The Roommate Arrangement Page 2

  "Nope." He glances at me. "Just sit and—er—try to make yourself comfortable."

  The smell of crackling bacon wafts through the house like a siren’s song for jocks. One by one, Henry’s teammates wander into the kitchen in boxers and peer hopefully over Titus’ shoulder. Titus introduces me to a strapping man whose hand engulfs mine.

  "Chris," he says. "Nice to meet you."

  I smile at Chris, who seizes a half-full Rolling Rock and takes a deep swig. "Best cure for a hangover," he proclaims.

  I seriously doubt that.

  Two more living Greek statues stagger from their rooms, men whose names I forget almost instantly because it’s overwhelming to stand next to their chiseled physiques, and none of them are shy about displaying their bodies. I feel like I’m experiencing a hyper-realistic wet dream. My tongue ties in knots at the broad smiles, the friendly banter, the slabs and slabs of muscle staring at me. They demand my attention and wring my hand. They want to hear embarrassing stories about Henry as a child. Halfway between shaking Greg’s—or was it Gary’s—hand, a man with a heart-stopping smile and short-cropped hair pushes Greg out of the way to take my hand, his eyes dragging up and down my body.

  Hello.

  Short black hair frames an angular face. His eyes are sunken and long eyelashes splay over hollow cheeks. A long, straight nose leads to a full mouth. My eyes linger on his jaw and jutting Adam’s apple, all the chiseled features belonging to a professional model. Tattoos cover his right arm. Black tribal marks swirl around his biceps. A spade of guilt hits me for staring, but he’s like a work of art. It’d be a crime not to appreciate this masterpiece.

  "She’s Henry’s sister," Titus says.

  Dimples carve deep into the man’s face as he refuses to release my hand. I’ve always been a sucker for dimples. "Nice to meet you, Saffie. I’m Grayson. You’re just here for the weekend?"

  So he’s the troublemaker Henry bitched about. Good to know.

  My hand tingles with his warmth. "Well, I’m hoping he’ll let me stay for the summer."

  "Awesome!" Titus roars, grinning at me. "We’ll have a blast!"

  "That sounds like fun," Grayson says, a feline smirk staggering across his handsome face. "I look forward to getting to know you."

  "I—thanks. Me, too."

  "I’m about to make a protein shake. Want one?"

  He releases my hand. Blood roars in my ears. "I’m more of a eggs-and-bacon person."

  These guys defy the asshole-jock stereotype. Every one of them is sweet, handsome, and helpful. Grayson faces the giant blenders, and I get a view of his powerful back.

  Damn.

  The team seems beyond ecstatic to meet Henry’s sister, especially Titus, who pushes a plate of food in front of me. They work together to clear off the kitchen table. I feel like the popular kid in school. Everyone wants to sit next to me, but I only have eyes for Grayson.

  According to my brother, he’s the guy behind the outrageous parties and scandals filling my newsfeed. I didn't expect the guy behind Topless Thursdays to be so disarming.

  He slides into the seat next to me. "So what brings you here?"

  I debate whether I should launch into my pathetic story and decide on the Cliff-notes version. "I failed at life and chose a profession where jobs are scarce."

  "Teacher?"

  "Wrong. I was a lawyer for a small firm in San Francisco, and they laid me off. Couldn’t afford the rent after that, so I’m here for three days."

  "That’s it?" Chris says from my left.

  I smile at him. "Henry only agreed to three."

  Grayson digs into his eggs. "He’ll let you stay longer."

  Not sure about that. "I didn’t know you guys would be here for the summer." The table goes quiet as they eat breakfast, listening. "The last thing I want to do is impose, but I have nowhere else to go."

  "You’re welcome here for as long as you want," Grayson says.

  Patches of heat rise to my cheeks. "Really?"

  "Nobody minds. Right?"

  They chime agreements between mouthfuls of egg, and I ball my hands into fists under the table, blinking the mist away. "Thank you, but I’ll need to ask my brother first."

  "Screw him, we already voted." Grayson sips his protein shake, eyeing me in a way that warms my skin. "It’s no big deal. You don’t seem like a psycho."

  "Oh, just give me time. I’ll prove you wrong."

