Roommates With Benefits

  Five minutes went by. Maybe more. His mouth never once left mine, his hands staying secured to my neck. This was the best kiss of my life. I knew that. No kiss in the future would ever compare to the one happening right now in this small apartment in this giant city.

  This was more than what I’d ever hoped to get in return from Soren—but still, I wanted more.

  So much more.

  My hands circled behind his neck as I leapt just enough to encircle his waist with my legs. The surprise of it drew a sound from deep in his chest, his mouth working against mine at the new pace I’d set.

  Combustion. I was on my way, in the process of, or experiencing it. I’d never felt this way before to know for sure.

  My tongue collided with his as his hands loosened from my neck to loop behind my backside. He pushed me harder into the wall, this time more with his hips than his chest. I could feel him straining through his slacks, fitting his warmth against mine.

  Something uneven and low vibrated in my throat when I pitched my hips against him. The same type of sound, a few octaves lower, emanated from him.

  He pressed me harder into the wall, pinning my hips to it, making it impossible for me to move. His tongue untangled from mine, his mouth slowed, and he pulled back just far enough, a ribbon of rational thought could form again.

  “What?” I panted against his lips.

  He was breathing hard, like he’d just finished sprinting the bases. His eyes were feral, the pupils almost swallowing his irises. “Did I answer your question?”

  My breaths were just as fragmented, so I nodded my answer.

  One side of his mouth pulled. “Good.”

  His mouth. It wasn’t just nice to look at; it was capable of performing nice—really nice—things. Which made me want to get back to doing those nice things.

  Soren pulled back when I moved back in.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. For one insecure moment, I wondered if I was a total letdown in the kissing department. Was I a bad kisser? The slobbering, messy kind?

  “I just think that we should maybe slow down.” Soren’s eyes dropped to where my hands were still draped on his chest. I’d managed to get three of his shirt buttons undone, my fingers frozen on the fourth. I didn’t even remember reaching for the first.

  “Slow down?” I repeated. That didn’t mean I was a bad kisser.

  “Slow down.” His eyes moved lower, to where our hips were joined. My shirt had ridden up, my white underwear was showing, and something of his showed behind his zipper.

  This didn’t seem like the time to slow down. My body was racing. I was ready; he was clearly ready.

  “Why?” I asked, letting go of his shirt, which my fingers looked about to rip off.

  His face pulled up like he was trying to answer that question himself. “I just think that we might be moving a little fast. Maybe,” he added, looking as unsure as he did sure. “Like you said, you’ve had champagne. You could totally be turned on by the sight of me in a tux because, well, no explanation needed right?” He leaned away so he could motion down at his tux.

  Damn. He’d looked good all polished and pristine. But now, bow tie undone, shirt halfway open, hair mussed, his erection pushing against his zipper . . . this was what a girl’s dreams were made of.

  “I only had two glasses of champagne.”

  “You never drink.”

  “Over the course of four hours.”

  “You weigh nothing.”

  I exhaled, accepting he’d have a rebuttal to every point I tried to make. “I felt something for you before I saw you in your tux.”

  His brow carved into his forehead. “Yeah, but the tux didn’t hurt the feelings, right?”

  He took my lack of answer as one.

  “Plus, the whole jealousy thing could be swaying your . . .”

  “Feelings?” I suggested.

  His eyes dropped to my sleep shirt, where my nipples were popping through the thin material. His eyes swept lower, where my hips were still fighting to form against his. Letting go of his hold around my backside, he set me back down on the floor.

  “Libido,” he stated, taking a few steps back, his hand lifting when I moved to close that distance.

  “You think because some other chick was hitting on you, that’s the reason I want to . . .”

  “Have sex with me?”

  My arms crossed, my legs trembling with what felt like withdrawal-like symptoms. “That isn’t the reason.”

  “Good. I will be happy to let you prove that to me at a later time. When alcohol, a tux, and another ‘chick’ aren’t part of the same evening.” When Soren’s eyes ran down me again, he rolled his neck and took a few more large steps back.

  At least I wasn’t the only one fighting temptation.

  “Did you seriously just suggest slowing down?” More of my mind was coming back with the farther away he got.

  He looked like he was replaying it in his head. “Yeah, I think I really did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a moron hell-bent on making sure I suffer and strangle any measure of happiness out of my life.”

  Leaning into the wall, I tried to catch my breath. “That sounds about right.”

  His face creased. “Then why does it feel so wrong?”

  “Doing the right thing’s hard?” I guessed.

  Soren’s eyes dropped to his belt region. “It’s hard, all right. So damn hard, I’m going to have to take a cold shower if I want to get any sleep tonight.”

  My eyes roamed the same region, but I forced myself to stay where I was. “We both know what you do in the shower.”

  Soren fought a smile as he kicked out of his shoes. “Tonight, in the shower. Tomorrow night”—his eyes met mine—“we’ll revisit this . . . topic.” His hand motioned between us.

  “You’re not saying that because you’re not that into me and don’t want to hurt my feelings?” I worked at my lip as he slid out of the tux jacket and settled it over the back of a chair. Nice of him to do the Soren Strip Show ten feet in front of me.

