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"Please?" Her voice was very small when she asked this. "I just want a door that locks. I don't know you, and while this might all just be a misunderstanding... I'm tired, and I'm a little scared, and—“
"Fine." Dammit. She said she was scared. No one should be scared of me unless I was wearing skates and there was a puck around. "Fine. I'll sleep on the couch."
"Really?"
I nodded and leaned back to watch the end of the game.
"Thanks. Good night."
With that, Drea disappeared down the hallway and I didn't see her again until sunlight streamed in through the windows, picking up sparkling threads in the area rug I hadn't noticed the night before. Sparkles. Of course.
CHAPTER5
DREA
A SIGNIFICANT LACK OF BACON
Islept surprisingly well, considering there was an enormous and infuriatingly stubborn stranger in my house. I supposed I could have offered him a blanket or a pillow, since I'd made him sleep on the couch, though he hadn't seemed to need one before. And he probably knew where they were kept.
When sunlight slashed across the dark grey comforter on my bed, I rolled over and stretched, as the events of the previous night came back to me one by one.
Paige and April at Straddlers, listening to me whine about being alone. The psychic and her ridiculous fortune.He is already in your life...the only man already in my life had been Rock Stevens of the ridiculous name and impressive physique, asleep naked on my couch as the psychic read my cards.
I mean.
There was no way she meant him. The fact that I even thought about it was annoying, and I forced the consideration from my mind. It wouldn't do to approach my intruder this morning with any vague notion that he was supposed to be anything beyond a handsome annoyance.
I sighed and sat up, hoping an upright posture would banish strange wistful thinking about naked strangers and fortunes. And I wished, not for the first time, that I had a bathroom attached to the bedroom. But as things were, I would have to leave the bedroom to do what needed doing this morning.
As I opened the door a crack, the scent of breakfast floated temptingly down the hallway. Bacon? And baked goods? Was this guy baking in my kitchen? And... was he humming? I thought I recognized the tune. It was from a musical. Rock was into Broadway? Hmm.
I tiptoed to the bathroom and slipped in, locking the door and turning on the shower, letting out a sigh of relief that I hadn't bumped into him in the hallway.
While I showered, I thought about the man in my house. Maybe he was trying to make amends for scaring me by cooking me breakfast. Maybe we could start over, figure this out like civil adults. He'd offered an olive branch by making breakfast. I could be a bigger person and try to be nice this morning, even if the whole situation was extremely weird.
Nattie would no doubt find somewhere else for him to stay, and I could get back to my regular life, which consisted mostly of lonely nights in this apartment and worrying about whether I needed to grow up and get a real job, something I'd been thinking for a while.
Dressed and cleaned up, I lifted my chin and ventured into the kitchen, expecting to see a spread of breakfast foods and a contrite intruder. Instead, the kitchen was a disaster, and there wasn't a speck of bacon to be seen.
Rock, thankfully wearing clothes—or at least the same pair of shorts he'd had on the night before—sat at my little round table, drinking coffee and staring at his phone. He didn't even look up when I walked in, which was annoying because I might have put a little extra effort into my hair and makeup. Not for him, of course.
"Good morning," I said.
"Morning," he said, still staring at his phone. I gazed around the disaster that was my kitchen. "Did you make breakfast?"
"Yup."
I frowned. He was still staring at his phone, making no move to help me find the bacon that smelled so delicious my stomach was screaming for it. "Is there bacon?"
Rock finally turned to look at me, his eyes shifting from passive to something darker as he took me in. "Ah... there was."
"You didn't make any for me?" That was annoying. And the fact that the morning light was catching the smattering of fine blond hair on his very substantial chest and highlighting every single muscle in his enormous arms did not make up for a lack of bacon.
"It's not like you're a guest here," he said. "I assumed you'd make whatever you wanted when you got up."
I swung my gaze around the kitchen again, spotting the coffee pot. At least there was coffee. Of course, Rock was using my favorite mug, a wide thick-walled cup in the shape of a porcupine that said, "Stick 'em Up," on it.
"You're using my mug."
