The Roommate (Roommates, #1)

“Found a place to live yet?” Peter asked.

Peter was a nurse anesthetist at the hospital I work at. He was a few years older than me, and in some ways, he treated me like a little brother. We met my first week at the hospital and just clicked. When he got married to his boyfriend of a decade last year, I was one of the groomsmen. And when I needed a place to crash after getting evicted from my apartment this week, he offered to let me crash at his place. But I knew that wasn’t a long-term solution. I didn’t want to impose on the newlyweds.

I nodded. “I’ve been staying with my sister’s friend Paige.” My sister’s very hot friend who I wanted to nail. I was pretty sure I’d been walking around all day half hard. Guess it was a good thing he hadn’t noticed.

“Gotcha.” He nodded. “How’s that going?”

“It’s good. It’s just taking some adjustment. I just moved in yesterday, and I’ve lived alone for a while, you know?” And now I had to deal with the soft feminine scent of her shampoo in the bathroom, and watching her parade around in yoga pants and talk in gibberish to her dog. She was maddeningly hot and she didn’t even know it.

“I still don’t understand,” Peter said, bending down to tie his bright purple tennis shoe. “How could they just kick you out of your place?”

He was right. My rent check was always on time, and I was quiet and neat. But the personal drama that tagged along with me was apparently more than my landlord wanted to handle. I shrugged. Having your place vandalized four times in six months and broken into twice was a bit excessive.

“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered. I actually liked being near Paige. Maybe too much.

“So, tell me about your new roomie. Do we like her?” Peter grinned.

“Fuck off,” I muttered, stalking away from Peter and his laughter echoing in the halls of the hospital.

• • •

True to her word, Paige returned home from work a few minutes after five.

“In here,” I called from the kitchen. Enchilada hovered around my feet, poised to snatch any fallen scraps.

She set down a laptop bag on the dining table, her gaze reluctantly dragging over to mine. “Hi.”

Wondering if she was remembering how I looked naked, I fought off a smile. “How was work?” I tossed a handful of sliced peppers into a wok, then added some onion.

“Fine,” she said, moving a couple of steps closer. “What’s all this?”

Enchilada wandered over, the desire to greet his master momentarily winning out over hunger, and Paige reached down to pat his fluffy head.

“I grabbed the ingredients for fajitas at the store today.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the chicken strips already browning in the skillet.

“Hope that’s okay. You named your dog Enchilada, so I assumed you like Mexican food.”

“Of course. It’s just . . . I didn’t expect you to cook for me.”

I shrugged. “I have my first couple of days off in what seems like forever. And besides, I had a craving. Would you mind stirring that chicken?”

She took a rubber spatula from the crock that held her utensils on the counter and turned over each piece of chicken, concentrating on her task carefully.

“I got tequila, and margarita mix too,” I said.

She eyed me carefully, her expression serious, but still somehow playful. “Tequila? Do you really think that’s a good idea for us?”

I laughed at her honesty. “Hey, we survived night one, didn’t we?”

“Yes, and it was a small miracle since you were naked.”

I smirked. “Sorry about that. It was an honest mistake.”

Paige moved on, busying herself filling the blender with ice, and I couldn’t help but notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.

While she mixed the drinks, I sautéed the vegetables and combined them with the chicken. The whir of the blender drowned out the silence around us, and then Paige poured two margaritas into festive glasses.

“Thank you for the flowers, by the way. And the treats for Enchilada. That was thoughtful of you.”

I nodded. “It was nothing. I’m just happy to have a place to stay.”

I wouldn’t tell Paige, but I’d been a little traumatized after staying with Peter and his husband. I was fine with whatever happened in their bedroom, but drew the line at being forced to overhear it. No one should hear their friend shouting for his husband to take him deeper.

“We never got to discuss rent. How much would you like me to pay?” I asked.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

“I . . . I’m not sure.” Paige’s teeth sank into her lower lip.

Damn, that was distracting. “I’ll pay half of the rent and utilities. Just let me know how much it is.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “I suppose that’s fair. Your half will be seven hundred, and it’s due on the first of the month. I’ll let you know about the utilities.”

“Perfect.”

I turned off the burners and grabbed a couple of plates. “Do you need to change before dinner? I’ve got this.”

Shaking her head, she took a sip of her frosty drink. “That’s okay. Fridays are casual dress.”

I recalled that yesterday, she’d been wearing a skirt and a silk blouse. Today she looked just as tempting in a pair of dark jeans that hugged her curves, and a fitted, long-sleeved burgundy T-shirt. A long gold necklace hung around her neck, a sparkly pendant swaying as she moved.

After making up our plates, we carried them into the dining half of the main room. Luckily, the empty silence was soon filled with Paige’s questions about med school, a topic I could talk about for hours.

“Do you have classes during the day, and then internships at night? That seems like an awful lot.” She looked down at her plate. “Sorry, I don’t know how this stuff works.”

I waved her off. “Not at all. I finished my classroom time during my first two years. The next two years of med school are spent in rotations. Basically, I’m like a doctor without the medical license. I’ve delivered babies, assisted with surgery, tended to gunshot victims in the ER. It’s a little bit of everything.”

“Wow. That sounds intense.”

I shrugged. “My stepdad once said you’re not a real doctor unless you can handle traumas. Kind of a weird statement, but something about it resonated with me. I’m glad I got to experience that firsthand in my emergency-medicine rotation. Basically, if you’re ever stabbed or have a flesh-eating virus, I’m your man.”

She laughed as she took another bite of her fajita. Salsa landed on her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.

“It’s smart the way they structure it,” I said, “because you’re forced to learn everything before you can declare your specialty. And then after that, you apply for residencies.”

“Right . . . your residency. Allie said you’d be moving in about two months.”

I nodded. “That’s the idea.” I just had to figure out where in the hell I wanted to go. Part of me wanted to whisk off on an adventure, maybe go and live overseas, do humanitarian aid in India or Africa for a few years. But I knew Mom and Allie would freak if I did that, so I was torn.

“So you liked working with trauma patients? Is that what you want to specialize in?” Paige placed her napkin back in her lap and looked at me expectantly.

I let out a deep sigh. “Honestly? I don’t have a fucking clue. Emergency medicine is what I’ve been telling everyone for the past two years, but the truth is, I don’t know. I deferred the decision, and the final deadline is approaching in a couple of weeks. I need to just pick something, but so far I haven’t been able to narrow it down.”

“Ah, I see.” She rubbed her chin. “You’re a fear-of-commitment type.”

At that, I chuckled. She didn’t even know the half of it. “Something like that.”

“What’s your current rotation? Do you like it?”

Oh, this was going to be fun. I couldn’t wait to see the blush on her cheeks when I told her. “Obstetrics and gynecology. And yeah, it’s been . . . enlightening. But if I’m going to have my hand inside a woman’s honeypot, I’d much rather it be for pleasure than for work.”

She choked on her margarita, coughing to clear her airway. “Fuck.” Coughing loudly several more times into her napkin, she grinned at me. “That was not fair.”

I merely shrugged. “Never said I played fair, princess.”