The Roommate Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  "Dude, what the fuck?" Titus lounges on the couch, screaming into a headset as he clutches his controller. "You don’t pick a fucking sniper rifle on this level."

  Smiling to myself, I pull back the sliding doors and slip outside.

  Wow.

  I step onto a patio lined with outdoor furniture from Pottery Barn’s 2017 summer catalog. A dozen lounge chairs with cream cushions line the pool, expensive teak tables in between each. I gasp at the state of them. Rings of moisture stain the wood. I rub at them with a dry rag, but it’s no good.

  Damn these rich idiots.

  I tear a trash bag from the roll and open it, chucking drinks inside. The backyard seems to have the worst of the waste. A trail of crushed beer cans leads to an outdoor theater on my left. It’s filled with squashy, comfortable chairs surrounding a huge flatscreen like the one inside. Crumbs of food litter the cushions. Empty bags of chips flutter in the wind. A fire pit filled with ash needs to be cleaned. God, there’s even an outdoor bar piled with bottles.

  I don’t know where to start. It’s overwhelming.

  I clear the poolside, shoving empty cups in my trash bag, and my forehead dampens with the beating sun. I wipe my brow, straightening, and then I freeze.

  A naked man lounges on the poolside chair.

  There’s not a stitch of clothing on his muscled body, which glows rosy red in the heat. It’s hard to see him among all the debris. How long has he been lying there?

  My face, already hot with the rising sun, burns at the sight of him. The man is gorgeous, and it’s easy to make that judgment when every inch of him is on display. From this distance, I see his chiseled jaw and deep chest. Long, muscled thighs sprinkled with dark hair lead to a darkening pattern around his big cock.

  Jesus Christ, it’s Grayson.

  Naked. Vulnerable. Alone.

  My lips, cheeks, and nose burn. Everything’s on fire, amped up by the heat. I avert my eyes, heart pounding as though he caught me staring.

  It’s not quite the same as yesterday when he skinny-dipped in the pool. I tried not to gawk as he swam laps. I laughed my ass off. It was fun. Stumbling upon him in the nude is something else; it makes me feel like I’m the dirty one.

  His skin glows under the fierce gaze of the sun. Should I wake him? Admit to those stormy blue eyes that I can’t ignore his body?

  It’s none of your business.

  He has every right to sunbathe naked. If he’s smart, he slathered his body in lotion. I ignore him and continue working around the pool’s reflective surface, but eventually, there’s nothing to remove but the mess surrounding him. I’m close enough to do something about it. My hands shake as I pick up a bottle a few feet away from him.

  My eyes drag toward his bright-red skin. Damn, that looks like it hurts. He’s been in the sun for a long time. He’ll be in a lot of pain, and I’ll be damned if a man wants a sunburn on his cock.

  So what should I do?

  I could wake him, but the thought of nudging his shoulder terrifies me more than throwing a blanket over his indecency.

  Are you seriously going to cover his cock?

  I don’t know what else to do besides wake him, and I’m too much of a coward to prod his chest. Biting my lip, I grab a clean hand towel I found among Henry’s supplies. Maybe if I drape the cloth on it.

  Jesus.

  My shadow covers him as I stretch the fabric. I glance at him as I drape the cloth over his thighs.

  Please, God, don’t wake up.

  The towel lands on his groin. Now there’s a bulge instead of a big dick, and his breathing hasn’t changed. Breathing fast, I move away. My heart jackknifes into my chest as I look at the still-sleeping Grayson. He hasn’t moved an inch. The relentless pounding against my ribs slows to a languid pace. I bend to grab a plastic cup.

  "Morning."

  A deep, male voice startles me. The cup flies from my hand, rolling on the cement until it falls into the pool. I clutch my chest, fingers digging into my skin as the man’s eyes crack open.

  He’s awake. And he must think I’m a pervert. Faced with those blues, I can’t do anything but cower in shame.

  He peers at the towel covering his groin. "Next time, rub it with suntan lotion."

  Horror doesn’t quite describe the overwhelming desire to sprint back into the house and dive into a cupboard where I’d curl into a ball and never be seen or heard of again.

