Roommates With Benefits

by Nicole Williams

  He followed me as I unlocked the front door. After we made it through the door, he stayed one step behind me on our climb to the sixth floor. The silence stretched on—nothing but the sound of his shoes echoing on each step, the sound of my own barely making a noise.

  “Would you hold onto the handrail? Please? That’s what it’s there for.”

  I looked back and saw his jaw move as he eyed the handrail beside me, still lingering a step behind. His arms were kind of open, like he was ready to . . . catch me if I fell.

  Even when I’d pissed him off, he couldn’t lay off the big brother routine. Paying for the cab, opening doors, making sure I didn’t fall down the stairs.

  I didn’t take the handrail. Instead, I moved up the stairs faster, taking a couple of them at a time. It wasn’t him I was upset with—it was me. Having my roommate show such concern for me should have made me grateful. Instead, I felt let down. Because I didn’t want my roommate treating me like a family member—I wanted him to be like some hero in one of those classic stories I’d read in high school. I wanted him to pursue me. To crave me. To lose sleep over me. To be mad with sickness if he couldn’t be near me.

  I wanted Soren to want me. The way every woman in the world desired to be wanted.

  “Hayden, be careful.” His footsteps hurried behind me. “Slow down. I don’t need you tripping on that dress and spilling down the stairs.”

  “I’m fine.” My feet moved faster, my heel strikes filling the stairwell.

  “No, you’re pissed. And pissed people trip and fall down stairs.” He caught up to me, his hand circling around my arm in an attempt to slow me.

  I shook off his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Why are you acting like such a child?” He kept moving up the stairs with me, one arm braced behind me just in case.

  “A child,” I stated, twisting around to face him once I’d reached the top of the stairs. I held my arms out at my sides to show him I’d made it up six flights in four-inch heels and a floor-length gown all on my own. “Because that’s what I am to you, right? A helpless kid who needs someone to look after her?”

  Soren clearly hadn’t been expecting me to stop. He bumped into me when he reached the top. “A child? What? No.”

  He steadied me with his hands after knocking into me, but again, I shrugged them away. Having him touch me now was painful since I’d accepted what I’d been trying to deny for weeks. I liked Soren. I really liked him.

  “Where is all of this coming from? My head feels like it’s about to break off from all of the whiplash I’ve sustained tonight.”

  “Whatever, Soren.” I moved toward our apartment, searching for the key buried in my clutch. “You’re not the only person with whiplash.” I thought of all the looks, the comments, the moments where I’d thought, when I’d hoped . . .

  My gaze dropped to something resting on the floor outside of our door. A plate of cookies. Homemade peanut butter ones. His favorite. Stuck to the plastic wrap was a yellow sticky, signed Mrs. Lopez. There was even an XOXO.

  At least this note didn’t have a desperate lipstick kiss on it.

  Why did all of the women of New York have to want the first man I’d ever wanted? The same one I was forced to share a small, confined space with?

  The stars were screwing with me. Big time. Although with the way I was acting lately, I totally deserved it.

  Soren crouched to snag the plate of cookies, already peeling back the plastic wrap and going in for one.

  “Mrs. Lopez left some of her goodies for you,” I said, stating the obvious. “And why does she go by Mrs.? Is she married?”

  Soren held the plate up toward me, one cookie already shoved in his mouth. “Not anymore. And what do you have against Mrs. Lopez?”

  “Nothing. It’s you who’s had something against Mrs. Lopez.” As soon as I had the door open, I powered inside. “Your body,” I added under my breath, the very essence of mature.

  “Great, and now Mrs. Lopez?” The door slammed shut behind him, his footsteps rumbling after me. “First the chick back at the party, and now her? You’re acting kind of—” His footsteps came to a halt at the same time his voice did.

  I ducked behind my partition and yanked off my jacket before he could get in my face to make me confirm or deny what he’d just silently accused me of. “No, I’m not.”

