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I tried not to gape. Ireallydid. Gaping at my new, barely dressed roommate when I was mostly naked myself was not only gross but also wildly inappropriate. But I couldn’t help myself. This man had been hiding an actual, honest-to-god six-pack beneath his perfect-fitting clothes. His broad chest tapered down to a narrow waist, the way he wore his shorts making him look like he was a goddamn underwear model instead of a doctor or CEO or whatever the hell he was.
Frederick wasn’t just attractive, I realized.
He was aGreek god.
The seconds ticked by as we stood there—me ogling him, him staring wide-eyed at a spot of nothing just beyond my left shoulder. I tried to think about anything but how close we were standing, how little we were wearing, and the way my heartbeat was suddenly racing. And then, because I’d never had much of a self-preservation instinct, I had a sudden, nearly irresistible urge to trace the solid lines of his chest with my fingertips. To see if those abs of his were as rock hard as they looked.
What would he do if I did?
Would he kick me out and find a roommate who actually knew how to behave appropriately in awkward situations? One who could also maybe pay him rent closer to market rate? Or would he pull my towel away and toss it to the side before he took my body in those giant hands of his, and—
I clenched my hands into tight fists and forced them down by my sides before I had a chance to do anything stupid. The prickling heat of a furious blush rose up through my body, warming my cheeks and making my hands sweat.
Frederick wasn’t blushing, though he still looked at least as embarrassed as I felt. To his credit, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the wall behind me. He honestly looked like he mightdieif he let his gaze shift towards me by so much as an inch.
Clearly, he wasn’t even half the perv I was.
He was a gentleman.
A totally misplaced rush of disappointment went through me at the realization.
I cleared my throat to try and keep my thoughts on the matter at hand. “I didn’t think you’d be... I mean, you said you’re usually out at night, and...”
“I apologize, Miss Greenberg.” His voice sounded strained. He still wouldn’t look at me. “The shower was running for so long I assumed you had left the apartment without turning it off. So I came.” He paused, eyes going even wider when he realized what he’d just said. “To the bathroom, that is. To turn it off. The water, I mean.”
He dipped his head towards me in an awkward bow. At this point my face must have been so red it could be seen from space. “Please forgive me, Miss Greenberg. It will never happen again.”
And then he stepped around me, making sure not to brush up against any part of my body as he passed.
I heard the click of the bathroom door behind me, and then what sounded a lot like the contents of the medicine cabinet crashing to the tiled bathroom floor.
“Are you okay?” I called out, alarmed. Had he been so mortified by what just happened he fell down?
“Yes! Perfectly fine!” Frederick said, sounding strangled, before letting out what sounded like a string of low, muttered curses.
I was so embarrassed I hardly remembered walking into my bedroom. But the second I was inside my bedroom I slammed thedoor shut and then flung myself face-down onto my bed, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. My heart was hammering so hard it felt like my ribs might break. I tried to tell myself that it was simply because what just happened was one of the most awkward moments of my life. But deep down I knew that was only part of it.
I didn’t want to think about how incredible Frederick looked without a shirt. Nothing good could come from that line of thinking. With everything else going on in my life, having lurid fantasies about a handsome man who was miles out of my league and my roommate to boot was the last thing I needed to be doing with my time.
With difficulty, I forced myself to think about my plans to get my canvases out of Sam’s storage unit the next day.
My hair was still a disaster. That needed my attention, too.
I grabbed the fabric shears from the top of my desk. They were even duller than I remembered. But if I messed up my hair even more, at least it would stop me from thinking about what just happened with my roommate.
I started cutting, and... well, the end result was marginally better. If you squinted. At least the ends were even.
I turned off the lights and climbed into bed, cringing at how reliably good I was at messing up my life, even when nothing else went according to plan.
FIVE
Diary entry of Mr. Frederick J. Fitzwilliam, dated October 20
Dear Diary,
Oh, gods.
Is it possible for a person like me to die from shame?