  I lick my dry lips as I prepare the most groveling apology I’ve ever given, but he smiles. The same one that disarmed me and made my knees weak. Warmth from his gaze adds to the scorching heat of the sun. Dimples carve deep into his cheeks. God, I’ve always had a weakness for them.

  I hate the blushing, stupid girl I become whenever he’s around. "I swear to God; I wasn’t trying to do anything weird."

  "'Course not," he says, barely containing his laughter. "You were just covering my dick. That’s not strange at all."

  "Look, your skin is beet-red. I was trying to help. A second-degree burn isn't something you want down there."

  "I appreciate it," he says with a feline smirk. "Though, you have to admit it’s hilarious. You think I’m burning, and the first thing you save is my cock. Shows where your priorities are."

  He’s right on that account. I don’t know where the fuck my priorities are these days. "Actually, I didn’t want to look at it."

  "Because now you’ve seen mine, all others are ruined for you."

  "This might shock you, but most women don’t give a damn about the size."

  He doesn’t miss a beat. "So you agree. I'm the biggest you've ever seen."

  "You're the biggest dick I've ever met, yes."

  "First you manipulate me into stripping. Now you’re sneaking around when I’m naked. And they say I’m dirty."

  "Oh my god. You know what? I’m not going to listen to a lecture from the man I caught staring at my ass." He grins at my outrage. "You’re filthy in more ways than one. I mean, look at this place. It’s been two days, and you haven’t lifted a finger."

  He gazes around. "Doesn’t seem that bad."

  "That’s because I picked it up!" I heft the garbage bag, only lifting it a few inches.

  "Oh," he says.

  No apology.

  No excuses.

  There’s something refreshing about his shameless honesty. Unfortunately, I have a harder time admitting what I want.

  Grayson sits up, repositioning the dainty hand towel. My attention drags toward it before snapping to his gaze. His eyes are like the ocean at night. He gives my body a once-over. "Are you the new maid service? The bikini is a nice touch."

  "Ha-ha." I grab another crushed can and hurl it inside the bag. "Henry agreed to let me stay, but I have to do chores around the house."

  His face splits with a smile. "You’re fucking with me."

  "No, I’m not."

  The towel slides dangerously low as he rotates his body, a deep frown knitting his forehead. "Are you serious?" His voice echoes across the backyard. "What an ass."

  My cheeks burn. "He’s just being fair."

  "No, he isn’t. He’s punishing you." Disgust twists his face. "Why the hell would he do this to his sister?"

  A sharp pain runs into my chest at the contempt in Grayson’s voice, the way he could see through me like cellophane.

  "It’s not his fault. He’s been swallowing my dad’s poison for years." It’s humiliating, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. "A bit of housework for room and board won’t kill me."

  He shakes his head, looking sorry for me. "The man’s worth millions. Let him order a maid service if he wants his house cleaned."

  "Well, I’m available, and I don’t care about doing it. I have nowhere to go."

  "Some fucking brother."

  "We don’t choose our family. That’s life."

  "One way of seeing it, I guess." His tone lightens. "So you’re staying here? Can’t say I’ll mind watching you in that outfit."

  Is he hittin
g on me? Again?

  Butterflies flip in my stomach before the cogs work through my brain. Henry told me to stay away from him, but so far my brother is winning in the asshole department. "It’s boiling. If I’m working, I’d rather be comfortable."

  "Makes sense." He stretches on the lounge chair, his skin so red it ought to hurt by now.

  I gesture at him. "Do you do this often?"

  "Not really. Why do you ask?"

  "Trying to figure out why you take off your clothes at every opportunity."

  "I'm only doing it because you’re here," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "And because it’ll enrage Henry."

  Laughter chokes in my throat, but it’s too hot to get worked up. "Well, I hope the sunburn was worth it," I say, giving the towel a pointed look.

  "I’m touched by your concern," he croons. "I promise you’ll be the first to know if anything happens to him."

  He looks at me like I’m a meal he’d love to devour. The more I gaze at him, the less I mind his stare. The question dances at the tip of my tongue as I watch Grayson.

