One Hot Roomie

by Durand, Anna

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Other Books by Anna Durand

  Connect with Anna Durand

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Reese

  I dig the key out of my pocket and unlock the door, pushing it open to walk into my new flat---temporary flat, loaned to me by my brother's fiancée, for the sole purpose of finding an American girl to shag. All right, maybe that isn't the reason I gave Chance and Elena. My brother and his almost wife wouldn't have lent me this flat otherwise. When I'd announced to Dane, my other brother, that I was going to shag an American girl, no one took me seriously. Everyone heard me shout it, but they know I love to make jokes.

  This time, I'm not joking. That's my plan. Find, win over, and sleep with a New York woman.

  Why not? It's a bit of fun, nothing more. A holiday from my life which has started to, as my almost sister-in-law might say, suck royally.

  "Another hot British guy in the Big Apple," Elena had said when she and Chance saw me off at the airport, for my big holiday in the US. "Try not to leave a trail of broken hearts. You Dixon boys are impossible to resist."

  My brother found a wife in America, but I'm not after that. Women never want to date me, much less marry me, because they know I'm good for one thing. All I need is a girl in my bed.

  Well, the bed is optional.

  I drop my bag on the floor beside the sofa and turn in a circle to get the full view of my new temporary home. Elena's flat, which she told me Americans call an apartment, has big windows with a view of the city. She says at night the view is spectacular, with all the skyscrapers glowing with lights. I suppose that view might help me win over an American girl. It can't hurt.

  A bar separates the living room from the kitchen, where I see the refrigerator, the cooker---ah, the oven---and all the other items a kitchen is meant to have. Elena told me her brother Kyle, a college student, had left the refrigerator stocked with beer in case he wanted to stay here for a weekend now and then as a break from living on campus. Elena also said she left food in the fridge for me, so I won't have to live on beer. She gave me the numbers for all the best takeaway restaurants in the area too.

  Elena called them takeout restaurants. I need to remember these American words if I'm going to impress the ladies instead of confusing them. Chance warned me about that problem.

  He and Elena are getting married in fourteen days, in New Hampshire of all places. It's where they live now. That means I have two weeks to make my American dream come true. I jumped on a plane the day after Elena offered me her flat. Chance paid for my ticket because it was expensive to get a last-minute flight and because I'm, well, financially challenged at the moment.

  Losing my job has that effect. Not my fault I'm unemployed. Sometimes it just happens, and yeah, it royally sucks.

  I drop onto the sofa, stretching out lengthwise on the very puffy cushions. Elena and Kyle used to share this flat, and they've left all the furniture. That includes the sofa, two equally puffy chairs, and a table. I cross my ankles, link my hands behind my head, and sigh with contentment. Closing my eyes, I begin to formulate a plan for hunting down eligible women.

  "Oh!"

  A feminine voice bursts out with that exclamation.

  I spring off the sofa, as surprised by the intruder as she seems to be by me. The girl has on nothing but a sleeveless white top and plaid knickers that barely cover her arse. Her honey-brown eyes are so wide with shock that I wonder if they'll pop out of their sockets.

  She shakes her head furiously, making the ponytail she's gathered her blonde hair into flap like a dog's tail. "No, no, don't rape me. I'm a virgin."

  "What? I---You're the intruder."

  "Am not. I have a key."

  "So do I." Raising the key, I wave it in the air. "Here it is."

  This girl is pretty, and she's got a body I'd love to touch and kiss and lick all over. Maybe I've already found my American girl to shag.

  If' she'll stop accusing me of being a sexual predator.

  "Kyle said I could have the place," she says. "So go. Scoot."

  "Elena and Chance invited me to stay here. Alone." I inch closer but stop when her eyes get even wider. "Ring Elena and ask. She'll tell you."

  The girl eyes me, her mouth contorting into the most endearing look of suspicion and curiosity. She hurries to the bar, leaning over it to grab something off the kitchen counter. The movement makes her tiny knickers slip down just enough to give me a glimpse of her arse cheeks.

