By the time we pull into our driveway, I’ve already given myself seven stern lectures and mentally signed a vow of celibacy. Doesn’t matter that she’s gorgeous. Doesn’t matter that her flirting has turned me inside out.
She’s my roommate.
Off-limits.
And she wants boundaries.
Great.
Perfect.
Easy!
Except, nothing about her is easy.
She climbs out of the Uber first, heels clicking against the concrete as she walks toward the house, slow and unhurried and a bit crooked.
I follow behind her like a shadow, watching the way her hips sway under her tight denim, ready to catch her if she stumbles.
She pauses on the porch while I punch in the door code, the warm night air charging the energy between us. Unless I’m a fucking idiot and completely reading the situation wrong.
“This was fun,” she says quietly, voice softer now, like she’s afraid to break the moment. She waits for me to push open the door to the laundry room, but I don’t move.
Instead, I turn to her.
The light bathes her in a halo of gold, catching on the curve of her cheekbones, the edge of her smile, the sweep of those lashesI’m suddenly obsessed with. She looks up at me, eyes wide, waiting.
God she’s pretty.
“You heading to bed?” I ask, because I need this moment to end before I do something stupid. Like ask her to stay up and have a glass of wine on the patio. Or worse—kiss her.
She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Big day tomorrow—more unpacking.”
“Right.”
Another beat passes. Too long.
“Goodnight, Turner.”
I swallow. “Good night, Poppy.”
She stops outside her bedroom door. “Hey.”
I look up.
“Thanks again for the drink.”
I nod, heat flickering low in my stomach. “Anytime.”
She disappears inside, closing her door with a soft click and I stand for several seconds, exhaling through my nose.
Inside my room, I toe off my shoes, peel my shirt over my head, tossing it somewhere in the vicinity of the laundry basket. My jeans hit the floor next. I kick them off with unnecessary aggression, as if they’re to blame for this sudden,full-body need crawling beneath my skin.
I sit on the edge of the bed in my boxer briefs, elbows on knees, trying to not think about her mouth.
Her laugh.
The way her fingers had curled around my wrist when she saidthank you for the drinklike it wasn’t the softest, most devastating contact of my life.
