“I’m glad you’re okay. And thanks for coming today.”
I stepped back, banging my hip into the countertop. Wincing, I rubbed the spot.
His eyes widened, and his gaze dropped to where I was rubbing.
“It’s fine. It’s nothing. That’s what I’ve got the extra padding for.” I slapped my hip and barely kept my cringe at bay. Way to draw even more attention to your ass, Sabrina. Like everyone wasn’t completely aware of the size.
His head tilted, and his eyebrows furrowed.
“Thanks for calling Dr. Sean.” I pulled open the fridge door, blocking my view of him. “I’m going to make a cup of hot chocolate. Good night, Hunter.”
There was a long pause. I took as much time as possible putting away the leftovers and grabbing the milk from the fridge.
“Good night.”
I let out my held breath and closed the door at his retreating footsteps. I wasn’t going to add another mistake to my life right now.
24
Hunter
Sabrina and I had fallen into a friendly roommate routine. Bumping into one another in the hallway or the kitchen during the day, we’d exchange a few words before my work or hers pulled one of us away. Her time spent scribbling on her tablet had gotten more intense and frequent over the past couple weeks. She’d sit in the living room or her bedroom or even on the kitchen counter, engrossed in whatever was on her screen.
Sabrina’s brush-off after Teresa’s birthday was exactly what I’d wanted, and still I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t kiss her again, but she was the one being sensible here.
The light would be on under her door late into the nights when I’d get home from whatever event I’d been coordinating into the predawn hours of the morning.
One of the guys would stop by, which, now more than ever, sent bolts of jealousy streaking through me even worse than when I’d thought she was shooting porn.
It wasn’t about touching her or having sex with her, it was about spending time with her. Being in her presence, which had been denied to me almost completely outside of those brief interactions.
Sabrina had thrown the shields up, and who could blame her? I’d been saying the same things to myself over and over again. Only it was getting harder to stay away from her. I couldn’t stay away completely.
Some nights were different. In the dining room, sitting in chairs opposite one another, we’d work on a puzzle. The thousand-piece puzzles only took us a few days of daily dedication. Then we’d break it apart and start all over again with a new one. It felt like a metaphor for us. This new version of us was steady, even, easygoing, but the tug of resistance pulled at my gut every time I walked away from her. Every time I closed my bedroom door after she stepped into hers, I wanted nothing more than to barge in after her and bring her back to my bed.
Instead I settled for time with her before I left for the night, putting together a picture piece by piece and trying to make sense of where the pieces I had in my hands fit.
I’d get her a drink or two. She’d try remaking them, and we’d laugh at how terrible they were—almost as bad as her coffee. I breathed deeply every time she walked past me or I set a drink in front of her. These were the only times I’d allowed myself to get close to her for more than a handful of minutes.
But she hadn’t been at the table when I got home from the office today. I hated how much I looked forward to talking, laughing and watching her hum and sing boyband songs other people would be embarrassed to admit they liked while working on the world’s most frustrating puzzles. Somehow, they weren’t nearly as annoying when I was with her.
My day had been filled with team meetings for the New Year’s Eve concert. Tonight I was headed to a venue to find a new opening band to kick off the concert—one without egos so big that they’d balk at playing to a mostly empty stadium. I slid my jacket on and slipped a cuff link through one double cuff. The flicker of the TV caught my eye through the living room doorway.
The nightmares weren’t as sharp now, which meant I got some decent sleep, but my nights were still restless thinking about her.
Her smell clung to some of the towels, and I’d take the secret to my grave that I’d taken one or two and used them as a pillow to help me sleep. I needed to shake off her hold on me, but sometimes I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.
Leaving the apartment hadn’t been my top choice for tonight, but we’d finished our last puzzle a day ago and she hadn’t brought out a new one. I made a note to order one tomorrow.
Part of the reason I was going out tonight was to drain my battery. After getting used to running on what felt like minutes sleep, the four to five hours a night I’d managed to get over the past couple weeks had my energy reserves close to maxed out.
Sitting in my bedroom, staring up at my ceiling, dissecting every bump and bang from Sabrina’s room and trying to orchestrate casual run-ins in the hallway would drive me crazy.
The concert would be in full chaos mode when I got there, but arriving before eleven would mean waiting around for the band to finish up. There was no point in going if I wasn’t maximizing my time there to buy a few rounds and socialize like it was my job because—well, it was my job. A job I’d dive headfirst into as long as it meant I wasn’t pacing my bedroom listening for Sabrina’s door to open.
Before long she’d be calling her friend Cat, whose stories filled half our puzzle time, to tell her the stalker was coming from inside the house.
I stopped short when I walked into the living room. The pungent smells of beef, chicken, and salt, sweet and spice mixed, overtook the whole space.
Sabrina was curled up on the couch in fuzzy socks, sweats, and a t-shirt. Her still-damp hair was pulled up into a ponytail tangle. She had a bowl of beef and broccoli and a beer—one of mine—on the coffee table in front of the couch.
Styrofoam containers of food were set out on the table on top of a kitchen towel. There were blue pen scribbles on top of each and a few plastic containers filled with a brown liquid and floating dumplings.
My chest tightened with longing. In my head she looked up at me and moved the bowl onto her lap and patted the couch cushion beside her. Once I sat, she’d lean in close and rest her head against my chest. I’d play with the strands of hair that dampened my shirt, and she’d rub her hand along my leg absently while we ate and fought over which show or movie to watch next.
Instead of the scene in my mind, her head jerked toward me. She swallowed her food and stuck two fingers in her mouth for a screeching wolf whistle. “Wow, quite the look you’ve got going on for a night on the town.” She didn’t make room and tried to keep her voice light although there was a hint of strain there. “Let’s see the whole thing.”
Not wanting to deny her and not hating the way she looked at me, I did a slow turn, letting her see the full ensemble. The suit was one of many lining my closet, tailored, dry-cleaned, and ready at a moment’s notice. They were my shield against the world. Who didn’t feel like they could handle anything in a custom suit that turned heads and made people notice?
“Someone’s getting laid tonight in your super fancy outfit.”
I rankled at her thinking I was sleeping with anyone tonight. But that had been the gist of what I’d said, hadn’t it? That we were casual and fun and it didn’t preclude having that same kind of casual fun with someone else. Cementing our relationship to roommates didn’t spell out that I had no interest in anyone other than her. But I hated the idea of her thinking that about me. “Is that why you think I go out?”