The woman walked away with Rudy, who kept looking back longingly at August, probably missing those big hands giving him love rubs.
Me, too, Rudy. Me, too.
They started to make their way out of the market when something caught Mo’s eye. She rushed over to the table, grabbing the large dragon-egg-looking thing.
“Look at this!” She held it up for August to see. “We have to get one.”
“As surprisingly shocking as it is to hear you say that about something that doesn’t have a cartoon character advertised on its packaging, I have to disagree.” He frowned. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“Duh, that’s the point. Adventure, trying something new.” Hadn’t the guy ever heard of living a little?
“But how are you going to cook it?” He tilted his head, glancing over the item in her hands. “For that matter, how do you open it?”
“Oh, come on, August.” She wiggled the big orb. “I saw you grimacing at every item of food I put in my basket at the store.”
He snorted. “I wouldn’t call anything you bought today food.”
“Ha! See? I need a little healthy eating in my life. Let’s start with this. Could be fun.”
“Could be poisonous.”
“I highly doubt they sell anything that could kill you at the farmers market. It would be terrible for the revenue.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up again, but he doused the smile before it fully formed. Dammit! She would get him to smile. So help her, it was gonna happen.
“Okay, fine,” he agreed, “but we have to find out what it is first and how to prepare it.”
“Yay!” She put the food back on the table, jumping up and down and throwing her arms around him.
Oops.
The heat roared back to life the moment her body pressed up against his. She quickly pulled away, as much as she really, really didn’t want to. She was coming to find she liked touching August. A little too much, perhaps. He affected her much more than was wise. Judging by the red blush creeping up his face, could it be she was doing the same to him?
They paid for the dragon egg, which turned out not to be a dragon egg at all but a vegetable called a Sikkim cucumber. After the man at the stand told them how to slice and prepare it, they made their way back to her car and headed home.
The grocery store might have been a bust, but the farmers market seemed to go pretty well. August found the food he needed and learned there were places in the city to get all that healthy junk he loved. She was marking that as a win. The guy would be so enamored with the city by the time she was done with him. He’d never want to leave, and she wouldn’t have to worry about going through five dozen more skeevy roommate applications to find a good one.
Now all she had to do was make sure not to mess anything up by giving in to these weird urges that kept popping up every time they touched. Too bad denying herself wasn’t Mo’s strong suit.
Hmm…better play it safe and try not to touch the man at all. But just because she couldn’t touch didn’t mean she couldn’t look, and dream, and fantasize.
Chapter Six
“Grab your jacket,” Mo said as she plopped down on the couch next to August. “We’re going out.”
August glanced up from the book he’d been reading. She tilted her head, reading the title. Floriculture: A Guide to Growing Beautiful Blossoms. Wow, even his reading material was boring. He needed this night out more than she realized. The guy had been living here a week, and besides going to help Agatha at the shop and their trip to the grocery store and farmers market, he hadn’t left the apartment at all.
“Out?” He raised a dubious brow.
“Yes, out. As in outside of the apartment. I’m going to show you the city sights. Take you to a bar where we can get a drink, grab a bite to eat, mingle with people.”
His lip curled. “That sounds horrible.”
What? Was he serious? Who didn’t like going out? She supposed August was a bit on the introverted side—okay, more than a bit—but he had to eat, right? He had made the same meal every night this past week: chicken breast, wild rice, and steamed vegetables. How could anyone eat the same exact meal night after night? Where was the variety, the excitement…the spices?
“Don’t be such a party pooper, Gus Gus.”
His eyes narrowed before he turned his attention back to his book. “No.”
“No what?”
Shifting farther away from her on the couch, he continued to focus on the book in his hands as he answered. “No to going out, no to mingling with strangers, and absolutely no to calling me Gus Gus.”
He didn’t like nicknames. Check. Too bad. He made an adorable Gus Gus. Adorably Grumpy Gus Gus. She snickered, choking back her laugh when he glared at her over his book.
“What about dinner?” she asked, scooting closer. “You have to eat, right?”
“I was planning on making dinner in half an hour.”
Of course he was, because he always made dinner at exactly six thirty every night. Which was why she brought up this going-out idea at six. She’d been hoping she would catch him before he made the most boring dinner in the entire world for the sixth night in a row. The guy needed some excitement in his life—and his diet.
“Oh, come on, August. Live a little.” She waved an arm to the sliding glass door that led to their tiny patio with a great view of the city. “You’re in the heart of Denver. We have some of the best restaurants around. A foodie’s paradise. Any cuisine you want, name it, and I can find a fantastic eatery that will knock your taste buds for a loop.”
“With your taste in pizza, that’s what I’m afraid of,” he mumbled.
Holy crap. Had Grumpy Gus Gus just made a joke? A joke at her fantastic pineapple pizza–loving expense, but still, an actual joke. Huh, it appeared he had a hidden sense of sarcastic humor. Maybe he was human after all.
“Oh, I know!” she exclaimed with a smile. “We can eat at Bob’s Blandland. They serve skinless, boneless chicken with boring rice and unseasoned mushy vegetables. Not a spice in sight to offend the Robo-humans.”
