okay? Did she have some kind of machine that was going to be running all night, and would he wind up hearing it since their bedrooms shared a wall?

  But then he heard something else.

  A faint but distinct noise.

  A moan.

  A female moan, to be precise. Shawn had heard enough of those to know exactly what they sounded like. Whether high-pitched, low, loud, soft, screaming, agonized, fast, slow, guttural, panting, drawn out, staccato, full, breathless, or an ever-changing combo of all of those, there was something completely distinct about the way a woman moaned with pleasure.

  And based on the sounds emanating from Jessie’s bedroom, things were going quite well in there.

  It wasn’t like he’d imagined the girl was going to be celibate. There’d been no mention of a significant other coming over a few nights a week, and Talia didn’t make it sound as though she went on many dates.

  It was just so not what he would have expected, based on the girl who folded fitted sheets immaculately—he’d noticed in the hallway closet—and allowed enough time to get to work in the morning as if she were going to the airport.

  He’d never thought of her in that way when they were younger. He couldn’t claim it was because his sister’s friends were off-limits. He’d certainly fucked that one up in the past. But Jessie was…Jessie. He barely remembered her. The only thing that stood out in his mind was a trifecta of teeth, glasses, and hair, and the fact that when she came over, she was always studying.

  The woman he’d stumbled in on may have grown up in all the right ways, but she was still obviously the same person inside. Neat, organized, and a total planning freak. It wasn’t that he was surprised she was masturbating. Hell no—everyone should have fun. He was surprised that she was clearly enjoying it so much.

  From where he stood in the hallway, he could hear everything. The looseness of her moans, squeak of the bed springs, the hum of the vibrator kicking up another notch. This was a girl who knew how she liked to unwind.

  He stepped away from the door. He didn’t want to be creepy. He just hoped what was happening in there was loud enough to cover up the sound of him opening his bedroom door and slipping inside. He didn’t want her realizing he was home and hearing everything.

  But once he was safely inside, he was stuck. If he went back into the hall again, and to the bathroom, and then if he ran the water and everything, she’d probably hear him—especially if she finished up soon.

  So he stayed in his room, listening to the vibration through the wall they shared, and the soft, panting noises that said she was getting close…and then closer…

  He should put on headphones to drown out the noise. Check his bank account—that was a good way to induce a healthy dose of panic and make him stop thinking about his dick.

  But he didn’t move. He lay on his bed—his bed that was right up against Jessie’s on the other side of the wall—and imagined her hips moving, her legs parting, her soft lips opening in that luscious moan.

  It wasn’t really about her. It was jus
t basic fucking biology that was making his sheets tent. It wasn’t that he wanted to fuck Jessie. It was like listening to porn or something. Watch people fucking, and he got hard. Hear a woman pleasuring herself, and yup, his dick would nudge up for attention.

  Jessie was gorgeous, and clearly smart and driven, and he saw hints that she was funny and wry in a quiet, unprepossessing way, when she let herself go there.

  But that didn’t mean he wanted a taste. And even if some tiny part of him did, that was the same part that was like two percent Neanderthal and would, quite frankly, fuck (almost) anyone. It didn’t mean he listened to that dumbass part of his brain. Or at least, he was trying to make some better choices and listen to it less.

  So he wasn’t going to reach down and let his dick escape from his boxers. He wasn’t going to touch it, or stroke it, or make himself come. He wasn’t going to jerk off listening to her breathless panting. All of that would be seriously wrong.

  But it was agony to feel himself turn to steel and not do anything about it. Don’t be a jackass, he told himself. You’re not going to fuck her, so let it go.

  The biggest fight he and his sister ever had was when he slept with one of Talia’s friends and then dumped her and slept with another one of her friends instead. Talia wasn’t happy about the first one, but she was seriously pissed about the second. He’d tried to keep it quiet—he wasn’t a total asshole. But that made girl number one think Talia knew what he was up to with girl number two and was keeping his secrets for him. Or something. He couldn’t remember all the ins and outs, but the end result was that half of Talia’s friends stopped speaking to her for the rest of high school. Jessie must have been the only one to stay by her side.

  Thankfully, he’d graduated and moved on to other prospects. But something of Talia’s outrage had managed to seep in. Even if he looked at the girls she brought home for Thanksgiving or spring break, girls who held his eye a moment too long, or even one who he could hear whispering to Talia, asking if her brother was single, he’d proven he had at least a little bit of self-restraint, and he never went for it again.