Wrong Bed, Right Roommate (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  The truth was, fighting with Talia sucked. Friends moved away or drifted in and out, and there wasn’t anything that felt permanent about a girlfriend. But she was his sister forever. It mattered not to fuck it up.

  It helped a little to know that Jessie had clearly never been into him, and there was no way she wanted him now. It wasn’t like she was over there panting his name or something.

  But just thinking about Jessie panting anything was way too much to handle.

  Work, he told himself. Think about work. Hops. Barley. Malt. Fermentation schedules. The differences between a lager and an ale.

  But when he rolled over onto his stomach and stuffed a pillow over his head to make himself forget he’d ever heard a single moan come out of her lips, it ached to feel his hard cock pressing into the mattress, straining for relief.

  Chapter Seven

  Don’t look at him. Don’t think about him. Don’t even make eye contact.

  Jessie gave herself the best pep talk she could before she opened her bedroom door the next morning.

  So she’d had an explosive orgasm fantasizing about her roommate, who she’d known for years and who was completely off-limits. She could be totally normal running into him again.

  Normal, non-sexual, focused, friendly, and roommate-like. Not at all as though she’d imagined lifting her legs in the air as he drilled into her, grabbing his tight ass to make him fuck her harder while she screamed his name in his ear.

  Nope, none of that had ever occurred to her. She might as well be a nun for how chaste she was. She went to work, came home, did more work at home, and went to bed. If Shawn asked her what she did last night, obviously that was all she’d say. Without blushing. Or stammering. Or fainting at his feet.

  If she even saw him—which she was seriously hoping she wouldn’t. She hadn’t heard him come in last night, which meant it must have been late. There was no way he’d be up this early, anyway.

  She grabbed a clean towel from her closet. She’d shower, get dressed, and then make coffee once she was totally put together. Even though their little breakfast date wasn’t going to happen again, she didn’t want to risk hanging around in her pajamas.

  Don’t worry, you’re not going to see him, she reminded herself. But just as she swung open her door, there he was, opening his door at the exact same time.

  She jumped in surprise.

  “Sorry,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I wasn’t—” she started, fumbling over her words.

  It didn’t help that he was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist, exposing the full glory of his chest, his pecs, that wild tattoo across his shoulder, and the line of hair below his navel that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about last night. Put on some goddamn clothes! she wanted to scream.

  Instead, she cleared her throat and tried again.

  “I didn’t think you’d be up,” she said as smoothly as possible, even though her heart was fluttering like it had wings. It wasn’t as if she and Talia had never gotten up at the same time, or opened their doors, or run into each other unexpectedly. Only then, it made them both burst into giggles and pretend to fight over who got to use the bathroom first. It never made her palms sweat like this.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  She could have sworn his eyes crinkled and looked away, just past her shoulder instead of at her.

  Or maybe that was how she was looking at him, peeking through the doorway behind him since she was afraid that if she made eye contact, she’d go up in flames.

  I slept great after fantasizing about you fucking me hard while I came on my vibrator, a teasing voice sang in her head.

  “Yeah,” she said, trying to make the voice shut up. “I was tired.”

  “Me, too.”

  They stood there awkwardly. She’d say it was the most embarrassing moment of her life, but that would be ignoring every other embarrassing moment she’d had with Shawn so far.

  “I guess we had the same thing in mind,” he said with a smile, nodding toward the towel—which she was holding in her hand instead of wearing because at least she knew about roommate etiquette. “You go first.” He gestured toward the bathroom.

  “No, you. You’re already, um…” Standing there naked like you’re trying to wreck me.

  He shook his head. “You have to get to work earlier, you should shower.”

  “I can still—”

  “I’ll make the coffee,” he offered before she could finish her sentence. “I know you like to be on time.”

  Was he making fun of her? Or just being nice? It shouldn’t be this hard to tell!

  Mutely, she nodded and got her ass in the bathroom as fast as she could without sprinting. She closed the door and locked it, breathing way too hard. Had she sounded like an idiot? Did he think she was an idiot?

  Why did she even care?

  She ran her toothbrush under the faucet and stared at herself in the mirror. “Yes, you’re definitely an idiot,” she said to her reflection.

  Shawn woke up in the morning, rolled naked out of bed, threw on a towel, and looked like some kind of magazine model oozing sex from his pores, his chest ripped, the towel low on his hips, his hair perfectly messed up in a way that suggested “fun, casual, sexy” rather than “ruinous bedhead.”

  Meanwhile, her skin was dry, her eyes puffy, and frizzy didn’t even begin to describe the nest of curls on her head. She’d intentionally picked a boring, unflattering T-shirt to sleep in, but now, seeing the way it draped over her like a sack, she felt even more embarrassed that Shawn had seen her this way.

  Whatever, she told herself. I don’t care.

  She showered quickly, knowing that if she gave herself another second to linger under the hot water, the feel of it on her body would make her think of last night…and her pleasure…which would make her think of Shawn. And she so couldn’t go there right now.

