Room Mates_The Series

by Kendall Ryan

  As I sat down and began the interview, my mind wandered to Cannon. He’d been gone this morning by the time I got up. For a moment, I thought I’d dreamed everything that had happened yesterday afternoon. But the evidence of his early-morning rituals had been there: a damp towel hanging next to mine in the bathroom, a coffee mug in the sink. But even more intriguing had been a large bouquet of fuchsia and crimson wildflowers that had been sitting in a glass of water on my kitchen table, along with a package of dog biscuits. It was a nice gesture; I’d give him that.

  Only once I was in the shower had the memory of our late-night encounter come rushing back. My eyes had shot open, soap bubbles stinging as I blinked and gasped under the harsh spray. There was no forgetting last night.

  Now that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a dream—one I’d deny in the morning and replay with my BOB at night. His nude body rivaled those marble sculptures at the art museum. I’d been overwhelmed at the sheer size and hard maleness of him. Broad shoulders, toned pecs leading down to six fully defined abs, and a tapered waist, the likes of which I’d only seen on male models. The fine smattering of hair told me he manscaped thoroughly and often. And the way he’d stood there, still damp and flushed from the shower, his smirk unapologetic, his large half-erect penis hanging between his legs like an anaconda escaped from the zoo . . . a warm shudder passed through me at the memory.

  “Uh . . . ma’am? Is something wrong?” Ben asked, breaking off his response to the question I’d posed thirty seconds ago and now couldn’t remember.

  Shit. I nodded rapidly. “I’m fine, thank you. Just a little tired. Please continue.”

  I was the exact opposite of fine. Every detail of Cannon’s naked body refused to leave my head—and that stuff just wasn’t something I should know about my best friend’s little brother. But it was too late. My brain was permanently altered. From here on out, I wouldn’t be able to think of him as anything other than a sexual being.

  And the thing that had really gotten to me?

  Cannon’s voice had remained calm and certain, like he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about standing on display before me. He’d remained rooted there, shamelessly confident, letting me peruse him in all his glory. And he watched me watch him, his eyebrow raised flirtatiously, almost as though he was challenging me to react. Daring me to look my fill, come closer, touch him, satisfy my . . . curiosity.

  Clearing my throat, I picked up Ben Stevens’s résumé. “Can you go into more detail about your previous role, and how that fit into your planned career path?” Hopefully I could get my shit together enough to pay attention and evaluate his experience this time.

  Ben dutifully launched into a dull and lengthy description of every task required of him at his old company. I jotted notes as he spoke, trying to focus on him and not my body’s breathless, heart-pounding reaction to the memory of Cannon.

  Twenty minutes later, I still didn’t have any idea if Ben was the right person for the job. My brain was so scrambled, I was having a hard time concentrating.

  “Can you tell me why you’re interested in the office-manager role?” I asked.

  Ben’s brows drew together and he frowned. “You already asked me that.”

  “Right.” I nodded, smiling while screaming internally.

  My phone vibrated on the conference table beside me. I grabbed it, grateful for the brief reprieve—until I saw it was a text from Cannon. Flipping the phone over on the table without reading it, I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to be rude to my candidate. But knowing there was a text waiting for me from Cannon meant I was even less focused on what Ben was saying than before.

  A few minutes later I ended the interview, thanking him for his time, and told him I’d be in touch. Once he was headed toward the lobby where the receptionist would show him out, I lunged for my phone, typing my passcode wrong twice before finally getting it right.

  Cannon: Sorry about last night. I hope you weren’t too traumatized.

  My jaw dropped open. God, the man was ballsy. I’d give him that. Most people would want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Yet here he was, calling attention to it, trying to push me for a response. Or maybe he was just trying to embarrass me.

  Well, fuck that. If he wanted me to freak out—or collapse onto his dick in surrender—he was messing with the wrong girl.

  Paige: Next time you want me to see you naked, ask first.

  Cannon: Noted.

  I chuckled to myself before realizing that I’d implied there was going to be a next time. My laughter died on my lips. I’d unintentionally given him the upper hand.

  Cannon: I have a rare weekend off, so I just wanted to check in and see if you had any weekend plans. Don’t want to cramp your style.

  Paige: No plans as of yet.

  I hoped I didn’t sound too lame typing that.

  Cannon: Then I guess I’ll see you at home.

  I tucked my phone into the pocket of my jeans, trying to ignore the warning bells ringing in my head. I headed back to my office at the far end of the building, my heart thrumming with the news that I’d be subjected to forty-eight hours of Cannon’s sexiness.

  On one hand, I couldn’t deny I was looking forward to the eye candy. And it would be refreshing to have a conversation partner who responded with words instead of barks and tail wags. But I liked my routine; I was used to a certain amount of alone time. If Cannon was this distracting when he wasn’t even physically present, how could I hope to be around him all weekend without losing my mind?

  “Well, how was he?” Tabitha asked from her perch at the desk outside my office.

  “Who?” I asked, irrationally fearful that I’d somehow let it slip about my new roommate.

  “The candidate, Ben,” she said.

  “Oh, right.” I nodded. “He was . . . okay.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little flushed.”