  "Why are you flirting with me? The rest of the guys haven’t crossed that line, but you did it yesterday, and you’re doing it now. Treating me like something you can rub in Henry’s face will not win you any points."

  "Jesus, woman. I flirt with you because you’re sexy. I don’t give a shit about Henry’s feelings, so I hit on his sister. It’s that simple."

  He looks at me the way men do when they’re drunk, as though he’s mesmerized by my body. "What?"

  "Right now, I want you to climb onto my lap."

  Amusement curves my lips. I picture myself swinging a leg over the chair and shimmying to his waist. Even if it weren't broad daylight and in front of the glass windows, we’d never get away with it. "In this scenario, am I naked?"

  "Of course." He grins.

  "How do we avoid getting seen by everyone else?"

  "Easy. We don’t."

  I roll my eyes at him and continue working. I think I'm almost done until I glimpse the outdoor theater. It’s filled with crap.

  Lovely.

  "Saffie," he calls. "Stop. I’ll handle it."

  Yeah, right. "No, you won’t."

  "What do you care?"

  "Because I’m supposed to clean this!" I lift the half-filled bag, bottles clanging together. "Birds are picking through the crap on your lawn, eating things that’ll make them sick."

  His legs swing from the chair, distracting me as he cracks a huge yawn. "I’ll call someone to pick it up."

  "You shouldn’t have let this happen. Never again, Grayson."

  The sultry tone returns to his voice. "And if it does, what will you do to me?"

  He beckons me with his gaze, which travels up and down my body like little flames licking my skin. "I don’t know."

  "For being used to naked men, you seem flustered."

  Because you’re a gorgeous idiot.

  Mischief dances in his gaze. Grayson’s laughter echoes through the backyard. "Saffie, I’m fucking with you."

  He slides off the lounge chair, cupping himself as his shadow grows over me. A hot drop runs down my throat as I glance at his hand folded around his cock and balls, which are held in with the towel.

  Damn.

  My eyes snap to his lingering smile and dimples, close enough to kiss. I imagine the rough graze of his cheek. The scent of cedar wafts into my nose. Heat builds up as though there’s a furnace under my skin.

  He’s waiting for me to do something.

  What? What the hell does he want?

  "Grayson—"

  "I’m going inside. You can’t concentrate on your job while I’m naked, and I’d hate to see you fired before I’ve gotten to know you."

  A bump hits my heart, sending a violent flush up my neck. Finally I find my voice. "What?"

  Grayson winks at me. "Don’t worry. You’ll be able to speak in more than one syllable once I have clothes on."

  A tremor runs through my body. "I will have my hands full with you guys, won't I?"

  He leans close enough for me to count the freckles dotting his nose. "Not with all of them—maybe just one of us."

  An instinct born from dealing with douchebags screams for me to slap him. I want to destroy that rakish grin, but I want his lips crushed against mine even more. My breath fills with heat, and I can’t think of a response as he turns. I watch his ass flex as he walks to the house.

  The desperate urge between my thighs wants me to follow him, but my brother’s rules were clear. Stay the hell away from Grayson.

  What if Grayson won’t stay away from me?

  4

  Grayson

  My naked, grinning reflection stares back as I pad toward the sliding-glass door. She's looking at my sun-kissed ass. I stop on the blistering cement and glance back.

  Saffie dives for a plastic cup the second I turn. I fight to keep the grin from splitting my face. She gathers the trash from my party, stopping now and then to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her nose wrinkles with disgust as she handles every item of garbage. Raven-black hair is tied to a bun on her head. She fills a tiny white bikini, her tits spilling out as she bends to pick up a crushed beer can.

  I thought watching her do yoga was hot. This is something else. She’s fucking gorgeous. And Henry’s sister.

  Jackpot.

  I open the door and walk into the kitchen, where the asshole in chief stands with a beach cloth clutched in his hands. A Grizzlies shirt hangs on his broad shoulders, the white C etched above his heart. The obnoxious ass can’t go a day without wearing it.

  A striped towel hits the ground at my feet

  Henry’s lips curl into a snarl. "What the fuck were you doing?"