  She straightens, now holding a mobile phone, and taps its screen several times. Holding the phone to her ear, she keeps her suspicious gaze trained on me. "Your aura looks okay, but I better check with---Hey Elena, it's me. Did you invite some British guy to stay here? At your apartment. What? Kyle said I could."

  I watch her lips pucker while she listens to whatever Elena is telling her.

  "Ugh, that Kyle." The girl rolls her eyes. "He's a sweetie but such a dufus sometimes." She eyes me again. "Are you sure he's safe? Yeah, of course, but... Uh-huh. You're the one who told me I'm too trusting. How do I know this really is Reese Dixon?"

  Though I'm missing half the conversation, I can guess most of what's going on. Elena is explaining to her friend that I'm not a psychotic sex offender who escaped from prison an hour ago and is desperate to get a leg over with the first female he sees.

  I might be gagging for it, but not because I'm a predator. I've been experiencing a bit of a drought lately.

  "Okay," the girl says. She holds her phone away from her face to peer at the screen. Her gaze flicks to me and then back to the screen. She sighs and tells Elena, "I guess he is who he claims to be. Thanks, hon."

  She hangs up, sets her phone on the bar, and walks up to me. She tips her head back to meet my gaze.

  The sexy little American offers me her hand. "I'm Arden Clover Pesti. It's nice to meet you, Reese Dixon."

  I shake her hand, loving how soft and warm her skin is. She smells good too, like powder and cocoa butter. "It's nice to meet you too. Arden, is it? That's an unusual name, especially for a girl."

  "Yeah, it's weird, I know. Blame my parents. They're big-time hippies, even though the hippie thing ended in, like, nineteen seventy-seven."

  "Hippies?"

  "Flower children, bohemians, beatniks, et cetera."

  "I know what the word means." I love that she's keeping her hand in mine, even though the greetings are over. Her skin is like porcelain, with the faintest freckles on it. "Are you friends with Elena, then? Or just Kyle?"

  "Elena is my BFF. We're like this." She pulls her palm away from mine so she can link the fingers of both hands in a locking gesture. "We're tight. Inseparable. I mean, except for the past nine months when I was in Ecuador with the Peace Corps."

  "That's an admirable thing to do."

  She shrugs. "I wanted to see the world, so I joined up. All I ever saw was Ecuador."

  I scratch the back of my neck, wincing slightly. "Sorry I scared you. Elena said I'd have the place to myself."

  "The Linwoods have definitely got some crossed wires going on."

  Although Kyle Linwood had left beer in
the apartment, it was Elena who'd told me that. I never actually spoke to Kyle. The Linwoods got their wires crossed for sure.

  Arden smiles sweetly at me, swinging her hands at her sides. "Elena mentioned you've never been to America before."

  "That's right. My brother has lived here for a long time, but I never got round to visiting him."

  "Well then." She spreads her arms wide and grins. "Welcome to the United States of America and to New York City."

  I can't help chuckling. She's so unbelievably adorable.

  "Thank you," I say. "I feel at home already."

  She comes closer, standing on her toes to look me in the eye, and her expression turns serious. "New York is awesome, but there are a few things to watch out for. Cabbies will be obnoxious. It's their way. Never buy a falafel from a street vendor who has facial hair. Never have a mixed drink, unless you want to get roofied." She leans in more, her nose almost brushing mine. "And watch out for the greys. They'll sneak up on you while you're sleeping, so keep a can of mace by your bed."

  When she uses the term greys, I get the impression she's not talking about hair, which leaves me hopelessly confused.

  "Oh," she says, popping upright and holding up a finger, "I almost forgot. Never flush the toilet on a Tuesday before eight a.m."

  "I see." I don't, not even a little, but I'm enjoying listening to her lovely voice. She can tell me any barmy thing she wants, and I'll listen without saying a word. "I appreciate the advice."

