Roommates With Benefits

  Sweat was already starting to bead to the surface of my skin, so I untied my trench-style jacket and unzipped it. When I slid it off, I didn’t miss the way Soren’s head whipped toward me.

  “What in the hell are you wearing?” He blinked, swallowing when his eyes reached where the hem of my dress fell.

  “I didn’t want to take the extra time to change after the shoot, and Ellis said I could have the dress.” I smoothed my hands down the sides, not about to let my confidence waver from the way Soren was staring at me. And some others were staring now that I was moving through the room.

  “That’s not a dress. That’s a tank top.” Soren fell in behind me instantly, shoving aside some guy who made an interesting noise when I passed.

  “Oh, yeah, because the guy who lives in Levi’s jeans and Hanes T-shirts knows all about couture fashion.” I smirked back at him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling when he got in another guy’s face for checking out my backside as I passed.

  “I might not know a damn thing about couture, but I know if you lean forward two inches, you’re going to be flashing the whole room your underwear.” Soren’s face went blank as he realized something. “Tell me you’re not wearing—”

  “Do you see any lines?”

  When his gaze lowered to confirm or deny it, his face drew into lines like he was being tortured. “Do me a favor and don’t lean forward two inches.”

  I turned my head back around so he didn’t see the smile I’d lost the battle to. “So I shouldn’t do this?” I barely leaned forward.

  The hem didn’t have a chance to ride up before his arm swung around me, pressing me against him to straighten me out. “Hayden, for the love of god. I don’t want to have to beat every ass in here for checking out yours.”

  Soren’s head was beside mine, his breath warming my cheek as he spoke. With his chest firm against my back, I could feel it moving, hard and hurried. Or was that my chest moving quickly?

  His arm didn’t untie from around me. His head didn’t pull away when he was done talking. I didn’t want him to pull back either. I wanted him to come closer. I wanted his other arm around me, his mouth warming my skin with more than just his breath. Inside, I felt a match being lit, a flicker of light as it struck. I knew I’d explode in a ball of fire when that match dropped—from weeks of fuel being spread inside me, waiting to be ignited.

  Behind me, his body moved. Even, methodical waves rolled against me.

  “What are you doing?” My voice wasn’t my own.

  “It’s a party. I’m dancing.” His other hand slid into the bend of my hip, no hesitation in his touch.

  “Where did you take your dance lessons?” I tipped my head back at him, trying to look unimpressed when I was feeling very much the opposite. The man could move. His body. His hips. He could really move his hips. “The School of Bump and Grind?”

  He huffed, moving against me in true bump-and-grind fashion. Having his body moving against mine the way it was, feeling the way it seemed to fit into the bends and dips of mine had my mind drifting to other ways our bodies might fit together.

  Roommate.

  Obnoxious.

  Short Fuse.

  I listed off as many discredits as I could. Then I repeated the list. But it wasn’t working. Thinking about Soren’s shortcomings while his body was moving against me so closely I could feel his heartbeat thumping against my back, was about as effective as throwing a thimble of water at a forest fire.

  Useless.

  That’s what my attempts to confine my feelings for him felt like right then.

  “You giving me the brush-off, girlie?”

  Soren turned me around so I was facing him. At this proximity, I could smell the minty sweetness on his breath. I could see the silver shards in his light eyes. I could see the three light freckles scattered at the bridge of his nose, probably from playing baseball every summer since he was five.

  “I thought you loved to dance?”

  “I used to,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

  Up until this moment, when I felt like every feeling I shouldn’t have was about to detonate through the room for everyone to see.

  “You used to?” He spun his ball cap around like he usually wore it.

  “Now I hate it.”

  “You hate dancing now?”

  “Things change.”

  “How can you hate dancing with me as a dance partner? I mean, I paid attention during Magic Mike. I might have even taken a few notes.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “You watched Magic Mike?”

  “I went with my mom. I was the only male Decker secure enough in his manhood to go with her.” His hip movements became a little more “obvious” as his back arched back a bit. “There’s this one move I’ve been working on—it takes about a half hour of stretching first, but it makes the ladies go crazy.” His brows bounced, something flashing in his eyes.

  “What move is that? Putting the toilet seat down when you’re done using it?” My arms folded in front of my body, having nowhere else to go. “Because, yeah, I do go crazy when you, on occasion, remember to do that back at the apartment.”

  “Hey, Ball Buster, time to give them a break for one night—before they fall off. What fun would you have if that happened? Got to remember to take care of my proverbial balls you like to crush in the palm of your hand.”

  “Your balls, proverbial ones included, will never get anywhere close to the palm of my hand.”

  “You’re saying that to convince yourself, right? Because you sure as hell didn’t convince me.”

  Even though I wasn’t looking directly at him, I could see his grin from the corner of my eye.

  “Because my balls are fantastic. A masterpiece. A real testament to manhood. Symmetrical, grandiose, soft yet firm. They’re a damn sight to behold, my balls.”

  My teeth were still working at my lip to keep me from snorting at his confidence or laughing at his antics. “How do you think they’d like the caress of my knee joisting into them?”

  “Your proverbial knee?”

