by Tilly Pope
Baby Daddy Roomie
Tilly Pope
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2019 by Tilly Pope
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
About Baby Daddy Roomie
Skylar
I came to Vegas to take charge of my life.
And so far, everything's perfect.
Except my roommate.
He's hot, rich and isn't around much.
So what's my problem?
He's a total ass.
And for some reason, I can't help but want him in the dirtiest way possible.
Ayden
Being rich has its perks.
Women, women & more women.
Damn do I love women?
Until I get a new roommate.
She cooks better than anyone I know.
And she looks good while she does it.
But she freakin’ hates me.
How do I know?
I broke the roomie rule and ate her dinner.
Yep. ALL of it.
She's the only woman I want.
And I won't stop until she's mine.
Stalk Tilly
Click here to stalk Tilly Pope on Facebook!
Join Tilly’s VIP reader group Tilly’s SHOTT Lovers!
Come see Tilly at www.tillypope.com!
Get on my mailing list and get a FREE book!
Free Book Offer
Want a free book? Click HERE and see just how much trouble Peyton gets into with her Bossy Billionaire!
For all my super yummy over the top readers!
Who’s your daddy?
1
Skylar
I press my finger to the biometric lock, still in disbelief that this is now my home. Well, at least the back room portion of it is. Although to call it a back room is doing it a grave disservice; it is more like an annex with a bedroom, bathroom, and even a small sitting area with a fantastic view.
Coming home from a ten-hour shift at The Velvet Star Hotel and Casino, all hot and sweaty, toes aching and feeling crabby from work to this cool, air-conditioned, luxury is heaven. Every day I experience the same excitement and gratitude walking through the door.
As I close it behind me, I make sure to be quiet because my roommate slash landlord might be asleep – or else he hasn’t come home yet. We don’t have much to do with each other, with my being a hotel worker while he’s some kind of rich businessman, and I wasn’t born in a barn. I try to be considerate of his peace and quiet too.
I came to Vegas two months ago in a bit of a hurry. It has been my dream to be a chef, but my parents are dead set on me becoming an attorney like my dad. I try to be a good daughter and accommodate them where I can, but law school was an impractical choice for me – I don’t have the temperament or the affinity for it. I tried to tell them that – explain to them I’d just end up flunking out - but they wouldn’t listen. They kept telling me I hadn’t even tried.
So I flung my hands in the air and enrolled at the culinary arts institute instead. I figured I’d just not mention which course I was taking until the tuition fees were paid. I didn’t figure on them throwing me out on the street for choosing a different course than the one they stipulated. If I’d known it was that serious I might have just registered for pre-law.
As it was, I ended up couch-surfing for a few weeks before classes began and then I was lucky enough to get a dorm room.
My RA was this guy named Sam, nice guy, very charming…and cute as hell. I ended up falling for him – hard - especially since he was so caring and nurturing. I think I fell for him partly because I missed my parents a lot. It took a while for me to realize that caring and nurturing had become domineering and possessive. The line is so fine, right?
That’s why I had to leave in a hurry; to get away from Sam. It was a snap decision brought on by repeatedly trying to break up with him and running away screaming. One day as I scrolled through Facebook, I saw an ad for a lovely Airbnb in Vegas. I booked it before I could give myself time to think.
The Airbnb was a beautiful place close to the Strip, but obviously not affordable for a long stay. Luckily, Ayden Morrison, the owner of the BnB, had other properties including this fantastic apartment where he sometimes lives.
I guess he took pity on my plight or is just in the habit of helping dumbass girls with no plan in life; I don’t know. What I do know is that he offered to rent me his back room at a price that for this space, in this location, is practically a steal. Meanwhile, my friend Julia, who also works at the Velvet Star Hotel and Casino, hooked me up with the gig as a housekeeping assistant so everything kind of worked out.
I take my work clothes off, dumping them in the laundry basket for later. With three uniforms to work with, I can afford to skip a day before laundry becomes urgent. If I totally don’t manage to do it at home, I can slip it into the laundry at work. Perks of working at a hotel.
Padding naked into the bathroom, I debate briefly with myself – just because I can – whether I should use the bath or the shower. Tonight seems like a good soak night so I jump into the shower for a quick wash and rinse before filling the tub with some jasmine smelling bath salts and super-hot water. I slip back into my room and put on some mood music – I love the oldies, Teddy Pendergrass and the Bee Gees. Sue me, my mother didn’t sing me lullabies, she just put on her music and let it play.
As Teddy croons about Love T.K.O I slip into the hot water with a long, satisfied sigh. The water laps gently against my skin feeling like a soft hand brushing against my flesh. It parts like the red sea against my nipples and rides up the slope of my breast before gravity has it running back down. I hold my breath, enjoying the sensation perhaps a little too much. My legs part, letting the artificial waves made by my movement brush gently against me. I move down and then up to create more, and bigger waves, enjoying the warm lapping motions against my skin…
I think I really need to get laid.
