4. Evren
Evren
I hit the light in the kitchen, needing coffee after yet another night of tossing and turning.
It’s getting to the point where I doubt I’ll ever sleep again.
It’s been over a year since Mert betrayed me.
He was my friend since childhood, practically my brother, and the person I trusted most in the world.
I never saw it coming, never imagined he’d try to hurt me like that. That he’d resort to blackmail all because he was jealous of my success.
Normally when I can’t sleep, I rehash what happened with him and all the signs I missed, but last night, all my thoughts revolved around Nina.
Her dark, long hair messy after I laid her out last night.
I thought whoever hacked my house had found me.
So, I did what I’ve been trained to do to protect myself.
But touching Nina was a mistake, not only because I’m worried I hurt her, but because her curves felt too good under my hands. Like the shape of her imprinted on my palms, and no matter how many times I wash them, it’s still there…whether I want it or not.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take Stella up on her offer to stay in her house.
No matter how many times I declined, she refused to take no for an answer and insisted I agree.
In a moment that could only be described as foolish, as she piled reason upon reason in front of me, my resistance crumbled.
And in the end, I caved and accepted her offer.
Probably because I hate hotels with a passion, and it’d take weeks to buy a new house.
And, though I hate to admit it, my agreement probably also had something do with the fact that I haven’t had someone take care of me in a long time.
At least someone who isn’t an employee or my family, who also rely on my money, blurring the lines of what’s real affection.
Since my teenage years, I’ve been the anchor for my family and friends, the one they lean on for support and guidance.
I handle their crises all the time, while my own get swept under the rug.
So, I agreed with the condition that I could upgrade her security and make any adjustments to her house for safety purposes. She readily agreed, having dealt with her own break-in issues.
But then she mentioned that Nina was staying at the house as well.
There was no way I could back out without explaining to Stella how complicated my feelings towards Nina are.
So, I remained quiet, even if being Nina’s roommate feels more like a recipe for disaster than a good idea.
Nate and the rest of the security team set up cameras around the house and are stationed in a house across the street to avoid intruding on Nina’s life.
After opening all the cabinets in the kitchen, it becomes clear there’s no coffee or tea for that matter. Who doesn’t have coffee in their house? Or at least a bag of tea?
The door behind me opens and closes. I spin around, instantly on alert, but relax when Nina struts into the kitchen. I scan her from head to toe and my body goes completely taut once again.
Her fuchsia shorts are so short, my mouth waters at the amount of skin on display.
She has on a lime-green shirt that says “Let me sleep” on it.
She’s all color, even at six in the morning, while I’m stuck in my usual black and white.
Why does she have to be so vibrant, making everything around her feel bright?
It’s annoying, almost making my carefully curated clothes seem…
inadequate. Sighing, I must be more tired than I realize if I’m dissecting the color of clothes at this hour.
“Do you know where the coffee is?” I ask.
“I don’t have any.” Her smile has an edge to it that tells the opposite. “Must’ve run out.”
I scan her face, not believing her one bit.
I bet if I went into the pool house, I’d find it all there.
I rub a hand across my mouth, holding in the sudden urge to laugh.
There hasn’t been much need to laugh lately, and I’m surprised the urge arises now, especially as she’s messing with my routine.
Instead of giving in to the urge, I tilt my chin, acknowledging her sabotage.
“Well,” I say, “I’ll be sure to have some delivered today and hopefully it won’t magically disappear by morning.”
“You never know, the house might be haunted.”
“Haunted?” My lips twitch. “By caffeine-addicted ghosts?”
“I mean,” she says with mock seriousness, “anything is possible.”
Nina has a comeback for everything. It’s like she lives her life with a retort locked and loaded, always at the ready.
It’s something I can’t relate to. When I was a kid, I’d replay conversations from the day and come up with a comeback late at night while lying in bed.
They were good, too, but they’d never be used since the conversation was over and done with.
The fact that it comes so easily to her is admirable.
My phone pings with a reminder of my meeting at seven.
