Chapter 4
ROMI
Ivaguely remember his features—the dark hair, the dark brown, almost black eyes, and the lean build—and I make a point to dip my gaze lower, recalling the piercing on his cock.
But most of all, it’s that arrogant shit-eating grin and the single dimple that I remember most. And that's exactly what's on his fucking face now as the stranger I fucked a week ago stands at my door with a bag hanging over his shoulder.
“Are you some kind of stalker?” I ask, unimpressed, holding Borris close to my chest with one arm.
“Or is it fate?” he asks, bringing his forearm up on my doorframe and leaning in, that smirk begging to be slapped. “Good to see consistency is an attribute for my new roommate.” His gaze dips to the bottle of beer in my other hand. “Last time it was a bottle of vodka.”
“I ran out,” I tell him as I make a point to take a swig of the beer. This man has "problematic" written all over him, and now that I’m slightly more sober than when I fucked him, I can see he's not all there, in an unhinged kind of way.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I announce as I go to slam the door in his face, but his foot wedges into the space, and he pushes his way inside the apartment.
“Don’t be like that. Surely, you didn’t get too many applicants for a run-down apartment like this. I’ll pay double if money is an issue.”
I scoff as I turn to face him. This man oozes money, so I have no fucking idea what kind of joke this is. But he was the only one who applied for the room.
“Are you going to be selling drugs out of my kitchen or something?” I ask.
“More like prescribing. I’ll have you know, I’m a doctor.”
My gaze narrows as I give him another once-over. He exudes a smug arrogance, with his freshly trimmed facial hair, perfectly styled hair that has a few curls framing his face, and high-end clothing. I have a strong sense that this asshole is lying out of his ass.
His attractiveness is infuriating because his personality leaves a lot to be desired. Men like him piss me off.
“Were you always this hideous?” I ask curiously. “Or perhaps it’s that awful personality you should keep to yourself.”
He’s still smiling as he dumps his bag onto the couch, already making himself at home.
“Must be nice to have a new target to take all that hate out on, huh? Don’t worry, Cattivella, you can try all you like to drive me out, but I’m here to stay.”
My jaw clenches because I have no idea what "Cattivella" means, but I have no interest in asking him either. The arrogant stranger probably has all types of girls asking him to give them pretty nicknames in his native language—what I’m assuming to be Italian from the slight accent. I also hate that he’s fucking right.
He’s the first person who hasn’t thought better of engaging with me once I rebuke them for it.
I might’ve agreed to this roommate thing, but the truth is, the thought of having to deal with someone else’s feelings revolts me. I can’t even regulate my own, so it’s easier to force everyone away.
“Are rats a common issue in Manhattan?” he asks as he looks at Borris. The moment he offers him attention, Borris wriggles out of my arms and leaps to the ground so he can sniff at the newcomer.
Little traitor.
“He's a long-haired terrier, and his name is Borris. If he gives you an expression that he hasn’t been fed or needs another snack, he’s lying,” I say as I walk over to the kitchen counter and light a cigarette. “If you fall for it once, you’ll be enslaved to him forever.”
“Why do I feel like he’s giving me those eyes, right now?” he asks as he squats down in front of Borris. Part of me hopes Borris growls or scares him, but the little shit is a traitor. Tail-wagging, he easily gets picked up.
“Good to see you’re still using my lighter. By the way, stealing is a punishable offense.”
I shrug. “I’m pretty sure the least you could do for a girl is spare her a lighter after she makes you come.”
“If memory serves correctly, I wasn’t the only one who came that night. You were so frightened by it that I’ve never seen a woman run away so quickly,” he says as he scratches under Borris’s chin. “But you can use my cock anytime you need, roomie. I’ll never deny your needs.”
A liquid warmth floods to my core, the carnal images and thoughts from that night reappearing; the high as we fucked on the sand by the water. I take a long, thoughtful draw of my cigarette. This man could be the perfect distraction I need. It’s a shame I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Sorry, I’m not interested if I’ve fucked you once already.” I lie. Because falling into a rhythm with this man would be dangerous, I already know I’d get hooked, riding the same high as our last encounter.
“We shall see,” he says as he places Borris back down. “So, what’s your story, anyway?”
Nope.
Not into this conversation at all.
I push off the counter and point toward the second bedroom.
“That’s your room. Don’t come into mine, and don’t go upstairs into my studio. I expect cash every week for rent. And stay out of my way.”
I fish through my purse for the spare keys. I throw them in his direction, and he catches them swiftly, staring down at the llama keychain.