She lifted her arms, crooking her elbows and moving in stiff, abrupt movements in her best impression of The Robot while speaking in stilted monotone. “Must consume calories for upkeep of basic human function.”
One russet-colored eyebrow rose, and she thought she saw a tiny hint of a smile, before he shook his head. August placed a bookmark between the pages and set his book on the coffee table, those full lips firming as he stared. Ha! He’d have to try harder at intimidating her. That cantankerous scowl did nothing to deter her from her get-August-to-loosen-up mission. She’d broken through harder shells than his.
“You’re making fun of me,” he stated, no emotion to the observation.
She grinned. “Nothing gets by you, Gus Gu—um, August.”
He turned in his seat, moving his knee onto the soft cushions of the couch, putting him inches away from her. He faced her fully, gaze scouring her expression as if he were seeking the answers to the meaning of life and she had them hidden in her brain.
“Why are you trying so hard to get me to go out?”
Wow, suspicious much? Her heart ached a little at the thought that August was so socially inept that he thought a genuine invitation to have a fun night out came with strings attached. She didn’t have any nefarious underlying reason—she just wanted her new roomie to experience the city and have fun. Okay, and maybe she wanted him to lighten up a little. In her defense, the guy needed it. Really, really needed it.
And maybe Agatha had mentioned she wanted her grandson to love the city so much that he never left. So Mo was on a make-August-love-Denver mission. It shouldn’t be as hard as he was making it. Denver was great!
“It’s my duty as your roommate to make sure you see the best of the city.” She spread her hands wide with a sm
ile. “Consider me your own personal live-in welcome wagon.”
“I never asked for a welcome wagon.”
“Lucky you, you get one anyway.”
August leaned back against the arm of the couch, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “I appreciate you wanting to welcome me to the city and all, but I’m not really the ‘go out on the town’ kind of guy, Moira.”
Why did he insist on calling her by her full name? So formal. One would think he could loosen up a little, since they lived together and all, but noooooo, not Grumpy Gus Gus. He probably called his parents Mother and Father.
“Please?” She turned as well, lifting her feet and placing them under her so she was on her knees. Giving him her best puppy dog eyes, she pouted out her bottom lip and clasped her hand below her chin. “I promise it’ll be really fun. You’ll have an awesome time. Please, August?”
His brow furrowed. “Do people always do what you want them to?”
She shrugged. “Usually, but you’re making me work awfully hard for this friendship.”
“We’re not friends; we’re temporary roommates.”
Her smile slipped. She wouldn’t lie to herself, that stung a little, but she brushed away the tiny hurt his words caused. This wasn’t about her feelings. It was about making sure August felt at home in the city. It could be a bit overwhelming to someone who hadn’t lived here before.
“Ouch, August. Way to knock a girl down when she’s only trying to be helpful.”
She meant it as a joke, but judging by his slight wince, he must have realized his little barb was a direct hit. He ran a hand over his messy red hair. The ends were long enough for Mo to realize they had a bit of curl to them. For a moment, she wondered if he ever grew his hair out and, if so, did those fiery strands turn into wavy locks or tight corkscrews?
She shook her head, dispelling the image. She did not need to be fantasizing about her roommate. Even if it was something as innocent as what he looked like with long hair. Didn’t matter anyway. August didn’t seem the type to let his hair grow out. He probably had a haircut scheduled every six weeks until the day he died.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
He huffed out a defeated breath. “Okay, fine, I’ll go out. You win.”
“Yay! My favorite two words ever.”
She bounced up and down on her knees, causing the couch cushion to dip, tilting her in August’s direction. Her hands flew out to brace herself so she didn’t face plant in her new roommate’s lap, but unfortunately, the only place for her hands to go were directly on August’s hard, muscled thighs.
Electricity shot from her fingertips all the way down to her toes the instant her hands made contact with the rough fabric of his jeans. But it wasn’t a reaction to the fabric. Mo knew it was the man himself. Sure, logically, she knew starting anything with her stuffy, crabby roomie was the very worst of ideas. But try telling that to her raging hormones that took one look at the deliciously tall redhead and thought, Yummy!
She felt his muscles tense under her hands. When she glanced up, shock hit her square in the gut. Was that a hint of…heat she saw in those hazel eyes? Mo wasn’t born yesterday. She knew her petite frame and blonde hair with the wild colors attracted a certain type. She’d had her fair share of vulgar comments from men about her body. Her looks were a privilege most days and a problem at times, but she never thought August, with his straight shirt, boring view of life, would be attracted to the chaotic aesthetic that Mo embraced.
He cleared his throat, grabbing her wrist in a firm but gentle grip, removing her hands from his legs. August stood, taking a giant step back from the couch as he focused on a spot on the wall above her head.
“I’ll just go grab my coat and we can head out, but I’m driving.”
“You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“You can direct me.” Under his breath, he said, “I’d like to get there in one piece.”
Now she definitely saw the hint of a smile curl the corner of his lips. She squinted at him with a mock scowl. “Why, August, was that a comment on my driving skills?”