  “No,” he snorted, making a face like I was insane. “I’m into you. So way into you, I’m still kind of in shock you just admitted you were into me. So way into you, I’m fighting every instinct and muscle fiber begging me to push you back up against that wall and finish what we started.”

  My knees quivered. More from the way he was appraising me, his jaw working, than the words he was speaking.

  “I’m into you, Hayden. I’m not saying slow down for my benefit; I’m saying it for yours.”

  “For mine?”

  “If I was only looking out for mine, I’d have you in my bed and screaming my name right now.” He pulled the bow tie from his collar, giving me a look that dared me to challenge him.

  “Screaming your name, huh? Confident in your abilities.”

  “I could try to convince you with my words. Or I could just actually convince you tomorrow night.” He smirked as he unbuttoned what was left of his shirt. “You got a preview of what my tongue can do, right? Believe me, screaming my name’s just the start of what I have planned.”

  That man. Good god. I swear, if I barely touched myself through my underwear right now, I’d come from the way he was appraising me like he wanted to possess me. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Sleep on it, think about it. You still feel the same way tomorrow night—minus the alcohol, tux, and other chicks—yeah.” He nodded, slipping out of his shirt one arm at a time. “Tomorrow night.”

  “Twenty-four hours? That’s the difference between taking it slow and rushing into things?”

  “Eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds. Each of those feeling like a damn lifetime to a man waiting to be with the girl he’s into.” Soren worked at his belt as he started for the bathroom, winking at me when he caught me staring at his bare upper half. “I’d wait tens of thousands of lifetimes for you. That’s the difference right there.”

  I turned to watch him, my heart
trilling. “It’s still only twenty-four hours. One day.”

  “I’m trying to be romantic.”

  “I’m trying to get laid.”

  “I’m trying to be a gentleman. A good guy here.”

  “I’m trying to be a bad girl. A very bad one.”

  His hands gripped the frame of the doorway before he banged his head against it. “I’m going to take that cold shower now.”

  “Have fun with your ‘self-love.’ I prefer to do mine in my bed.” Shoving off the wall, I wandered toward my room. “Come to think of it . . .” When I glanced over my shoulder, I found him watching me, mouth hanging open, his body angling like he wanted to follow. “Good night, Soren.”

  A few more thumps sounded. “Sweet dreams, Hayden.”

  My dreams had not been sweet. Not even close.

  The next morning, I woke in a panicked frenzy, my sheets twisted around my legs, sweat clinging to my skin. All night, I’d dreamed about Soren and me, but it hadn’t been the kind of dream I’d been hoping to have. Us fighting and yelling, being petty and childish. Then when it seemed we’d never be free of this endless loop of arguing, we were torn apart. He went one direction; I went the other.

  He left me.

  That was when I jolted awake.

  I gave myself a few minutes to let the clutches of the nightmare drift away, but this one didn’t retreat the way most did. Instead, it clung to me, refusing to let me shuffle it into the back of my mind.

  Soren had early morning practice and was already gone by the time I forced myself out of bed. The pieces of his tux he’d scattered like damn bread crumbs last night had been picked up and were gone. He probably had to return it today.

  However, the wall we’d gotten all hot and heavy against was still there. Not going anywhere. Glancing at it, I swore I could see my impression carved into the drywall.

  I’d kissed Soren. I’d made out with Soren.

  I’d been ready and practically begging to do more with him.

  My stomach contracted, a wave of nausea rolling through me.

  I’d told him I liked him and wanted him and . . . shit, I’d gone and ruined everything.

  Soren and I were roommates. We had to live together. How was confessing feelings for one another and letting those feelings physically manifest going to make this arrangement any easier? Being in a relationship was hard enough at our age. Sharing an apartment was just as hard. But combining those two challenges and expecting everything to come out okay? Yeah, right. World peace had a better chance of making it.

  As I rushed through showering and getting ready, I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad. I hardly ever thought of him anymore, but there he was now, ready to take up as much of my head-space as he had when he’d first left us.

  Soren wasn’t my dad. The rational part of my brain knew that. The irrational part linked the two, comparing and contrasting until I felt half-mad. Soren was a man, just like my dad. He wore jeans, just like my dad. He had blue eyes like my dad.

  It was endless. Ridiculous, but endless.

  I had the day off, but I needed to leave the apartment. I had to avoid him for as long as possible because while he was expecting one thing from tonight, I had to give him the total opposite.

  I cared for Soren. Now I knew he cared for me. But this, us . . . we wouldn’t survive if we let our friendship take a back seat to our other feelings. I’d rather have him in my life in some capacity forever than in no capacity one day soon.

  Besides, what did I know about relationships? Other than what I’d watched my parents go through and the superficial ones I’d seen back in high school? I’d come to New York to model, to work hard, and to go far in this business. To make a name for myself in the fashion industry and turn that into a long-term career. What was I doing getting tangled up with a boy with just as lofty of a dream?

  He was right. Last night, the champagne, or the tux, or the jealousy, or something had clouded my judgment. I might have harbored feelings for him, but confessing them and wanting to act on them . . . that was something I should have kept to myself.