  She nods, seeming satisfied. Then she wanders off down the hall that Elena told me leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms.

  Greys? What the bloody hell is that sexy, barmy girl on about?

  I ring Elena to ask. "Arden told me to watch out for greys, but I have no idea what that means. I didn't want to offend her by asking."

  Elena laughs. "She's a hoot, isn't she? You'll get used to her. Arden's the smartest person I've ever known, next to Chance, but she can be a little kooky."

  "Are you going to tell me what greys are?"

  "Maybe I should let you figure that out on your own. Or you could ask Arden. She's not easily offended."

  In the background of the call, I hear my brother's voice, but I can't understand what he's saying.

  "Gotta go," Elena says, "Chance needs me. He's completely hopeless when it comes to picking out place settings for the wedding, but we have to do that before we fly to England tomorrow."

  "Isn't midnight an odd time to shop for place settings?" I have no idea what those are, but it sounds like a daytime shopping event.

  "Yeah, but we tried shopping in the store this afternoon. Chance kept getting distracted by shiny objects like big-screen TVs. Online shopping is the only way to keep him focused."

  Elena and I say goodbye, and I carry my bag down the hall.

  Arden dashes out of one of the bedrooms, holding a length of aluminium foil in her hand.

  "Here," she says, offering the foil to me. "You might want to sleep with that over your head to keep the microwaves from altering your brain chemistry. The waves are strongest at night."

  What else can I do? Her earnest expression convinces me she's serious, so I take the foil. "Thank you. It's kind of you to look out for my brain chemistry."

  I watch her perfect arse wiggle while she spins around and trots back into her room. She shuts the door, cutting off my view of her bum.

  Oh yes, I'd love to shag that girl. So what if she's barking mad? I'm not going to date her, much less marry her.

  Maybe my American adventure begins right now.

  Chapter Two

  Arden

  I'm not totally insane, I swear it. Yes, I love weird things like auras and aliens, and sometimes I go a little overboard in telling people about them. It's become a kind of self-defense mechanism. I mean, after a dozen guys try to seduce you so they can try to get their grubby hands on your money, you tend to get a little paranoid. Babbling about my kooky interests turns out to be the quickest way to get rid of those losers. I don't believe everything I say, though I do believe in the possibilities of things that can never be proved. Sometimes I accidentally scare off a solid prospect with my weirdness. C'est la vie.

  Yeah, those three words are the extent of my French expertise. And I got those from a Robbie Nevil song. Oh, that reminds me. I'm also obsessed with eighties pop music. So, I'm super popular on karaoke night but pretty much treated like a plague victim the rest of the time.

  I flop backward onto my bed, making it bounce and creak.

  Bright side? I have the most amazing best friend in the world. Elena Linwood, soon to be Elena Dixon, has always appreciated my loony side. I adore her to pieces. And her fiancé? Whew, break out the firehose. I haven't met Chance Dixon yet, but I've seen pictures of him. Not only is he smokin' hot, but according to Elena, he's also great at his job and a super nice and super fun person. She's so lucky, and I'm so happy for her.

  As for Chance's brothers, I wasn't supposed to meet them until the wedding two weeks from now. Elena told me they're hot too, but that Dane is the cerebral type and Reese wants to "shag" an American girl. If I were going to walk into the living room in my undies and bump into one of them, I would've hoped for Dane. Instead, I got Reese. The hound. The one who finds women's numbers on restroom stalls and calls them. Seriously. Elena told me that.

  But Reese has the most beautiful blue eyes, and I'd love to push my fingers into that thick, dark hair. Can't forget about his body either. Holy shit, he's hot. And while I was in Ecuador, I had lots of time to think about stuff and decide I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I want to have sex as soon as possible, preferably with a decent guy.

  I sigh miserably, flinging my arms out like a snow angel without the snow. Reese is gorgeous, but in addition to what Elena told me about him, I'm getting a vibe from him that screams "player." How did Elena get so damn lucky with Chance?