  Lifting my leg, I skimmed my knee up his thigh. The steady movement of his dance hiccupped then stalled. A moment later, he’d recovered, but now I was wondering if he felt the same kind of “something” I did when our bodies were this close.

  “This knee. My literal one.”

  “Well, I was referring to my proverbial balls. So if you want to caress them with your knee or the palm of your hand”—his grin stretched wider—“you’re going to have to do so with your proverbial ones.”

  My teeth released my lip, and I let myself smile. I was tired of holding back my feelings for him. A smile wasn’t going to set off some avalanche that led to the two of us becoming more than just roommates.

  “Why are you scared?” Soren asked, his hands slipping down my back until they fell onto the shelf of my backside. The pads of his fingers were just barely touching what was roughly butt territory, the rest of his hands resting securely in lower back land.

  “I’m not scared,” I answered, glancing around the room. The scariest thing around was that ratty, old sofa that had clearly seen its share of action. All kinds.

  “You’re scared of me.”

  My forehead creased as my eyes met his. “If I was scared of you, I sure wouldn’t be sharing a closet with you.”

  His head shook. “You’re scared of something about me.”

  “Well, if you want to break it down to micro, yeah, there’s a lot about you that scares me. I can put together a list if you want. I can section it off by category and subcategory if it would be helpful.”

  Instead of smiling from me teasing him, his face got all serious. That was never good. “You’re scared to touch me.” His eyes dropped to where my arms were still crossed. “Why?”

  “I touch you all of the time,” I argued, my voice a few notes too high.

  “Yeah, when I’m at arm’s length, but not when I’m close.” He moved close
r, his chest pressing against mine causing a chain reaction of sensations spiraling through my body. His expression was still frozen in seriousness. “Why?”

  We were connected at the chest, hips, and thighs. I could feel his energy breaking over me, siphoning into my depths. I could feel my own dispersing into him, burrowing deep. I’d been close to other guys before, at least in physical proximity, but I’d never felt this.

  Sure, the aching pulse of desire was making me shift, that desire for more was arousing what a person typically associated with feelings of lust . . . but this went beyond that. I didn’t feel my want for him only at the apex of my legs; I felt my desire in every part of my body. From my small toe, to the underside of my forearm, to the column of my neck. My need or want or whatever this was for the man holding me was so all-consuming, it felt as though it could devour me whole.

  Unwinding my arms, I wound them loosely behind his neck. I had to. If I didn’t, he’d keep harassing me about why I was so scared to touch him, and if I didn’t say anything, he was bound to jump to some of his own conclusions. I didn’t want him even inching toward those types of conclusions.

  “Was that so bad?” he asked.

  One side of my face drew up. “Worse.”

  He just grumbled and pressed me closer, his body moving against mine in ways that were testing the integrity of my knee strength.

  As we danced, I did my best to imagine I was somewhere else, some place serene. Anywhere but here with him, our bodies tangled together, because I couldn’t let him see what having him close did to me. I couldn’t let him know the feelings I’d been wrestling with for weeks now. I couldn’t cross that line, because once it was stepped over, there was no going back. Sure, we could break up, but we were roommates. We’d still have to see each other every morning and every night for the next four months until the lease was up. No, thank you. Breakups were hard enough without the added component of sharing the same roof.

  And then there was the fact that I didn’t believe in relationships. Sure, I’d seen a few people have seemingly good ones, but I knew firsthand how badly a heart could be broken. I always swore I wouldn’t be like my mom, crying for months after my dad left. I wasn’t looking to open myself up to that kind of pain.

  When I caught Soren staring at my mouth, the skin between his brows drawn into a deep line, I panicked. “It’s hot. I need some fresh air.”

  My arms were untying from him at the same time I broke out of his hold, cutting through bodies toward the back door. I heard him shoving through the party after me, snapping something at the guy who’d just whistled at me when I moved by.

  I didn’t stop to wait for him. I couldn’t. I felt like I was suffocating, and even though I knew it wasn’t from lack of oxygen, fresh air seemed like a good place to start. Besides, what antidote was there for someone suffocating from their closeted feelings for someone?

  Once I shoved through the door, I rushed to the back of the yard, leaned into the rusted cyclone fence, and focused on breathing. So much had happened in the past couple of months. Getting signed. Moving to New York. Booking jobs. Good jobs. Being on my own. Sharing an apartment. Realizing I had feelings for my roommate. Trying to kill those feelings. Only to have them grow with each new day, instead of withering away like I’d hoped.

  Now this—feeling all of my control over my mind and body become lost when he drew me close. This was perhaps the scariest realization of all. At a distance, I could keep my guard up with Soren, but up close, I lost total and utter control. Walls crumbled. Barriers fell. Resolve evaporated.

  I had only one solution to keep Soren from realizing my feelings—keeping him at a careful distance. At least as much as our living situation allowed. An actual arm’s length should work, especially with as long as my arms were. I couldn’t let him close again. I couldn’t let him get his arms around me or put mine around him.

  Soren had to be avoided. As much as possible without making it obvious.

  “Nice emergency exit back there.”

  The sound of the door closing behind him made me flinch. How was I supposed to avoid him if he made it his mission to find me every time I escaped?