“If I were you, I’d get in early for showers during the evening. Between eight and ten, the hot water is pretty sparse in the building,” I tell him.
“That’s no problem. My work occupies me until the early hours of the morning.”
“Doing doctor stuff?” I ask rhetorically as I head toward my bedroom to get ready for the evening.
I was halfway through picking out my outfit when he arrived.
I don’t need to know any more about this man, but seriously, why the fuck does a doctor want or need to live in a place like this? He doesn’t exactly look short of cash.
“Yeah, doctor stuff. My name's Dante, by the way,” he calls to my back as Borris follows me into my room. I linger at the door, waiting until he’s inside, then look back at my roommate, who is insufferable but hopefully temporary.
“That’s nice,” I say with an insincere smile as I slam the door.
If he’s nearly as smart as he thinks he is, he’ll stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of his.
I agreed to this because my friends are worried, but now, I’m not so sure it was a good idea.
Dante: Do you live off air? There doesn’t seem to be much food in the apartment.
I squint at the phone screen. How the fuck did he get my number? I’m certain I only used my email on the ad. Whatever, I don’t give a shit. It’s bad enough I have to deal with a one-night stand, let alone live with him, but as long as he stays out of my way and vice versa, it’ll be fine.
I smile at the guy beside me, who’s ordered us another round of tequila shots and beers.
I enjoy the dark ambiance at my local bar, including the jukebox that only works every third attempt, and the rowdy arguments over the pool table near the back.
More precisely, I enjoy the people; most of them are here to drink away their own problems with no inclination to pry into one another's.
My phone buzzes again, and I sigh as I look at it.
Dante: We should get the basics out of the way. Roommate etiquette. Things like allergies, blood types, and any previous medical conditions we should know about.
Is this guy for real? This time, I do reply.
Me: How the fuck did you get my number? And what are you, my mom or something?
His reply is immediate.
Dante: Well, considering how acquainted I already am with your body, I thought we could start with some mutual agreements. Or you can ride my cock again. Either is fine with me.
A warmth trickles to my core at the reminder of the night we met. My body is a treacherous thing.
“Everything okay?” the stranger sitting beside me asks.
I place my hand on his knee with a sensual smile. “Everything’s fine. My mother’s just needy.” I lie as I throw back the tequila shot, ignoring when my phone vibrates with another message.
“You really know how to down those, don’t you?” the guy says appreciatively as he takes his own and then pulls a twisted expression. The bartender, who is well acquainted with my pickup game, is holding back a smirk.
I’m ready to wrap this up now. I have enough of a buzz from the alcohol, and I’m ready to forget all the problems of my day.
“Wow, you move on fast, don’t you?” a woman says from over my shoulder. I recognize the voice but can’t place it until I turn around and face the woman I’d brought back to my apartment only nights ago. Shit, I still can’t remember her name.
“Is this like your hook-up playground, where you find one victim after another?” she berates.
“I don’t think victim is the right word. And I’m sorry if I led you to believe it was anything more serious between us. Weren’t we just having some fun?”
The redhead scoffs. Damn, I can still appreciate her beauty even now. “I received a message back from the number you gave me that it was the wrong one.”
I wince. That sounds about right.
“What’s going on here?” the guy next to me asks, and I can see the light in his eyes spark already, and I know without a doubt, this asshole is going to suggest a threesome. Because men just can’t help themselves. I ignore him.
This night has turned to shit. I stand up and grab my purse.
“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Besides, didn’t my friends catch you trying to steal one of my lamps? Shouldn’t I be the angry one here?”
Her face reddens, and I see it coming before it even happens, but I let her slap me. The thrilling sound echoes through the bar. If anything, I wanted it, and felt I deserved it.
“I bet you don’t even remember my name.” She fights back tears. “I thought we had something special.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, that’s not my game.” I pull a fifty-dollar bill from my purse and put it on the bar for the bartender. He’s watching, a small smile on his lips. Of course, this asshole is enjoying it. “Bye, Shaun.”
He nods back. “Best of luck tonight, Romi.”
“Wait, where are you going?!” my almost-hookup demands.
I sigh and look back at him, my cheek stinging from the slap. “I guess tonight isn’t the night, Rolan.”
“It’s Riley,” he corrects, and I know without a doubt that’s my cue to leave.
“You have nothing else to say?” the redhead screams behind me. And the truth of the matter is, I don’t. I know I’m the jerk for using people to distract myself. Most of them are fine with the one-night stands, but this encounter definitely soured my mood for tonight.
I’m a fucking mess. I know it. Don’t need anyone to tell me that.
But the lingering sting of her hand is a warm welcome.