  "You’re right," he says with a mock-frown. "When you go on your rampage, stab the others first. I’m the striker of the team. They can’t afford to lose me. Can’t say the same about some people."

  Grayson jerks his head toward Titus, who flips him the bird.

  A chuckle bursts from my chest. He’s funny.

  He laughs. "Anyway, most crazy chicks just want my body. I’m not too worried."

  I don’t doubt it. "What do the others want?"

  "Child support." He grabs the plate of bacon and dumps a third of it on his eggs. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  He’s already diving into the personal questions. I roll with it. "As if any guy would be okay with this living arrangement. I didn’t have time for boyfriends in the city." I put off a lot of things just to fund my life in San Francisco. Dating was too expensive, so finding a boyfriend stayed on the back burner for years.

  "No time for going on dates? Jesus."

  "I’m a lawyer. It’s a lot of paperwork, and once you graduate from school, you have to work your way up the ladder. Some people never leave the mailroom. Being a soccer star is much more fun."

  He toasts my glass of orange juice. "Maybe you’ll find a hot guy while you’re staying with us. You never know."

  Yeah, I’m surrounded by seven of them.

  I laugh, refusing to believe this six-foot-two, gorgeous man is flirting with me. "Will you be my wingman?"

  His knee nudges my thigh, and his voice dips to a low whisper. "I’ll make you fly, girl."

  I stare into his deep blue gaze as tendrils of heat wrap around my waist. It’s been ages since I’ve gone on a date with a guy, let alone flirted with one. I can’t tell if he's serious or fucking with Henry’s sister. What’s he playing at?

  "Don’t pay attention to him, Saffie," Titus says, finishing his meal. "He’s just being—"

  "Suave," Grayson cuts in. "Right, Saff?"

  Now he’s calling me by my childhood pet name and damn him, but it tugs at my heart. I don’t trust the oil in his voice. Everything he says is slicked with an innuendo, a suggestion, something to get a rise out of me. And it’s working.

  My blood will never cool down around him. I twist a strand of hair around my finger—always been a nervous habit of mine. Grayson’s presence sends blood careening through my veins.

  I don’t remember what the hell he said, only that I’m supposed to agree. "Yeah."

  Titus’ silverware clatters on his plate. "Dick," he says, taking his dish away.

  I bite my lip to keep from smiling, and Grayson chuckles. "You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you?"

  He finishes the last of his shake. "I don’t know any other way to be, doll."

  Doll. Always the undercurrent of suggestion. Always the shadow of a wink or a hint of a smile. What kind of guy flirts with his teammate’s sister? He’s a master at making my blood simmer. I might’ve lived under a rock the last couple years, but I’m not dead.

  Grayson takes my shoulder and squeezes. "I’ve got to work out for the next few hours. Let’s hang out later?"

  "Okay," I hear myself saying.

  The chair scrapes back, and Grayson saunters out of the kitchen, his boxers pulled low on his ass. It flexes as he walks into the hall and past my brother, who glares at me.

  Did he see me staring at his friend’s ass?

  Fuck.

  The distant echoes of Grayson’s footsteps fade away. Henry’s arms cross over his chest. "Saffie, can I talk to you for a second?"

  Great, now I’ll get a lecture even though I’m the older sibling. I’
m a red-blooded woman. Did he think I wouldn’t notice the seven hot bachelors strutting around this place?

  Sighing, I follow Henry into a library. The door slams and all thoughts of asking him to extend my stay fly out the window. "What’s wrong?"

  A shadow passes over Henry’s eyes. "Do me a favor and stay the hell away from Grayson."

  I’m thrown by the hostility in his voice. "What do you mean—stay away? He lives here."

  "He’s not a good man, Saffie," he continues in the same grave tone. "For the last year, he’s made my life a living hell."

  "With the parties?" Henry clams up, pacing the length of the room. "Is this an overprotective brother thing? Because Grayson did nothing wrong."

  "Not yet," he snaps.

  My brother needs to remember I’ve been alive longer than he has. "I think I can judge him myself."

  "No, you can’t." He strides forward, taking my shoulders. "Not in three days."