  Well, they did start out having a quickie in an elevator...

  My tummy grumbles. I'd been on my way to the kitchen for a snack when Reese scared the holy living shit out of me. Maybe he's gone into his room by now. Maybe I can sneak out there and grab something to eat.

  When did I become a coward? Me, the girl who bungee-jumped off a bridge. And participated in a midnight seance. And chased UFOs across the Mojave Desert. Of course, those lights in the sky had turned out to be drones operated by bored teenagers. C'est la vie, as my motto goes. Nothing ventured, no adventure gained.

  I pull on my favorite T-shirt---the one that features a glow-in-the-dark alien face---and my favorite pair of shorts. They're pink, naturally, but they don't glow in the dark. I have panties that do that, though.

  Appropriately dressed, I amble out into the living room.

  Reese is sitting on the sofa, staring down at his phone. He smiles and types something, then notices me.

  "There you are, Luscious," he says, like that adjective is my name. "Did you finally remember why you came into the living room the first time?"

  "Yes. I'm hungry."

  I sashay past him---honestly, sashaying is my normal way of walking, can't help it---and don't look at him. In the kitchen, I open the fridge to consider its contents. Beer. Lots of beer. Jeez, Kyle, are you a lush or what? Elena left some food, so I look past the four six-packs of Coors and a twelve-pack of Budweiser to decide what I want to eat. It's all healthy food, like hummus and yogurt. My tummy demands decadence, not diet stuff.

  Reese comes up alongside me, peering into the fridge. "Don't you have any biscuits?"

  "Do you see any cookies? I'm not hiding them in my undies."

  He smiles at me, the expression full of sly humor. "You know what biscuits are. Damn that Chance. How can I confuse you the way he did with Elena if you already know all the British words? It's not fair at all."

  "Trust me, I'm plenty confused."

  "But I meant to charm you with my Britishisms." He glances at my skimpy shorts, his gaze traveling up to my slightly
oversize T-shirt and its alien face---and to my breasts. "I want to charm the fuck out of you, Luscious."

  Oh yeah, my player vibe is screaming again.

  "My name is Arden." I hook a finger under his chin, lifting it until he has no choice but to look at my face. "Arden Clover Pesti. Not Luscious. Got it?"

  "If you insist."

  "Thank you."

  He jams his hands in his jeans pockets and peers into the fridge again. "How can a girl who sleeps with aluminium foil on her head be so uptight?"

  "Alu-what? I guess that's British for aluminum foil." I fold my arms over my chest. "I'm not uptight. But I don't know you, and nicknames are things friends or relatives give each other."

  "Fair point." He shuts the fridge. "I'll hold off on calling you Luscious."

  "I appreciate that. Now, do you like pizza?"

  "Yes, I love it. Love a good takeaway, full stop."

  "Takeaway's British for takeout, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Okeydokey," I say, turning toward the bar, where the landline phone is. "I'll order some pizza."

  Reese excuses himself to go unpack and change into different clothes. The stuff he's wearing looks fine to me, but whatever. I make the pizza call and sit down on the sofa to wait for the delivery to arrive. Reese comes out of his room a few minutes later and takes a seat at the other end of the sofa from me. He's wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt that has a red rose on it with the words "England Rugby" underneath it.

  Pointing at his shirt, I say, "Guess you're a rugby fan."

  "Yes, but I also played rugby at school."

  "Let me guess. You were the star player."

  He shrugs, almost seeming shy about it. "Maybe I was, but it's a team sport. Couldn't have won games by myself."

  "Is rugby like soccer?"

  "Similar, but with differences. And we call that other sport football, not soccer." He glances down at his clothes. "I almost wore my Manchester United shirt."

  I probably look confused. Manchester what? Honestly, why do British people assume Americans understand them?

  Reese smiles. "Manchester United is a football team."

  "And by football, you mean soccer."