“Um, sure. Yeah. Of course. It’s right out in the hall. Next door. On the right.”
“Thanks.” She nodded as he almost tripped and fell over as he tried to step into his boxer shorts.
He yanked the underwear up his legs to hide the evidence of his over-eagerness for a repeat. A tell-tale sign that he hadn’t been with anyone else in months. Hell, closer to a year, now that he thought about it.
Coming inside her twice hadn’t been enough. He didn’t know how many times it would take to satisfy his craving for her. How many times would she let him try? He wasn’t going to ask.
How he’d gotten lucky enough to be with Marty now was still a mystery. A miracle, actually. One he wasn’t going to question or look at too hard for fear he’d somehow ruin things.
In fact, at this tenuous stage in their budding relationship—if he dared call it that—the less he talked, the better.
With that in mind, he said, “I’ll just go get that water.”
“Okay.” She smiled as he backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.
In the hall he took a moment to try and regain his balance—mentally and physically. He braced one hand on the wall and blew out a breath before he headed for the kitchen.
There, Elijah’s smirk stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Dude!” His roommate’s dark face broke into a wide grin.
Peter pressed his lips together unhappily. Yes, he was happy Elijah was home safely after the day they’d both had, but the guy’s timing sucked.
“When did you get home?” Peter asked, wondering exactly how much he’d heard.
“Let’s see. I walked in the door about the time she was begging you not to stop. Or perhaps she was just praying. God was mentioned quite a few times.” He grinned.
Peter dropped his chin to his chest and hoped Marty put on some clothes before she came out. Elijah had already been privy to more between them than Peter was comfortable with.
He raised his gaze and kept the volume of his voice low as he said, “She’s probably coming out here . . .”
Elijah snorted out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your chances of another round of uh . . . prayers.”
That wasn’t exactly a reassurance, but Peter let it go at that. Elijah was talking too loudly for his liking and it was time to end this discussion before it did cost him more time with Marty.
And there was no doubt, Peter wanted more time with her. Not just in bed. He wanted more time everywhere. He wanted to get to know her. All of her. Her history. Her family. Her politics. What she liked. What she disliked—besides Senator Scott.
Even if they didn’t have a whole lot—if anything—in common when it came to a lot of things, they could make it work. He’d make it work.
He glanced at the hallway, wondering if she’d emerge fully dressed, purse in hand, ready to head out the door and leave him.
That was the last thing he wanted.
He needed to occupy himself or the worry about the one woman he could picture himself actually being with walking out his door never to return would cripple him. He moved to the sink and scrubbed a soapy sponge over one of the dirty glasses there, before rinsing it and filling it with cold water.
Guzzling half of it, he nearly choked when he heard Elijah say in his low, sultry Marvin Gaye voice, “Well, hello there.”
Peter spun, his bare feet squeaking on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. And there was Marty, dressed but shoeless, face-to-face with Elijah.
Time for damage control.
“Uh, Marty, this is my roommate Elijah.”
“I figured.” She smiled and moved to the table, sitting opposite the man, which was the last thing Peter wanted.
What number of things could Elijah say to run her off and ruin his chances? He could tell her that Peter could barely make rent each month. Or that he hadn’t had a girl back to the apartment ever in all the time they’d been living together. Or, and this was the most likely thing to send her running out his door, that Peter volunteered at Reagan’s campaign headquarters.
That last one, out of all the rest, would probably be the worst in the lovely Ms. Vanderbilt’s eyes.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to give your speech today,” she said, with obvious sincerity as she rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward.
Elijah bobbed his head. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I read it. It’s really good.”
He snorted. “Thanks. At least somebody got to appreciate it.”
She paused, then said, “If you agree, a whole lot more people will get to appreciate it.”
Peter moved forward, not liking this easy camaraderie between them.
He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course the two were getting along. They shared the same political views. That didn’t mean it wasn’t scary as hell that he could lose this amazing woman to his roommate.
“What do you mean?” Elijah asked, his focus so completely on Marty, he didn’t even glance up when Peter moved to the table and set his jelly jar down between them. It was his pitiful but deliberate attempt to put a physical barrier between the two.
“I work for the Washington Post. I want to submit it to be published.”
Elijah’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
She nodded. “Yup.”
Elijah jumped up from his chair and was around the table, wrapping Marty in a hug before Peter could throw his body between them and scream, “No!”
He only shouted that inside his head, not in reality as Marty laughed while Elijah, bent low, squeezed her shoulders hard.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated while still holding her.
“Sure. My pleasure.” She smiled while Peter tried to calm himself and his fears.
To be fair, Elijah hugged everyone. Men and women. Young and old. So did both his parents. He’d seen that the one time they’d visited and Peter had met them.
But he didn’t love seeing Marty wrapped in those arms now, even if Elijah did drop his hold and move back pretty fast. It still felt like an eternity.
Elijah turned to Peter. “You, my man, have excellent taste in women.”
“I know.” Even with as flustered and thrown as he was, Peter somehow found his words and even managed to compliment Marty in the process. Count that as another miracle.
She focused on Peter before dropping her gaze to his glass on the table.
“You rehydrated yet?” she asked.
He’d forgotten about the damn water or his past thirst in the face of competition and good old-fashioned jealousy. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Good. Come back to bed.” She stood and turned with a flounce of her sundress.
He stood wide-eyed and motionless as she made her way back to his bedroom, without looking back to see if he followed.
Elijah’s slap on his back brought Peter out of his daze.
“I get you now, brother. Quality over quantity. Respect.” Elijah bobbed his head with what looked like appreciation.
All Peter could do was nod. Well, that and down the last of his water. He had a feeling he was going to need the hydration for what was to come.
CHAPTER SIX
“Do you want to have dinner with me next weekend? Friday. Or Saturday.” When she didn’t answer immediately, Peter added, “Or Sunday . . .”