  Worry lines his face. My head reels with the strangeness of it. Weeks ago, I was lucky to get so much as a five-minute phone call with my brother. He’s acting as though he has my best interests at heart.

  When has he ever cared about me? Grayson was nice. Sweet, even. "What did he do?"

  "I’m not willing to talk about it."

  "You can’t expect me to—"

  "He’s an instigator, Saffie. He’s been pulling crap like what you’ve read in the tabloids."

  I shrug. "Why?"

  Henry chews his lip. "Because he hates me. I won’t get into why, but he’s made it his mission to make my life miserable. The man’s disturbed, and I won’t have him messing with my sister."

  Something about this is off: the heavy-handed warning, Henry’s concern over me, his refusal to get into the details. Disturbed? I would have called Grayson snarky. It’s hard to imagine Grayson as a self-destructive mess, maybe because it’s always assumed that beautiful people always have their shit together.

  Henry could be exaggerating, but there’s no point in goading Henry when I need his help. "Fine. Keep your shorts on, all right? I’ll do my best to steer clear."

  A relieved sigh blows from his mouth. "Good."

  2

  Grayson

  The beer on my nightstand is warm to the touch, but I finish the can anyway, cringing as it goes down like hot piss. The aluminum bites into my hand as the sides buckle, and then I toss it into the overflowing garbage.

  A message from my lawyer blinks on my phone. He’ll want to discuss the next steps, but today’s our anniversary, and I can’t face it.

  Fuck it all.

  I wade through the shit in my room and dress in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Then I walk into the hall. Avoiding Henry should be easy in a house like this, except the marble floor carries his voice everywhere. I should’ve gone to Cabo for the summer instead of wasting my time here. I made sure the paparazzi knew about every stupid fucking party and blasted my name all over them, but it still wasn’t enough.

  What will it fucking take?

  I gaze at the blank walls as though a solution will write itself on the surface. Restless, I walk down the hall. And then it comes to me like a lightning bolt to the brain.

  Saffie.

  The petite beauty with a high, black ponytail, a heart-shaped face, and a smart mouth. Henry’s sister. She’s the key to getting out of this. In the years I've known him, Henry never talked about her. Not once. I’m sure they’re wrapped up in family drama, and I hate myself for wanting to know what it is.

  I was prepared to loathe the sight of her, but she's the right combination of dirty and sweet with just enough intrigue to make me pause. Any reminder of him digs under my skin, but that girl’s story about falling on hard times raised too many questions. She’s a Pardini same as her brother. They belong to one of the richest families in this country. Why isn’t she crashing luxury vehicles and spending her inheritance on designer bags like the vapid moron I expected her to be? Why is she destitute? And why do I care?

  I don’t give a shit about her. She’s an anomaly, that’s all. A babe who could be the answer to my prayers.

  I head toward the living room. Taylor Swift blares from the television, and I’m about to mock the Chris for listening to “Shake It Off” when I see Saffie on a yoga mat.

  Saffie wears ridiculously tight workout pants that look like Lululemon knock-offs. I’m grateful for that brand. They’ve made showing every inch of a woman’s ass fashionable. The blue pants glide up slim legs to a perfectly round bubble. The sports bra wraps around her back in an X, leaving little to the imagination. She changes position, watching the TV screen as she crawls, sticking her chest and ass out. I glance at the screen.

  Cow pose. More like doggy style.

  Good God.

  She notices me in the reflection. Her head turns. I’m mesmerized by the thought of pulling those ultra-tight pants down an inch or two and sliding into her.

  "Yoga," I say, grinning. "Really?"

  She pays me no mind, switching into cat. "I try to do it every morning. Keeps my butt from becoming cottage cheese."

  "If you want a tighter ass, you should do squats. Lunges with free weights." I sink into the couch next to her. "Not that you need it."

  Saffie’s head whips around. "Are you hitting on me?"

  Of course I am. "Just giving you friendly advice. Yoga won’t do shit."

  "That’s where you’re wrong."

  Normally I don’t tolerate people claiming they know better than me about athletics, but I’m distracted by her curves. Every pose she attempts looks like a page from the Kama Sutra. Saffie lies flat; ass raised as her hands extend in front of her. Her thick ponytail sits high on her head, begging to be yanked.