  There was a note taped to the door, my name penned on the outside in Soren’s handwriting. I didn’t take it down, unfold it, and read whatever he’d written. I left it where it was, needing to clear my head and figure out some way to explain away everything I’d confessed last night.

  Even though I’d showered, I could still feel where his hands had touched me. The taste of his lips seemed to cling to mine no matter how much lip balm I applied.

  Today was warmer than it had been, which meant the park was busier than usual. All of the noise and action made for a welcome distraction though, so I spent a few hours meandering around. I took a break to relax on a bench so I could call home and catch up with everyone, and just as I was about to hang up with them, another call came in.

  After saying bye to my mom, who had not stopped reminding me to send less money back home, I answered the call. I’d been avoiding Soren’s, but this one I couldn’t ignore.

  “Hi, Ellis,” I said.

  He gave one of his typical greetings. “Where are you?”

  “At Central Park. Why?”

  “I just caught wind that one of the giants is looking for a fresh, new face for their line.”

  “What company?”

  “The giant of the giants.”

  The skin on my arms raised. I’d been landing good gigs for weeks, but this—something like this was big. Booking a campaign like this took a model from the masses and set her on a platform. I needed a platform. I needed people to not just recognize my face but to know my name. Fashion was a business of names, and that was my long game. Model, gain experience, get recognized, make connections, then launch my own fashion line one day.

  “Can you meet me at the agency in thirty minutes?”

  The time on my phone showed two. On a Sunday. “Yeah, I guess. What are we meeting for?”

  The sound of movement in the background came through the phone. “I want to add a few new shots to your portfolio. Ones that will appeal to this client.”

  That made sense, and it wasn’t like I had a whole lot else planned for the day. Other than having to eventually confront my roommate and deliver an, “oops, I lied” speech and make it convincing.

  Impromptu photo shoot sounded like a much better option.

  “I’ll see you there in thirty.”

  The line was already dead by the time I rose from the bench.

  A moment later, a text from Soren came in. “I got Trish to close for me tonight, so I’ll be home by nine. Can’t wait to see you.”

  My throat burned from reading his words. I couldn’t wait to see him either, and that was the problem. We couldn’t both feel the same way about each other.

  I’d mess things up. Or he would. Or we both would.

  We’d totally ruin everything because we’d been foolish to think that of all the doomed relationships out there, ours would be the one to make it.

  Right after that text, he sent another one that read, “You left your phone at the apartment again, didn’t you?”

  He was going to go through the whole day looking forward to tonight, thinking we’d . . . pick up where we’d left off. He was probably going to stop and get flowers or bring me home one of my favorite truffles from the chocolate store down the road or something sweet like only Soren was capable of.

  The thought of having to look him in the face and tell him I didn’t have feelings for him made me physically ill. I couldn’t go home tonight. I couldn’t lie to him about not having feelings for him, probably crushing him, when he’d been expecting the night to go totally differently.

  I couldn’t go back.

  A hotel or a friend’s or something. I felt like I’d sleep on a park bench before going back to our apartment tonight.

  Once I made it to the agency, I turned off my phone. I felt like such a coward doing it, but there was no way I’d be able to focus on the photo shoot if the sound of Soren’s
texts coming in kept breaking me in half.

  Ellis had beaten me there, and he already had the lights on. It was quiet throughout the office as he led me to one of the big rooms used for shoots. “Thanks for coming in on a Sunday. Especially after a late night at my place.”

  He wasn’t wearing his standard suit and tie today, instead in a pair of dark slacks and a light, button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. The sinews of his forearms were hard to miss, as was the rest of his body. Ellis played to his every advantage, from the way he did business to the way he dressed.

  It was what had made him so successful. It was also what had earned him such a womanizer reputation.

  “What photographer did you manage to bribe to come in today?” I slid my purse over my head and dropped it on one of the chairs stationed around the room before I moved toward the dressing area.

  Ellis moved around the lighting equipment, turning things on and adjusting them. “Me.”

  I paused outside of the curtains. “You?”

  “It’s what I did between modeling and this. Taking photographs of beautiful women. Exotic locations.” He fired a smile at me as he pulled a camera from a bag. “It wasn’t a bad gig.”

  I smiled back before sliding into the dressing area, but I felt uneasy. Ellis was my agent. I was used to seeing him in that light, not the photographer one. I was worried it might affect my performance—that having him behind the flashing camera might make my poses stiff and unnatural.

  Just a photo shoot. Just Ellis, I reminded myself, taking a deep breath. No big deal. None whatsoever. We were so used to working together, this would probably be a snap. Quickest photo shoot in the history of ever.

  That was what I was convincing myself of as I scanned the dressing area for what I was supposed to wear.

  There was nothing.

  “Ellis?” I called from behind the curtains. “There’s nothing back here for me to change into. Did you just want me to go with the simple jeans, tank thing?” I started peeling out of my sweater, guessing so. “I’ll need to borrow a pair of heels from wardrobe though. Don’t think my sneakers are what you have in mind.”