  I cleared my throat. “Fine. I have an early lunch today with a friend. I’ll see you later.” I discarded Ben’s résumé and interview folder on my desk, grabbed my purse, and hightailed it from the office.

  Once Allie and I were seated at our favorite casual soup-and-salad restaurant, she grinned at me like she was in on a secret I wasn’t.

  “Well . . .” she prompted, raising her brows. “How did your first night with your new roomie go?” Allie giggled, smiling as she watched me.

  Did he tell her about our late-night run-in? The one in which he was butt-naked? My underarms began to sweat. I faked a breezy smile as my brain screamed at me to lie. So I did.

  “Uneventful.”

  “Good, so it should work out fine between you two.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “That’s a relief. I know Cannon’s a grown man, but I still worry about him, you know? He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and after everything he’s been through, he deserves a break.”

  I nodded. “Uh-huh.” Seemingly unable to string together more than two incoherent syllables, I grabbed my menu and started reading over the lunch specials.

  “James bid on tickets to a charity gala this weekend. You think you and Cannon would like to go?”

  “Me and Cannon?” I almost squeaked. What did that mean? Like, as a date? Did she think there was something between us?

  “Sure, why not? The three of us should do something fun—get the dream team back together, y’know? Now that he’s transferred here to Michigan, I feel like I need to make up for some lost time with him.”

  Oh, she meant going as a group. I felt both relieved and very stupid. Get a grip, Paige . . . Then my brain caught up with the rest of what she’d said.

  “Wait, just us three? What about James?” I asked. Wasn’t he the one who’d won the tickets in the first place?

  She shook her head, frowning. “He’s got to work this weekend.”

  Her fiancé was a real estate agent and spent a lot of evenings and weekends working. It was fine by me, because it meant Al
lie and I got to spend a lot of girl time together.

  “Sure, I’m free.” I returned to reading my menu, but inwardly, I was still freaking out. Would Allie suspect my attraction for her brother? Would she be able to read it all over my face as soon as I looked at Cannon? For that matter, might Cannon give the game away? He hadn’t exactly been subtle about wanting to fuck me . . .

  The waiter came by and we ordered, and then it took me a moment to realize Allie was speaking to me.

  “Have you signed up yet?” she asked.

  “For?” I chewed on my lip, wondering exactly how much of this conversation I’d missed while having dirty thoughts about her brother. I’m a terrible friend.

  “The new dating app I told you about.”

  I groaned. That app wasn’t for dating so much as no-strings-attached hookups. But I didn’t think Allie had gotten that memo along with the rest of America. Before she’d met James, Allie had found some success with it, going out with four different guys in as many weeks—and spilling all the juicy details about each encounter. Even though she was in a serious relationship now, that didn’t stop her from wanting to live vicariously through me.

  “I know you ultimately want to find true love one day . . . we all do. But this is just practice. While you’re waiting for Mr. Right, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy some hot sex.”

  “I don’t know, Allie. I’m not really comfortable with the idea of banging a perfect stranger.”

  “He wouldn’t be a stranger. You’d e-mail, text, and chat first. Nothing would happen until you were comfortable.”

  I fiddled with my napkin while I felt Allie’s gaze on me. My last relationship had ended over a year ago, and I hadn’t been with anyone since my ex. I knew she was trying to help me—and God knew how badly I craved sex sometimes—but it was still irritating to feel like the subject of an emergency intervention.

  Did she think all my problems would go away if I jumped on some magical healing cock? A one-night stand wouldn’t be helpful or even fun for me; I just wasn’t wired like that. I’d be a nervous wreck, convinced I was going to end up on the evening news because my date was a serial killer, or worse, that he’d see the dimples in my butt and freak out.

  She leaned in closer and placed her hand over mine. “It’s just to get you back on the horse. I worry about you sometimes, Paigey. All you do is work these days.”

  I went to the gym sometimes too, but I doubted that was going to get her off my back. “I’ll think about it,” I said as two massive salads were delivered to our table. Seriously, who could eat this much salad?

  I felt my to-do list growing. Not only did I need to resist Cannon’s charms, but I needed to find a way to keep Allie off my back about dating, go to a charity gala with her and my new secret crush without her discovering anything, and choose a new office manager at work. My stomach tightened, and I pushed the uneaten salad around on my plate.

  My lunch with Allie was supposed to calm me, but I felt more anxious than ever.

  Chapter Seven

  Cannon

  “Found a place to live yet?” Peter asked.

  Peter was a nurse anesthetist at the hospital I work at. He was a few years older than me, and in some ways, he treated me like a little brother. We met my first week at the hospital and just clicked. When he got married to his boyfriend of a decade last year, I was one of the groomsmen. And when I needed a place to crash after getting evicted from my apartment this week, he offered to let me crash at this place. But I knew that wasn’t a long-term solution. I didn’t want to impose on the newlyweds.

  I nodded. “I’ve been staying with my sister’s friend Paige.” My sister’s very hot friend who I wanted to nail. I was pretty sure I’d been walking around all day half hard. Guess it was a good thing he hadn’t noticed.