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying anything. Gran always taught me never to comment on a woman’s age, size, or abilities behind the wheel. I’m simply giving you a chance to relax while I keep us saf—drive us around town.”
Laughing, she nodded. “Okay, you can drive.”
August might be a grump, but she was coming to discover the man had a wicked-sharp sense of humor, if not a little on the sarcastic side.
She liked it.
A grin curled her lips as she hopped up from the couch and rushed to grab her own jacket. Tonight was going to be a blast. They’d hit all the hot spots, see all the sparkles and gems Denver had to offer. She’d make a city slicker out of August Porter, make no mistake about it.
Two hours later, Mo was beginning to doubt her plan. Irritation pricked at her nerves. She never doubted her plans. Her plans were great! But entertaining August was harder than she thought. She’d taken him to her favorite diner because they had excellent food. They’d even been featured on one of those travel food shows where the guy goes around trying to find the best family-run restaurants. It had gotten five out of five chili stars from the host.
But August didn’t care about chili stars or food shows. He was too busy grimacing over how everything on the menu was covered in fat and grease. Yeah, duh. Fat and grease were delicious. She’d ordered her favorite, biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon.
“That’s breakfast,” August commented.
“No, it’s brinner,” she pointed out. “The best meal of the day.”
Then, with all the yummy cheeseburgers, sandwiches, omelets, even chicken fried steak, on the menu, August had ordered a salad. And not even an interesting one with candied pecans or goat cheese. A plain old boring garden salad with grilled chicken and balsamic dressing.
After dinner, she decided to take him to 1Up, the best barcade in the city. They had something for everyone, giant Jenga, skeeball, pinball, and all the old school arcade games. Plus, drinks! Who could hate that?
August, apparently, as she discovered fifteen minutes later when they were inside, drinks in hand. He glanced around the noisy room, scowl firmly in place just like it had been since the moment they left the apartment.
“How do you like your beer?” She had to raise her voice slightly to be heard above the din of electronic game notifications and people’s chatter. She’d picked out a stout from a local brewery for him to try.
August shrugged. “Beer is beer.”
Oh, good grief. Like pulling teeth with this guy. She took a deep chug of her own beer. An amber wheat from the same brewery as his stout. She was determined to get August to have fun tonight, even if it killed her. And with his uncooperative attitude, it just might. How could this grouch be related to sweet, funny, wonderful Agatha? It boggled the mind.
She pasted on the brightest smile in her arsenal and leaned in closer so she wouldn’t have to shout. “So, what’s your poison? Tetris? Dig Dug? Donkey Kong?”
He shook his head. “I’m not much of a video gamer—”
“Mo?”
Mo turned to see a familiar face. She placed her drink down on the small table they stood at and threw her arms around the handsome, dark-haired, brown-eyed firefighter’s neck. “Parker! What are you doing here?”
He indicated the patio with a nod. “Epic Jenga competition with the crew.”
She craned her neck, trying to see through the crowded room to spot the rest of the Station 42 firefighting crew outside. She thought she spotted Ward, Turner and his husband, and that gorgeous curly dark hair could belong to no one other than Díaz, the station’s resident woman and also its resident badass.
“Fun! Who’s winning?”
“Díaz, of course.” H
e chuckled.
She laughed along with him.
“You wanna come play next round?” His gaze fell to her side. “Your date can come, too.”
“Oh, he’s not my date,” she said quickly. “This is my new roommate, August Porter. August, this is Parker Kincaid. He works with my best friend Pru’s husband at fire station 42.”
The two men shook hands, Parker all smiles, August…well, being August.
“You play?”
August shook his head. “Not really my thing.”
“Nothing is your thing,” she said under her breath, but judging by the raised eyebrow he sent her way, he heard it.
“That’s cool.” Parker turned his attention back to her. “You coming to pub quiz this week?”
Oooooh, pub quiz. She loved pub quiz. Maybe she could convince August to go. He might not like arcade games, but who didn’t love trivia and booze?
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Awesome, see ya there.” He leaned down to give her a hug.
“Go kick Díaz’s ass,” she said, whispering in his ear. “But don’t tell her I said that.”
Parker laughed as he walked away. She turned to see a pondering suspicion in August’s eyes.
“You two used to date?”
Blinking in shock, she let a small puff of laughter burst out of her. Parker was sexy, sweet, and loaded, but Mo never really felt any zing of attraction around the guy. They were better as friends. “No. Why would you think that?” And why would he care?
He shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “You two seem really friendly, that’s all.”
“Yeah, because we are friends.” Which she and August would be, too, if he could just loosen up a little. “Parker and the other firefighters are a great group. Super fun to hang out with, but he’s not my one.”
“Your one?”
“Yeah, my soul mate, one true love, the person I’m meant to be with.”
He scoffed. “Fairy tales.”
“You don’t believe in love, August?”
His answer was a snort. Okay, then. Kinda sad, in her opinion, but she couldn’t make people believe in love. She had proven on many occasions to be a great wingwoman. Maybe all August needed was a good time.
The Roommate Problem Page 5