  “Whoa. Yes. You are.” Two footsteps rang toward me. “You’re jealous.”

  There it was. He’d said it. It was a nasty word. A highly flammable one.

  A true one.

  “I am very unjealous,” I announced, capping my response with an insulted huff.

  He was quiet after that. Quiet was bad. Especially where Soren was concerned. It meant he was thinking. Contemplating.

  After tossing my jacket onto my new mattress, I yanked the bow free behind my back and started working to loosen the corseting. Even with all of my nervous energy, I made barely any progress. Looked like I was going to be sleeping in the gown tonight.

  “Why are you jealous?”

  His words made me freeze. Not because of the question, but because of the way he’d asked it. I didn’t know a person could sound that vulnerable. When I leaned my head around the partition just enough to see him, I found his whole exterior matching. Vulnerable. Exposed. Bared.

  I didn’t understand why he looked the same way I felt. How he looked even more so.

  “Why, Hayden?” His forehead lined as his throat moved. “Why are you jealous?”

  I had to slide behind the partition again. It was hard to hear his voice—it was hell to see him at the same time.

  “I can’t answer that, because I’m not. Jealous,” I added, just to make it clear. Clear to him I was telling the truth, clear to me I was lying.

  Getting back to yanking on the ribbons of the dress, I let out a frustrated yelp when I wound up tightening a link instead of loosening it.

  “Need some help?”

  No.

  “Yes.”

  My answer surprised me. For once, I felt like my words matched how I really felt where Soren was concerned.

  The sound of his heel strikes moving toward me gave me goose bumps. When he came around the partition, I felt my throat dry to cotton. He’d yanked his bow tie loose and popped the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt undone. I so rarely saw him without his ball cap, I found myself staring at his hair, mussed from the way he’d styled it earlier. Probably from running his fingers through it in frustration from dealing with me the last hour.

  I wanted to run my fingers through it. To feel it slide across my skin, curl over my knuckles—I wanted to hear the sound that would spill from his lips if I gave it a solid pull.

  My heart was beating so fast, I felt like it was about to split out of my chest.

  “Turn around.” His voice was distant, tired.

  Turning in place, I felt his hands drop into place before I finished moving. They went straight to work, moving deftly, precisely. More raised skin. More prickles spilling down the column of my spine.

  He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. The only sound was that of the ribbons being manipulated by his hands. Each loosening should have made it easier to breathe, but instead, it made it harder. The more freedom my lungs had, the more strained they felt.

  I guessed I knew why. Before, Soren had been helping me get dressed.

  Now, Soren Decker was helping me undress.

  That realization drew an uneven exhale from with the next loosening tug of his hands.

  “Almost done.”

  I nodded, concentrating on my breath.

  He’d just made it to the last few crosses at the top when I lowered my hands from where they’d been tucked across my chest, holding up the front of the gown. They trembled as I dropped them to my sides. A test. It sounded like a good idea.

  If he let the dress fall to the floor, I’d know.

  If he caught it before it did, I’d know.

  Either way, I’d have my
answer.

  A guy who was into a girl would definitely let the dress fall, right?

  A guy who viewed the girl as a sister would definitely not let the dress fall. Right?

  I didn’t know. My reasoning had been misfiring for weeks now.

  When I felt Soren give the top of the corseting a hard pull, I sucked in a breath and held it. Here came the answer to my harebrained experiment.

  The dress started to slide down and, no lie, his hands cinched around the sides of it so quickly, he had to have broken the sound barrier.

  The breath drained from my lungs all at once.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, slipping the dress back into place, waiting for me to take it so he could give me some privacy.

  “Yeah. You do.”

  My hands lifted to hold the dress, then he stepped out of my room. Area. Space. Whatever this was now.