  It was just a fleeting fantasy, and it was over. He’d never even know.

  But when she came out of the bathroom, her pajamas back on, wet hair dripping over her shoulder, there he was, still in his towel, bringing her a steaming mug of coffee with just the splash of milk she wanted.

  “I’ll leave it on the table for when you’re ready,” he called.

  She debated for a minute. She should get dressed first, but then the coffee would get cold. That’s why microwaves were invented, Jessie. But, ick.

  So that was how she wound up hanging around in her pajamas, her hair wet and seeping through her T-shirt, drinking coffee with the man she’d just fantasized about the night before. Who was still in his towel, goddamn him, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  …

  Wow.

  It was a lot harder than Shawn would have expected to sit there sipping coffee with a straight face.

  Her wet hair was seeping through her T-shirt, leaving a damp spot that showed the outline of her bra underneath. It was making it impossible to not imagine her wearing nothing, lying in bed, a sheet draped over her breasts. Legs spread, head thrown back, lips parted, letting out that moan he’d heard.

  But she obviously had no idea he’d walked in on her, and no idea he was still thinking about it—and had barely slept because he’d been thinking about it all night. She finished her coffee, thanked him for making it, and left to get dressed, telling him the bathroom was his. By the time he got out of the shower, she was gone.

  He barely saw her again all week.

  She must have been setting her alarm for even earlier, just to make sure they didn’t run into each other heading for the bathroom again. His schedule ran so much later, he found himself needing to sleep in so he’d have enough energy to haul kegs around all day. By the time he got home, she was asleep. When he got up in the mornings, she’d already left.

  It should have been the ideal situation. He had so much to keep track of at Thunder, there was no way he could go getting into trouble with a w
oman who was totally off-limits.

  But he couldn’t help being disappointed every time.

  She always left him coffee in the coffeemaker, though. After he went to the grocery store, he opened the fridge and saw she’d left a Post-it note with a smiley face on it stuck to the new carton of milk, which he could only take to be her way of saying thanks.

  Because of course she had Post-it notes in every color and size. He would have expected nothing less.

  He rooted around in the kitchen until he found the stack of them, neatly organized in a drawer with scissors, takeout menus, pens, matches—the sort of things that most people threw in a drawer and forgot about, but that Jessie had divided in little plastic containers to keep everything neat.

  He knew it was Jessie’s doing—his sister would have played no part in that.

  Taking his cue from her, he pulled out a pink stickie. “Dinner Sat?” he wrote and left it on the milk where she’d see it.

  People who lived together should see each other at least once a week, he reasoned, and not just when one of them was running out the door or dashing to the shower. It was only good manners. He was just trying to be nice. He was definitely not looking to start anything he was bound to regret.

  He was glad when he came home, opened the fridge, and found a second note stuck under his. “You got it.”

  They planned out a menu through Post-its. He learned she liked pesto, red wine, and hated tomatoes. “It’s the seeds,” she wrote. “They’re slimy.” That Post-it was stuck to the coffeemaker. By the end of the week, they were running out of space for notes in the fridge.

  It was just a “roommate thing.” That was what he told the bartenders at Thunder when they asked if he wanted to go out before his Saturday night shift. It totally wasn’t a date. He wasn’t looking to date anyone right now. Especially not one of Talia’s friends.

  But he was still looking forward to the evening. Probably a little too much.

  Chapter Eight

  “My God, I can’t believe we actually made this work,” Jessie said when Saturday rolled around. She’d never in a million years have believed he’d suggest dinner. Or that she’d agree.

  But here they were, standing in the kitchen together. For the first time all week, they’d both managed to be in the apartment for more than five minutes at the same time.

  “I have to admit, I had my doubts,” Shawn teased as he opened a bottle of Malbec that had magically appeared with the groceries he’d picked up. “When I got up this morning and you were gone, I thought for sure this was never going to happen.”

  “I go to eight a.m. yoga every weekend,” she said, holding out her glass for him to pour.

  “Of course you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only you would wake up at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday to go to yoga.” He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning.

  “I hate to break it to you, but eight isn’t exactly ass-crack territory.” Especially not when she’d been getting up so early all week. First, because she couldn’t afford another towel run-in. And then because she honestly had so much to do, there just weren’t enough hours in the day to satisfy Marlene.

  “Do you ever sleep in?” he asked her.

  “Sometimes until seven,” she deadpanned.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Only if it fits in your schedule. I’ve never planned a meal so many days in advance.”

  “I hope it’s worth it, then.”

  She was kidding, trying to come up with something to say to cover the rush of nervousness and excitement and something she felt from just being so close to him.

  But then he said, “I’m sure it will be,” and she couldn’t read his tone. Was he laughing? Smirking? And why was she trying so hard to figure it out?

  They started a pot of water for pasta boiling on the stove, and soon the smell of basil and garlic bloomed in the kitchen. Shawn chopped vegetables while Jessie rinsed lettuce for a salad. He confessed that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d peeled a carrot.