  “You okay?” His feet crunched over the dead grass dotting the yard, pausing when he was a few steps behind me.

  “Yeah, I’m good. There are just a lot of bodies in there. Generating a lot of heat.” Or, truthfully, one body generating way too much damn heat for me to handle.

  “Yeah, it’s way better out here than in there.” Soren shouldered up beside me, leaning into the fence. “It’s quiet out here. We can just be alone.”

  My breath hitched. “I feel better now. So much better. We should probably get back to the party.”

  “I only came to this party because you said you’d come. The way I see it, the party’s right here.” He bumped his elbow against mine, inching closer.

  Shifting, I leaned away from him. Not too obvious, but just enough so our elbows weren’t touching anymore. “Don’t you want to introduce me to your friends?” He’d mentioned me meeting his teammates a couple of weeks ago but had yet to do so. I figured tonight would be the perfect opportunity.

  “No.” His head shook firmly. “Especially not with what you’re wearing.” When his gaze wandered in the direction of my dress again, he frowned.

  “What am I wearing?” Straightening, I glanced down at what I had on again. Short, yeah, but it wasn’t skintight. Cut low in the back, but not in the front. It fell into the stylish category, not the sexy one.

  Angling toward me, he gestured at the dress I was still inspecting. “Man-Nip. That’s what you’re wearing.”

  “Man-Nip?” I pinched the material, my eyebrows coming together.

  “You know like catnip, except for bros? It’ll drive them wild.” Reaching for his shirt, he started to pull it over his head. “Just put on my jersey or something. This one’s clean.” Once he’d peeled it over his head, he pulled his undershirt back down over his stomach and held out his jersey for me.

  “I’m not putting on your jersey.”

  “Please.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Pretty please?”

  “No, pretty thank you,” I replied with a fake smile.

  “Well, I’m not introducing you to my friends dressed in that. That’s a way to lose friends, and I’d rather keep the ones I have since we play on the same ball team and the season’s just getting started.”

  “Just because you’re having a tough time with my dress doesn’t mean your friends will. They can’t all be like you.”

  Soren chuckled. “I’m the upstanding, good guy of the bunch. You know, if that gives you an idea of the type of animals I call friends.”

  “Wow. You really know how to pick them.” I sighed, snatching the jersey from his hand. I really did want to meet his friends, and if I had to slide into Soren’s jersey to achieve said goal, there were worse things in life.

  “They make me look good. It’s essential to hang with people who make you look good.” The fence whined when he shoved away from it.

  “Yeah. I follow that same policy,” I said, keeping a straight face as I shoved my head and arms through the big jersey.

  “You’re referring to me, aren’t you?”

  “So quick,” I joked then glanced down at my new Soren-approved, friend-introduction outfit.

  When Soren’s eyes followed mine, a sound vibrated in his throat. “I’m not sure that’s any better actually.” He stepped back, rubbing his chin as his inspection continued. He was almost smirking, definitely smiling as he took in the sight of me sporting his jersey.

  When he lifted his finger and twirled it in the air, my arms crossed. “You can twirl yourself around me if you want to see the back view.”

  The smile turned more into a smirk as he started to wind around me. Another throaty sound came from him when he paused behind me. When he stayed back there, I twisted my head to see what he was doing. He was staring at my back, the top of it, hi
s hands behind his head.

  “I know I’m going to sound like one of those animals I just warned you about, but damn, my name on a beautiful woman’s back is doing things to me I’m not sure are twenty-first-century approved.”

  I spun around so fast, I teetered thanks to the high heels and soft ground. “Should I call the Feminist Police? Because I know the chief.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  My eyebrow lifted. “Me.”

  Soren fought a smile, still staring at his jersey wrapped around my body. “Then I’m definitely not going to tell you what I’m thinking about now.”

  “Dear god, please don’t.”

  Soren stepped toward me, something in his eyes inviting me closer. So I took a step away.

  “Seeing my name on your back, the way it’s making that damn beast inside all of us dudes throw its head back and roar, makes me want to ask the woman I marry one day to tattoo it on her back. In big, bold letters. We’re talking so giant, a satellite could pick that shit up in outer space.”

  My mouth had fallen open from the start and kept dropping with every word.

  He moved around behind me again. “‘Decker.’ Seriously, I’m going to start looking into tattoo artists now. Feel my arm. I’ve got goose bumps.” His arm appeared beside me, but I didn’t touch to confirm that yes, goose bumps galore. “I mean, I’m fucking hard—”

  He abruptly cleared his throat and went in a different direction with his body’s “approval rating,” but I didn’t hear it. At least not at first.

  Had he actually said that?

  I mean, was he really?

  He was still standing behind me, still drooling over his name, so I couldn’t confirm it. Not that I should be confirming if he was hard anyway, but curious minds . . .

  Peeking over my shoulder, my gaze dropped to his zipper. Damn, damn, double damn.

  So he really was. Hard.

  Hard to hide something like that. Hard.

  Stop thinking the word hard, Hayden.

  My cheeks were already flushed enough without getting redder from singing a soliloquy of “hards” in my head.