Shit, I’ve got to go and prepare for that.
And I didn’t even have time to drink my usual cup of coffee.
She’s been my roommate for less than twenty-four hours and she’s already messing with my schedule.
I have a business to run, and distractions are unacceptable.
“I need to head into work,” I say, “but we should exchange numbers now that we’re roommates.” It’s logical—practical, even. We’re living together now, so it makes sense to have her number. That’s the only reason I need it .
“No.” She pulls a face, her displeasure obvious.
“And what if there’s an emergency?”
“Ugh, fine.” She snatches my phone from my hand and aggressively types her number into it before calling herself.
“See you later,” I say, walking to the front door.
“Or not,” she calls out. “You don’t have to come home tonight, you know.”
When I’m in my car and at a traffic light, I touch my lips, surprised by the urge to smile. I can’t remember the last time I went into work with a smile on my face, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to maintain a certain level of order in my life, but since moving in with Nina, my carefully constructed routine has been thrown into chaos.
For the past two mornings at exactly five forty-five a.m.,I’m greeted by the sight of Nina perched on the kitchen counter,a bowl of cereal in hand.
We still don’t have a table, chairs, or even a couch.
I don’t know why I started to come down fifteen minutes earlier than I normally would.
Is it to see her? To spend more time with her?
No, that’s ridiculous and can’t be right.
I just need more time to prepare my coffee since it keeps disappearing from the cabinets.
Nina only eats sugary cereals with a splash of milk, so small it’s like she’s eating it dry.
After our first morning together, for some unknown reason, I ordered myself a box of every kind of cereal in the grocery store.
Yesterday and today, I’ve brought down a new box along with my coffee supplies.
Why? Who the fuck knows. I don’t even like starting my day with so much sugar, and yet I still eat a bowl before going to the office promptly at six.
Today, I bring down a marshmallow cereal and she keeps looking at it as I prepare my Turkish coffee in the cevze. As always, Nina’s eating a cinnamon sugar, off-brand kind of cereal.
“Why don’t you use a machine like a normal person?” she asks, nodding toward the cevze.
“Sometimes the simple things in life are the most enjoyable.”
“Says someone who is choosing the least simple way to make coffee possible.”
I glance at her. “Have you ever had coffee this way?”
She shakes her head.
“Then you can’t comment on it until you try it,” I say. “It’s a far superior way to enjoy a cup because I can control every aspect of the brewing process.”
“Your micro-managing and perfectionist ways are showing.”
I snort. “I didn’t get to where I am without caring about the details.” I pour the coffee into a Turkish cup and hand it to her. “Try it.”
She looks at me skeptically before slowly bringing it to her lips. The moment the brew hits her tongue, her eyes widen. “Jesus, that’s strong.”
“Strong, but good.”
She takes another sip, and another, and another while I make another cup for myself.
After a few minutes, she says, “You should keep your day job. Your coffee-making skills suck.”
“Oh really?” I scoff. “I happen to know my coffee-making skills are top-notch.”
“Oh? And who told you that?”
I take a step closer, so close I’m almost touching her bare leg, and glance over the rim of her cup. “The empty mug in your hand says it all.”
She huffs. “Me drinking it even if it’s bad doesn’t mean anything.”
“I think it does,” I say, my voice deepening into a low, sensual rumble.
She raises an eyebrow in challenge at whatever look is on my face.
I’m not sure what she’s challenging me to do, but something sparks to life inside me, urging me to take the bait.
I can’t afford to lose control, but the way she’s looking at me?
It’s like her defiance calls to something reckless within me, something I thought disappeared under the weight of taking care of everyone around me.
I take a step back, needing to put some distance between us.
I don’t have time for whatever this is. I’ve got responsibilities—an entire organization depending on me.
Letting her in is reckless, and I know better than to flirt with that kind of danger.
If I’m not careful, I might just lose sight of everything I’m working toward.
“Oh?” she asks, taking a bite of her cereal, staring at me the entire time, still daring me to do…something? “And what does it mean?”