Roomies (A Standalone Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) by Claire Adams

month to tell her that I was going to be losing my
job in about a month.
    The logic is blurry at
best, but it’s worth a shot.
    I bend down and put my
arms around her. She embraces me and it actually feels pretty great.
    I can’t really remember
the last time a woman, drunk or sober, showed me affection just to make me feel
better about things.
    Her head starts to pull
back and her grip loosens around me, so I start to pull away, but her face
turns toward mine. Leila’s eyes are closed and I can feel her hot breath
against my cheek.
    When her eyes open, she’s
looking into mine in a way I’ve never experienced. It’s like she’s actually
seeing me for the first time, really seeing me and she’s not put off. She’s not
scared or disappointed.
    She pulls back a little
further and our lips are almost touching when I hear the sound behind me.
    “Dane? Have you seen my
panties? I can’t find them anywhere.”
    “Well,” Leila says,
pulling away entirely and patting me on the cheek. “I don’t see anything in
your eye. You’re good to go.”
    “Thanks,” I mutter; my
eyes still intent on Leila.
    “Aren’t you going to
introduce us?” Wrigley asks.
    I turn and Wrigley’s
standing there in the doorway to my bedroom, naked from the waist down.
    “I’m not feeling so
well,” Leila says, getting up, her eyes on the ground. “It’s nice to meet you,”
she adds as she passes Wrigley and makes her way into her own room.
    “Too bad,” Wrigley says.
“She looked like she was ready to go.”
    What the fuck just
happened?

 
    Chapter Nine
    Cold
Turkey
    Leila

 
 
    I don’t think I’m going
to be drinking again any time soon. At least, that is, as long as Dane is still
living here.
    It’s funny, but I never
thought I’d be longing for that temporary amnesia I had after that night in the
club with Mike. Given what happened, or almost happened, between Dane and me
last night, I don’t think alcohol is the best idea.
    Today’s the first day
I’ve called in sick in my life.
    It’s well into the
afternoon, and I’m scared to leave my room. I can’t face Dane right now. Not
after that.
    There’s a problem,
though.
    I’ve had to pee for about
the last hour, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to lie in
here and avoid reality.
    Usually, this is one of
those times when I would give Mike a call and suckle from the teat of his
folksy wisdom. Yeah, that’s what he insists on calling it when I go to him for
advice.
    I’d much rather just act
like nothing ever happened in the first place.
    Maybe that’s my in.
    I get up and open the
door.
    Dane is in the kitchen,
eating a sandwich, and I pretend that I don’t see him as I walk across the
living room to the bathroom.
    “Good morning,” he says,
his mouth full and losing crumbs.
    “Hey,” I answer, not
looking over or slowing my pace.
    A few minutes later, I’m
on the inside of the locked bathroom, and I’m having that dilemma again. He
acknowledged my presence, so he’s going to want to talk to me when I come out
of here.
    Maybe I can just stay in
here.
    I mean there’s running
water to drink—from the sink, mind you. I’m not an animal. Well, no more than
anyone else.
    If I’d remembered to grab
my phone, I could order pizza and Chinese food and have them come up the fire
escape and deliver my sustenance through the smallish bathroom window. Yeah,
I’m sure they won’t go for it at first, but I’m an excellent tipper. A pizza
box wouldn’t fit through the window, but I can always have the guy pass it
through piece by piece.
    I could make a bed out of
towels and have Mike run any personal errands that may arise.
    Sure, I’ll run out of
money pretty fast as I won’t really be able to work, but maybe I can have Mike
bring over a laptop and try my hand at stay-at-home customer service.
    For a bed, I can simply
lay down some towels, making sure to double a couple up for pillows and, with
the towels that are left, I can