  “Such a Lassiter thing,” Jessie joked, thinking of Talia in the kitchen. But as soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t brought up her friend. What would Talia think of them standing hip to hip like this? What would she say if she knew that Jessie’s heart was galloping so fast?

  “What would you be doing tonight instead?” she asked quickly, trying not to sound…weird.

  “Probably eating French fries at the bar.” He laughed. “This is good for me.”

  Great. So he thought of her as someone who’d make him eat his veggies. At least that answered the nagging question in the back of her mind as to whether or not this counted as a date.

  “How was your first week of work?” he asked. But before she could answer, he’d stopped chopping. “Sorry, I just realized I sounded like my father. Pretend I didn’t ask.”

  “Well, you don’t sound like my father, so you’re fine,” she said.

  “How would he sound?”

  That one was easy. She puffed up her chest, stuck out her lower lip, and did a booming approximation of a stuffy male voice that Talia always said was spot-on. “Did you impress your boss yet, sweetie? When’s your next promotion?”

  Shawn laughed, which made her laugh, too. But when he said, “At least your dad knows you’re capable of getting a promotion,” the laughter was gone.

  She could feel the smile slide right off her face. She shouldn’t be making light of this stuff—not when she knew what a hard relationship he had with his dad. Without thinking, she touched his arm.

  “I know things haven’t always been easy between you and your parents in the past. I mean, I don’t know any of the details,” she added quickly. “Don’t worry. It’s just that Talia’s mentioned that there have been some rocky patches.”

  He looked down at her hand. She snatched it away, busying herself with the spaghetti.

  She shouldn’t have touched him so casually, let alone tried to get personal. It was different to talk with Talia about the fights Shawn had with his dad. Talia was her best friend—of course they talked about everything. She needed to remember that being here with Shawn may have started to feel a little bit comfortable, but it wasn’t the same.

  Yet he didn’t seem mad at her. Or even annoyed. Maybe just…surprised.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s been—” She could feel him searching for the word. “Complicated. But I’m trying for a new start. This job seems like it could really be good for something. For Thunder, and for me.”

  “They’ll be able to brew more,” she said, nodding her encouragement.

  “And my parents will know I’m not just screwing around.”

  That sober note again. The timer for the pasta went off before she could come up with the right response. She had no idea what to say. Because she couldn’t believe how much he’d said.

  She’d always taken it for granted that Shawn thought he was amazing—God’s gift to baseball, and girls, and their small-town school. But that was then. It sounded like Shawn wanted other things now.

  It left her wondering what those things were.

  They drained the pasta, stirred in the sauce, and brought everything to the table. “So how did it go for you this week?” she asked as he topped off her wine and they sat down to eat.

  He talked more about Jean, who was tough but fair, and about his work trying to get up to speed on all things fermentation. “It’s weird,” he said. “It feels caught somewhere between a real job and goofing off.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “It’s a lot of work to remember and not mess up what goes where and all the timing for how long the brew spends in each stage. I wasn’t responsible for all that in Santa Fe. But it’s fun, you know?”

  “You think a real job isn’t supposed to be fun?” she asked, twirling spaghetti on her fork.

  “I sometimes don’t go to work until three in the afternoon.”

  “But then you work, r
ight?”

  “Until at least midnight.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  Not like she was the poster child for a healthy work-life balance. But did he think a job wasn’t legit unless it made him miserable? Maybe every moment in her office wasn’t paradise, but she loved YA publishing. She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  When all he did was stare at her, she laughed.

  “You can tell your dad I don’t see any issue,” she said with a wink.

  “You have a way more normal job, with a way more normal schedule,” he argued.

  “I don’t know that waking up at five a.m. because your boss has already emailed you and left you two voicemails counts as normal.”

  “Yikes,” he said. “That sounds—”

  “Stressful?”

  He held up his palms, reaching for more salad. “Way more than I could handle.”

  “You’re the one responsible for whole batches of beer that have to be perfect. If I’m late responding to an email, I piss off a few dozen people but I haven’t ruined anything. Oh God, or at least I hope not. What if I have?”

  She felt her eyes widening in panic. She thought she saw him turn a little green around the gills, too. On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t remind him of how much was riding on him. Or on her.

  “I just keep reminding myself that it’ll settle down once I’m there a little longer and Marlene gets used to me,” she said instead, trying to be hopeful.

  “Is she still terrifying?”

  She pushed her glasses up her nose and nodded. “Very.”

  “But she’s not fucking with you, is she? Here I’ve been all week, thinking that you’re unfuckwithable.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. It was hard to be as worried when she thought about him calling her that. “I just don’t think she trusts me yet.”

  “She’s afraid you’re stealing Post-it notes?”

  Jessie laughed again. “Or whether I can edit stuff to her satisfaction. Pick out the kinds of books she’s looking for and that she thinks will succeed. Use the copy machine.” She made a face, feeling herself flush in embarrassment. “I actually fucked that one up pretty badly.”