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“Bad? Why! I can’t be the worst roommate you’ve ever had. It’s only been, like, three days.”
“Four.”
“Still—what can you complain about so soon?”
Mason’s mouth tilts up as he starts to count on his fingers. “You leave dishes in the sink.”
“I’d get to them eventually if you didn’t wash them first!”
“You turn the thermostat up to sweltering levels.”
“It’swinter!”
“Not in the apartment. With you messing with the heat, it’s like living right on the equator. Also, you sing loudly and off-key. Often.”
“I should have given you noise canceling headphones for Christmas,” I mutter.
Pulling my hand away from him, I cross my arms and glare. But there’s no heat behind it because I know there’s no heat behind his words. Underneath the teasing tone, his voice is laced with affection. I’d like to nuzzle into him like a puppy, demanding to be scratched behind the ears.
But also … maybe I could work on doing my dishes and singing alittleless loudly.
I’m not budging on the thermostat.
“Is that it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I can go on.”
Okay, now maybe I’m starting to take this a little personally. “Is it reallysohard to live with me?”
“Yes.”
I’m a little taken aback until I see Mason’s eyes heat, turning to a molten amber. He scoots closer, hooking his arm around my waist and tugging me closer until I’m practically in his lap, our faces only inches apart.
“You have no idea how hard it is to sleep knowing you’re just a wall away.”
I havesomeidea. It’s been hard for me too—staring up at the ceiling trying not to think of Mason in the same apartment but a different bed. I just never imagined he was having the same struggle.
I swallow. His voice is low and rough, his gaze pinning me in place. Not that he needs to keep me there by force.
Nope—it would take a backhoe to scrape me up and drag me away.
“It’s hard to be around you without touching you,” he continues. “It’s hard to see you every day and not confess how I feel.” His eyes narrow. “It’s been hard not to chase off every one of these losers you’ve gone on a date with this week. It’s hard when I want it to be me instead.”
This is what I’ve been waiting for, hoping for years that Mason would say. And yet I’m struck totally dumb by his words. I can’t even move.
Am I breathing? Unsure. I guess if I black out, I’ll know.
Mason dips his head, turning so his lips graze my ear. Desire sparks to life underneath my skin, pulsing in time with my racing pulse.
“It’s hard not to pull you into my arms and kiss you right now,” he says. “It’s hard to let you go on thinking I don’t feel this way all the time. It’s been hard foryearsnot to tell you the truth.”
I suck in a breath as Mason’s lips press a soft kiss to my temple. Then another, just below it.
“Years?” I ask, my voice sounding dazed or maybe drugged.
“Years,” he confirms. He continues kissing a slow, tortuous path down my face, stopping at my jaw where his lips part and he nibbles lightly, making my whole body shiver.
I would pinch myself to make sure the moment’s real, but I can’t feel my hands. Do I still have hands? I am only aware of the place Mason’s mouth touches my cheek and the tendrils of desire snaking through me from that point, mapping new roads, new paths, new boundary lines.