  Letting the dress fall to the floor, I grabbed the first article of clothing that was pajama-like. An oversized shirt of some ‘70s’ band I’d picked up at a yard sale back in Nebraska. After tugging it on, I pulled the bobby pins out of my hair and let it all fall into a messy heap down my back. I didn’t comb my fingers through it to try to tame it or lay it down. Then I kicked off my heels as fast as I could before marching toward the kitchen. Food sounded like a good idea. The sugary, fatty, salty variety.

  The lights were still off, and I didn’t bother to turn any on. There was enough city light streaming through the windows on any given night to light up the whole apartment enough to move around without running into a wall.

  “Want a cookie?” Soren appeared in the doorway as I was rifling through the fridge. Yogurt, berries, and almond milk. Yeah, that wasn’t going to cut it.

  “No. Thanks,” I added, shoving my inner bitch into a cage. Hopefully she’d stay there for a while.

  “They’re good.” He waved the plate in front of me.

  “No, thank you.” I scooted the almond milk aside, just in case a jug of chocolate milk had decided to magically appear in the back of the fridge.

  “Come on. Have a cookie. It will make you feel better.” He pulled one out and held it in front of my face.

  The volcano inside that had stayed dormant for nineteen years of my life started to erupt. Slamming the fridge closed, I spun on him. Whatever he saw on my face had him backing up a couple of steps.

  “I don’t want a cookie from you, Soren.”

  “Okay. Noted.” He stuffed the cookie in his mouth and set the plate on the counter. “Forget I mentioned anything about cookies.”

  “How can I? You asked me half a million times!”

  He shifted, blinking at me. “Okay. I give up.” He freed the buttons on his sleeves then slid his hands in his pockets. “What did I do?”

  What had he done? Just made me fall for him. That was all.

  That was enough.

  “Nothing,” I answered.

  “What did I do?” As I headed back for my room, he followed me, right on my heels. “And if you give me one more ‘nothing,’ I’m going to lose it.”

  When I kept moving, his hands caught my shoulders, stilling me at the same time he twisted me around. His eyes aligned on mine, his face moving closer. I’d never seen his eyes like this before. Inches away from mine, emotions played in them that made me dizzy.

  “What? Did? I? Do?”

  My mind lost its foothold. “I don’t want cookies from you.”

  Imaginary head smack. Commence now.

  Soren looked as confused as he was amused. “Okay, okay. You don’t want cookies from me.” He moved closer; I moved away. He stalked closer still. I slammed into the wall behind me. One side of his mouth twitched when he appraised my current situation. One arm braced beside my head. The other fixing to the wall on my other side. “Then what do you want?”

  My lungs faltered.

  My heart followed.

  My mind last.

  “You.” The word fell from my mouth. “I want you.”

  And cue the fuckity-fuck-fuck chorus.

  All signs of amusement blanched from his face. A deep crease carved between his eyes as his throat moved. “You want what?”

  Don’t you dare say it again, Hayden. Dignity. Hold onto whatever you have left.

  “Forget it.” When I tried ducking beneath his arm, he slid it down to keep me detained. “It’s late. I’m tired. I’m two glasses of champagne into the night.” When I ducked lower, he did the same thing.

  “Forget it?” His head shook once. “No way.”

  “Soren,” I exhaled when I tried to escape beneath his other arm, only to find him caging me in on that side as well.

  “Stop.” One of his hands formed around my shoulder, positioning me so I was facing him straight on again. His head moved closer, aligning with mine. “Explain.”

  His mouth. I was staring at it. Wondering what it would feel like moving with mine, how his lips would feel, how his tongue would explore. My face rushed with heat, a crimson sign giving away my thoughts. I moved to duck beneath his arm again. “I don’t know what I meant by that. I meant nothing by that.”

  Soren’s hand caught my shoulder again. “Turn,” he instructed, waiting. “Look me in the eye.” He waited again. The instant my eyes met his, he continued, “Explain.”

  Tired of fighting it.

  Tired of hiding it.

  Tired of pretending it would go away.

  “I want . . .” My stomach was in knots. “You.”