  His voice echoes through the house, which still looks like a disaster. I thought it’d be prudent to throw a wild party before his sister came. Watching Henry trying not to bust a nut the day before yesterday was hilarious, but this is even better.

  I drink in his rage, grinning so hard my teeth crack. "Saying hello to Saffie."

  "What the fuck does that mean?"

  Bending, I grab the towel and wrap it around my waist. "It means I said hi, you moody prick. You never told us about her." I gaze out the window, smiling. "She’s cute."

  I might as well have called her a whore.

  My back slams into the glass as he shoves my chest, rage bleeding from his clenched teeth. "Stay away from her."

  I could knock him out with a swipe of my hand, but I’d rather not pay the league fees. "From the sister you’ve never mentioned?"

  "We’re not close," he says, nostrils flaring. "That doesn’t mean I want anyone screwing with her."

  "No screwing. I prefer a pounding."

  "Don’t. Be. An asshole," he seethes. "This is bigger than what you want. You might not care about the team’s reputation, but I do."

  I laugh at him. "Are you really going to give me a speech on loyalty after what you did? You’re in no position to threaten me."

  "I’m the fucking captain. Talk to her again—"

  "You don’t want to finish that sentence."

  I shove him, and Henry stumbles a few steps. He stares as though he’s never seen me before, and a violent urge to beat his face in seizes me. For all his nonsense about the team, he’s the one who lit the match. He blew it up. He destroyed years of friendship, fractured the team’s unity, and worst of all, made me resent wearing a Grizzlies jersey.

  Anger crackles and booms behind my eyes like thunder. I don’t know why I didn’t blast him in an interview. It would have been so sweet to see his fans eviscerate him on social media, to watch as his corporate sponsors dropped him one by one. The motherfucker would’ve deserved it, but hanging the threat over his head is much more satisfying. He makes tens of thousands every time he endorses a product on Instagram.

  Lots of money to lose.

  There’s nothing in the world he can do to stop me, and he knows it.

  "How long are you going to h
url that in my face?" he says, blocking my path to the bathroom.

  "Until I’m traded to another team."

  "You’re not leaving. It doesn’t matter how many of these stupid parties you throw."

  "Yeah, I need to up my game. I make a mess, and you recruit your sister to clean it." I laugh at the angry flush filling his wan cheeks. "I wonder what the tabloids would have to say about that?"

  "It’s none of your business."

  Clearly, if he’s never mentioned her to any of us. My curiosity is piqued. "Stay classy, Henry."

  Not the first time we’ve had this conversation, and it won’t be the last.

  I resist the urge to bump my shoulder against his as I head to the bathroom. The distant sounds of someone vomiting echo down the hall. I hop around a puddle of yellow liquid I hope to hell is beer and open the door.

  It yawns to marbled tiles and a glass shower. I step inside, blinking at the brightness. My muscles ache from hours baking in the sun, and a headache throbs at my temple. Henry’s sister keeps floating into my thoughts with that white string bikini.

  I knew someone was clearing the trash, but I assumed Henry caved and ordered a cleaning service. Figured they’d see me and bolt, but she didn’t. The cleaning lady wanted an eyeful of my body. I was generous enough to indulge her fantasy. Let the cougar gape at the young, hot stud. What the hell, right?

  Then I opened my eyes.

  The maid checking me out wasn’t a fifty-year-old dressed in scrubs, she was a woman stuffed into a too-small bikini, lugging a trash bag bigger than her. Long, raven-black hair sat in a bun on her head in messy strings, framing a heart-shaped face. I didn’t think it was possible to roll out of bed and look that gorgeous. She was beautiful in an understated sort of way. She moved with a casual elegance. Her sharp honesty lashed at me like a whip, contrasting her sweet, gentle features.

  When’s the last time a woman called me out for being an asshole?

  Blood pulses to my groin as I yank the shower door and turn the faucet. Water sprays the tiled rocks, the rough surface pleasant under my feet. I wash the chlorine from my hair. Soap trails down my chest like fingers. Saffie won’t get out of my head—and she’s not going anywhere for months. That girl watched me as though I was the forbidden fruit, and I suppose I am. I’m sure Henry pulled her aside the moment he saw us talking and told her to stay the hell away from me.