I close my eyes, breathing deeply and let myself relax. Maybe later, I’ll call Julia so we can go out to the club and party with some honest-to-goodness men this weekend. I feel as if I’ve been living like a nun since I came to Vegas. Which is ironic considering that Vegas is literally Sin City. I just needed a break from male energy, with Sam trying his best to dominate my life for the last two years.
I know that allowing a man to control what I can or cannot do in this day and age is ridiculous – but sometimes it was just easier to go along with him than be constantly fighting. I had my little secret rebellions, trying to get out from under his thumb. My Instagram account was something he had no clue about since according to him, that would just lead to men sliding into my DMs.
Now that I think about it, his obsession that I might cheat on him if I had social media was probably his own guilty conscience talking. Was he cheating on me with IG hotties? The notion has me surging out of my perfectly lovely bath in a huff, quite ready to meet a guy, and swipe the hell right on his ass. I’m declaring my independence right now!
To commemorate this moment of freedom, I pick up my phone, go on Instagram and take a selfie aaaand I’m naked. Fortunately, only my face and shoulders are on display. I’m not that crazy yet!
I look like exactly what I am, a girl
who’s just emerged from the shower, brunette hair all stringy and hanging off my shoulders, green eyes staring wide and guilelessly into the lens, pink lips bitten to the quick, slightly swollen. My shoulders stretching from one end of the frame to the other, a solitary mole at the base of my neck marring the impression of creamy perfection.
I stare at it, one eyebrow raised before I decide that it’s the perfect pic with which to display on Instagram. I post it, with a sassy caption asking which is better, a hot shower or a hot bath. I drop my phone on my bed and slip on my robe before picking it up again, startled to find I already have ten likes.
Well damn, I smirk as I check out my likers – all strangers, but interestingly, not all men. I slip my phone into my robe pocket with satisfaction, deciding to see what was available to eat. I’m hungry which reminds me I went grocery shopping for the ingredients to make Chicken Pad Thai – one of my favorite dishes. That perks me up even more as I make my way to the state-of-the-art kitchen which has every appliance a chef could want.
I was a little skeptical about the whole ‘you can rent my back room for really cheap’ shtick until I got a look at the facilities. When he told me I’d have free rein to use anything and everything in the kitchen, I was sold. If he was a serial killer wishing to trick me into his clutches by offering me inexpensive accommodations, at least I would die happy.
So far, my long shifts at my job hardly leave me any time to cook but I’m thoroughly in the mood to produce a culinary masterpiece and prove to myself – if not my parents – that I chose the right path.
I assemble the ingredients and then begin to prepare the rice noodles, my mouth watering in anticipation. Whisking together the brown sugar, soy sauce, rice vinegar, lime juice, and fish sauce, gives me the same joy as a good orgasm. Food affects me like that.
I love it.
I love to cook. I love to eat, And I love to watch other people eat my dishes.
Except Sam. He hated to eat at home. Why did I stay with him so long? The benefit of hindsight makes me shake my head at myself. As I set the wok on the stove, I’m regretting my life decisions and letting the oil heat up as the noodles do their thing.
“Well, that bullshit ends this weekend,” I say out loud before looking around quickly to make sure no one is lurking in the hall, listening to my angst. I blush but tell myself the flaming in my cheeks is due to the heat from the stove. It’s time to add the chicken to the oil anyway, so I focus on that, timing it so it cooks for exactly six minutes.
“Don’t forget to call Julia,” I mumble to myself as I transfer the chicken to a plate before adding bell peppers and carrots to the oil. I need to sauté for two minutes before I add the garlic, green onions, and bean sprouts to sauté for another minute. It’s a delicate time in the cooking process and I can’t focus on anything else until the eggs are scrambled and I can toss everything together.
Before I can plate it, I grab my phone and dial Julia’s number. We’re close enough that I had thought about staying with her when I arrived in Vegas. That would have been super convenient since we work in the same place and socialize together. But she lives in a small two-bedroom house right off the strip with her parents. There’s barely enough room for the three of them, let alone one more person.
I’m so glad I found Ayden and he took pity on me.
Julia picks up after three rings sounding breathless. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” I ask as I pick out cilantro, peanuts and sesame seeds as toppings for my meal.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry. Just got home. You want to go out tomorrow night? I’m bored. I need some action.”
“You took the words out of my mouth.”
“Yay! Pick me up here?”
“Absolutely, see you then.”
“Kisses.”
I hang up, a big smile on my face. This weekend will be epic!
2
Ayden
The room is unacceptably bright. I blink my eyes, trying to ignore the blinding pain in my head, that feels like someone is trying to hammer a nail into my skull. I don’t know why I do this to myself. I’m way too old for the drinking binges Chad, my oldest friend, talks me into.