  “Gotcha.” He nodded. “How’s that going?”

  “It’s good. It’s just taking some adjustment. I just moved in yesterday, and I’ve lived alone for a while, you know?” And now I had to deal with the soft feminine scent of her shampoo in the bathroom, and watching her parade around in yoga pants and talk in gibberish to her dog. She was maddeningly hot and she didn’t even know it.

  “I still don’t understand,” Peter said, bending down to tie his bright purple tennis shoe. “How could they just kick you out of your place?”

  He was right. My rent check was always on time, and I was quiet and neat. But the personal drama that tagged along with me was apparently more than my landlord wanted to handle. I shrugged. Having your place vandalized four times in six months and broken into twice was a bit excessive.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I muttered. I actually liked being near Paige. Maybe too much.

  “So, tell me about your new roomie. Do we like her?” Peter grinned.

  “Fuck off,” I muttered, stalking away from Peter and his laughter echoing in the halls of the hospital.

  • • •

  True to her word, Paige returned home from work a few minutes after five.

  “In here,” I called from the kitchen. Enchilada hovered around my feet, poised to snatch any fallen scraps.

  She set down a laptop bag on the dining table, her gaze reluctantly dragging over to mine. “Hi.”

  Wondering if she was remembering how I looked naked, I fought off a smile. “How was work?” I tossed a handful of sliced peppers into a wok, then added some onion.

  “Fine,” she said, moving a couple of steps closer. “What’s all this?”

  Enchilada wandered over, the desire to greet his master momentarily winning out over hunger, and Paige reached down to pat his fluffy head.

  “I grabbed the ingredients for fajitas at the store today.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at the chicken strips already browning in the skillet.

  “Hope that’s okay. You named your dog Enchilada, so I assumed you like Mexican food.”

  “Of course. It’s just . . . I didn’t expect you to cook for me.”

  I shrugged. “I have my first couple of days off in what seems like forever. And besides, I had a craving. Would you mind stirring that chicken?”

  She took a rubber spatula from the crock that held her utensils on the counter and turned over each piece of chicken, concentrating on her task carefully.

  “I got tequila, and margarita mix too,” I said.

  She eyed me carefully, her expression serious, but still somehow playful. “Tequila? Do you really think that’s a good idea for us?”

  I laughed at her honesty. “Hey, we survived night one, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, and it was a small miracle since you were naked.”

  I smirked. “Sorry about that. It was an honest mistake.”

  Paige moved on, busying herself filling the blender with ice, and I couldn’t help but notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.

  While she mixed the drinks, I sautéed the vegetables and combined them with the chicken. The whir of the blender drowned out the silence around us, and then Paige poured two margaritas into festive glasses.

  “Thank you for the flowers, by the way. And the treats for Enchilada. That was thoughtful of you.”

  I nodded. “It was nothing. I’m just happy to have a place to stay.”

  I wouldn’t tell Paige, but I’d been a little traumatized after staying with Peter and his husband. I was fine with whatever happened in their bedroom, but drew the line at being forced to overhear it. No one should hear their friend shouting for his husband to take him deeper.

  “We never got to discuss rent. How much would you like me to pay?” I asked.

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” Paige’s teeth sank into her lower lip.

  Damn, that was distracting. “I’ll pay half of the rent and utilities. Just let me know how much it is.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I suppose that’s fair. Your half will be seven hundred, and it’s due on the first of the month. I’ll let you know about the utilities.”

  “Perfect.”

  I turned
off the burners and grabbed a couple of plates. “Do you need to change before dinner? I’ve got this.”

  Shaking her head, she took a sip of her frosty drink. “That’s okay. Fridays are casual dress.”

  I recalled that yesterday, she’d been wearing a skirt and a silk blouse. Today she looked just as tempting in a pair of dark jeans that hugged her curves, and a fitted, long-sleeved burgundy T-shirt. A long gold necklace hung around her neck, a sparkly pendant swaying as she moved.

  After making up our plates, we carried them into the dining half of the main room. Luckily, the empty silence was soon filled with Paige’s questions about med school, a topic I could talk about for hours.

  “Do you have classes during the day, and then internships at night? That seems like an awful lot.” She looked down at her plate. “Sorry, I don’t know how this stuff works.”

  I waved her off. “Not at all. I finished my classroom time during my first two years. The next two years of med school are spent in rotations. Basically, I’m like a doctor without the medical license. I’ve delivered babies, assisted with surgery, tended to gunshot victims in the ER. It’s a little bit of everything.”

  “Wow. That sounds intense.”

  I shrugged. “My stepdad once said you’re not a real doctor unless you can handle traumas. Kind of a weird statement, but something about it resonated with me. I’m glad I got to experience that firsthand in my emergency-medicine rotation. Basically, if you’re ever stabbed or have a flesh-eating virus, I’m your man.”

  She laughed as she took another bite of her fajita. Salsa landed on her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.

  “It’s smart the way they structure it,” I said, “because you’re forced to learn everything before you can declare your specialty. And then after that, you apply for residencies.”

  “Right . . . your residency. Allie said you’d be moving in about two months.”