  I want her.

  I want to throw her over my shoulder and teach her a better way to work out her ass. If she’d let me, I’d toss her on my bed, tear her clothes off, and fuck her until my legs stop working.

  "Are you joining me or staring at my ass?"

  Busted. "I’ll just watch. Yoga’s not my thing."

  She peers at me. "Too hard?"

  I give the TV screen a disdainful look. "Hell no."

  "I bet you can’t even do it."

  "Yes, I fucking can."

  "Then man up," she says, wetting her pink lips. "Do the sun salutation with me."

  Her eyes gleam with the challenge, and I feel an answering rush of blood. What a spitfire. It’s fucking hot. The women I’m used to never talk back because they’re afraid I’ll dump them. I’d rather have a girl with a working brain than a pretty pet trained to suck my cock, and Saffie is not the latter. I would love to punish that smart mouth.

  The coffee table groans as I move it out of the way and stand next to her. A cocky grin spreads across her face as she restarts the YouTube video.

  "So what do I get if I win?" I ask her.

  "I’ll make you lunch."

  Bo-ring. "The stakes are too fucking high. I don’t know if I’m up for this."

  She rolls her eyes. "What do you suggest?"

  Something kinky. "If you lose, you have to do a polar bear swim in the pool. Naked."

  The average girl would say no. Actually, she'd strip her clothes because of who I am.

  Saffie raises her head, accepting the challenge. "And you’ll do the same if I win? I don’t know. Aren’t you guys naked all the time?"

  "Only in your fantasies, Saffie." I grin ear to ear. "Straight men don’t like to look at other men’s dicks. Scout’s honor."

  "Whatever." She squares her shoulders. "Ready?"

  I laugh at her. "You’re really agreeing to do this?"

  "I know I’ll win."

  Confidence blazes through her eyes. She stabs the remote, and the YouTube video begins on the floor. Downward-facing dog.

  Easy enough. I get into position, wincing a little at my tight hamstrings. We run through a series of simple poses. "This is bullshit. I don’t feel anything."

  "You’re not activating your core
muscles," she says.

  I roll my eyes, thinking of the three hundred and seventy pounds I squatted earlier today. This yoga shit doesn’t make a dent. It’s like a pebble hitting reinforced steel.

  The position transitions into a standing one. Proud Warrior. Fucking easy. The tree pose. Balance has never been my strong suit, but I manage it.

  "Hmm. Video’s almost over, and I haven’t messed up. Are you ready to concede defeat?"

  "We’re not done yet," she says.

  Smirking, I glance at the screen for the next one. Tripod.

  Shit.

  I know just by glancing that my thick legs and arms won’t bend that way, but Saffie manages it no problem. Her palms lay flat on the yoga mat as she lifts herself upside down, knees bent under her elbows.

  "What’s wrong?" she sings. "Scared?"

  "That’s right. I’m terrified of what the guys will think when they see you skinny-dipping. Not very classy."

  "Hmm. Good thing they won’t, because you’ll be doing it. Stop stalling and do the pose."

  It can’t be that hard.

  I crawl and flatten my palms, wincing as my weight bears on my wrists. One leg hooks on an elbow, and then the other. Shit, I did it!

  And then I lose it. My balance gives, and I fall to the side, Saffie’s laughter booming in the living room. "Two out of three!"

  "No," she says, unfolding herself from the pose. "We made a deal. You lost. Take your clothes off."

  A thrill runs down my spine before Saffie realizes what she said and covers her mouth.

  "When you put it that way, sure."

  I remove my shirt, watching her eyes. They linger on my chest and arms. I head toward the sliding glass doors. The sky is deceptively bright, but the water won’t heat for hours.

  I leave the door open as I slide the shorts down my legs. She gapes at me in the kitchen, looking halfway between aroused and horrified. I let her drink me in. Soon enough I’ll have her to myself.

  Then I test the pool with my toe. It’s ice-cold, so I fall back, preparing for a running jump. My feet crash into the water first. "Fuck!"

  Freezing liquid surrounds me. I kick to the surface, breathing in the crisp air. A few strokes, and I’m across the pool. Saffie lingers inside, laughing hysterically.