  He didn’t say anything. He stood there, bolstered in front of me, studying my eyes. “You want me? In the way I’m thinking you mean?”

  My fingers worked at the hem of my sleep shirt, nervous energy pouring out of me. “Probably, yeah.”

  “For how long now?” he asked, his expression giving nothing away. He could have been disgusted. Embarrassed. He could have felt the same way about me. His face was that veiled.

  “Too long,” I answered. A month? A day?

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?” His light eyes glowed with curiosity.

  My arms lifted before falling at my sides. “Because it’s embarrassing. I didn’t want to tell you tonight. I didn’t want to tell you ever. I didn’t want you to know because . . .”

  Soren leaned closer. “Because why?”

  I’d already confessed the worst. The rest was nothing. “Because of the way you treat me.”

  His forehead creased. “What way do I treat you?”

  My finger motioned between us, expecting him to realize it. It was obvious to me. “Like I’m your little sister or something.”

  “My little sister?” The look on my face managed to wipe whatever amusement had been about to surface. He took a breath. “What’s wrong with a guy treating a girl like a sister?” His shoulders moved beneath the tux jacket. “Respect comes with that, protection, taking care of her. Having her back, chasing off the cheese-dicks of the world. What’s wrong with that?”

  After I got past the cheese-dick reference, I took a minute to consider that. Respect. Concern. Loyalty. My mind felt muddy from all of the conflict raging inside of me. One moment believing one thing—the next invalidating that belief.

  “Nothing’s wrong with that,” I answered quietly.

  “You just don’t want me looking at you and only thinking little sister—is that what you’re saying?” My eyes answered him. “How do you want me to look at you then?”

  My mind stalled. The answer to that should have been easy to give since I’d been consumed by the topic for weeks. “Like I’m . . .”

  Soren’s body drifted closer. “Like you’re someone I have feelings for?”

  My head bobbed. “But I know you probably don’t, and I know I’m an idiot for telling you all of this because we live together and now it’s going to be all awkward, and . . .” I was sweating, that was how nervous I was. “What am I even saying right now? God. Just shut up already, Hayden.” When I realized Soren was still standing there, arms braced around me, eyes un
yielding, I slouched into the wall. “What?”

  “Just waiting to see if you’re serious.”

  “Serious about what?”

  His mouth twitched. “Shutting up.”

  “Soren!” I slugged his arm. I’d just bared my soul—this wasn’t the time for his wit to run free.

  “I just want to know.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can finally reply to everything you just said.”

  Sealing my lips, I shrugged.

  He had to fight another grin, but as he did, his feet slid closer, one settling between mine, the other outside my foot. His arms bent as his body pressed into mine. His chest rose and fell against mine with each breath, sending a cataclysm of sensations loose inside my body.

  “What are you doing?” My voice quaked as his hands moved from the wall to the sides of my neck.

  Soren’s eyes dropped to my mouth. “Answering your question,” he breathed as his index fingers skimmed my neck, causing a tangle of goose bumps to charge down my spine.

  “Soren—”

  “Still answering your question,” he whispered right before his mouth touched mine.

  Every nerve in my body fired at once. A moment after, I lost control of them all.

  My hands found themselves on his chest, sweeping beneath the lapels of his jacket. My lips found themselves parting as he kissed me, taking the lead, guiding me as our mouths came together and fell away like waves breaking on the beach.

  I’d kissed a few boys back home. I’d made out with a couple of them too, but that had felt different than this did. Maybe it was because my feelings for Soren were stronger, or maybe it was because Soren didn’t kiss like a boy—sloppy and unsure, hands a groping, untamed mess.

  No, Soren definitely didn’t kiss like a boy. My god, I wasn’t sure what to compare his knowledge of kissing to.

  Soren kissed like a . . .

  Deity. The damn deity of lust.

  His hands stayed framed around my neck. His thumbs swept along my pulse points when he kissed me harder, and fell away when his intensity waned, allowing us each a moment to recover.