But drinking is fun.
If I’m being honest, at least half the time, I’m talking Chad into some irresponsible behavior, but mostly, I’m trying to be an adult. Struggling out of bed, I slowly get to my feet, reaching into my boxers to scratch absentmindedly at my balls. The silky hardness of my morning wood brushes against my hand and I slap it away, walking bowlegged to the kitchen in search of coffee and Advil.
I fuckin hate a morning wood when there is no one to take care of it.
I’m halfway there before I remember that I have a tenant now and she might not appreciate seeing me in my underwear.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should go put my robe on and then shrug. I have nothing to hide. And what is her name? Skylar? The girl is lucky that she gets to see me in flagrante. There are at least a hundred girls out there who would kill to be in her shoes.
I pad my way to the kitchen, looking cautiously around for her. Ever since she moved in, I’d caught nothing but glimpses of her. Frankly, I’m disappointed. I expected more half-dressed midnight meetings in the kitchen as we both seek to quench our thirst. I imagine we might look at each other and quench another kind of thirst since we’d be both present and half-naked.
It hasn’t happened yet, and I’m not even a hundred percent sure I want it to. Sure the girl is hot, but she is also young.
I have thirteen years on her which isn’t an embarrassingly wide gap but still…she’s my tenant. And, the young ones tended to be clingy. I like to be able to usher them politely off the premises once I’m done with them. I can’t exactly do that with her, so it’s better to keep my hands off.
But damn, she’s hot, I think as I swallow the Advil before downing a full bottle of water. My stomach rumbles in hunger and I move to the fridge. If I’m not mistaken and wasn’t having a tequila-induced fantasy last night, my beautiful roomie was cooking. I peek into the fridge and catch sight of what looks like Pad Thai. She did mention she’s a chef, and they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
“Mm,” I smile with happiness, feeling a little smug at all the life decisions that had brought me to this moment. I reach for the container, and affection wells in my chest for her. This is great, I think happily before plucking a fork from the drawer and digging in.
I sit at the bar top, thinking about Skylar. She’s a tall girl, her head brushes my shoulder and I’m six foot three. Her green eyes are so expressive; she hasn’t yet learned to hide her emotions. Her eyes speak even louder than those luscious pink lips she keeps biting. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that she was trying to seduce me. But I don’t think she’s aware of the habit. Or the fact that it drives me fucking crazy.
Little Ayden in my shorts loves it a lot.
The rest of her is not at all bad either; long shapely legs, a trim waist, and those luscious tits. I try not to stare because I’m not a perv, and I’m thirty-five so old enough to know how to act.
I finish the meal, feeling my stomach settle from all the sloshing nausea from earlier. My headache has also subsided so I’m going head to the pool. A few lengths just might clear my head.
I put the dishes in the sink and head off to my room to put on my suit. Should I check if Skylar is around? Maybe she’d like to go swimming with me.
I turn, staring at her door, wondering if I should invade her space. I know her work schedule is crazy – her shifts are long as fuck. I don’t know why she’d want to work at that third-rate hotel.
All she has to do is ask and I would take her on as my chef – then she wouldn’t have to work those crazy hours. I’d suggest it to her but even I know how far is too far. I remember the suspicion in her eyes when I told her how much I’d rent the space out for.
Yeah, I admit it. Her titties and legs had a big i
mpact on my decision to rent it to her. I don’t really allow strangers into my personal spaces but there’s just something about her. I didn’t really think that one through; I see that now. We hardly see each other. I can’t really hit it and quit it now and I don’t want to look like I want payment in kind for my generosity.
But I do need someone here for the times that I’m gone. And she’s just as good as anyone and she’s clean. Huge plus.
I come back from my swim to find Chad waiting at my door. I pause, staring at his short blond blue-eyed figure, waiting for an explanation for his presence so early on a weekday.
“The doorman let you past the lobby?”
Chad snorted, “Open the damn door player, I’m hungry.”
I unlock the door with my thumbprint and push it open, stepping back so Chad can go inside.
“You should have come earlier then. My hot roommate made some sick chicken pad Thai that I finished before my swim.”
“What? Who eats before they swim?” Chad asks before heading to the kitchen.
“I do. I need the energy boost especially after a night of partying with your ass.”
Chad gave me a look, “You ever think that maybe we’re too old for this shit?”
“All the damned time, man. We need some old people hobbies. You know, bingo and shit.”
Chad laughs, reaching for the cinnamon toast crunch on the shelf and fills up a bowl. I hope I have milk. I can’t remember the last time I sent out for groceries. But he emerges with a fresh carton much to my relief. I make a mental note to send my assistant a note to ensure my fridge gets fully stocked.
