Chapter 6
Ainsley
"Okay, but seriously," Steph says as we’re getting ready to close and the bar is empty. "Your roommate is hot."
I focus very hard on wiping down a section of bar that's already clean. "He's just a roommate."
"Just a roommate," Steph repeats, laughing. "Ainsley. That man moved across the bar as if you were being attacked by a grizzly bear. That was not 'just a roommate' energy."
"He was helping. Kevin helped too."
"Kevin's a cop. That's his job." She leans against the bar, arms crossed, grin in place. "Troy looked like he was two seconds away from throwing that guy through a window. For you."
Heat creeps up my neck. "He was just being nice."
"Nice." Steph snorts. "Babe, I know nice. That was not nice. That was possessive, protective, alpha-male, 'touch her again and I'll break your arm' energy."
"You're reading too much into it."
"And you're in denial." She nudges me with her elbow. "Come on. Spill. What's it like living with him?"
"Fine."
"Fine," she echoes, not buying it. "You're telling me you live with a guy who looks like that, and it's just fine?"
I exhale, setting the rag down. "It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"I have rules."
Her eyes light up. "Rules. Of course, you have rules. This is going to be good. What kind of rules?"
"House rules. To keep things professional and avoid... complications."
"Complications," Steph repeats. "Like falling for your ridiculously hot roommate?"
"Yes," I admit, my voice smaller than I'd like.
"How many rules?"
"Ten."
She blinks. "Ten."
"With footnotes."
"Of course, there are footnotes." She's grinning now, full-on delighted. "Let me guess. No flirting?"
"It's a very smart rule to have with two heterosexuals occupying one residence."
Steph throws her head back and laughs. "Oh, honey. You're screwed."
"I'm not screwed. I'm being responsible, and I can't afford to mess this up. I need the rent money, and if things get weird—"
"Things are already weird," Steph interrupts. "You're living with a man who looks at you like you hung the moon, and you're pretending there's nothing there."
"He doesn't look at me like that."
"Ainsley." Steph's voice goes serious. "I watched him tonight. The man couldn't take his eyes off you. And when that asshole grabbed you? He was out of his seat before Kevin even registered what was happening."
My chest does something complicated. "That means nothing."
"It means everything." She leans in, voice dropping. "Look, I get it. You got burned. Your ex-best friend screwed you over, and you're scared. But that man is into you. Like, really into you. And unless I'm misreading things, you're into him too."
I open my mouth to deny it, but the words stick in my throat.
Because she's right.
I am into him. I've been into him since he showed up on my doorstep looking like every fantasy I didn't know I had. And this morning in the kitchen, when he stood there in his T-shirt and jeans, all calm and steady while I freaked out about rules, I wanted to climb him like a tree.
"Drop the rules," Steph says. "Or at least bend them a little. Life's too short to hide behind footnotes."
I look at her. And play over how all night I witnessed her gaze drifting to Kevin at the other end of the bar. At the softness in her expression when she thought no one was watching.
"Okay," I say. "Then why aren't you doing the same thing with Kevin?"
Her expression shutters immediately. "Kevin? That's different."
"How?"
"Because Kevin deserves better than someone who's still figuring out how not to flinch when a man moves too fast."
"Steph—"
"I'm serious, Ainsley." Her voice is tight now. "Kevin is... he's good. Too good. And I'm a mess. I can't give him what he deserves right now."
"Maybe he doesn't want perfect. Maybe he just wants you."
She swallows hard, then shakes her head. "This isn't about me. This is about you and your hot roommate and the fact that you're wasting time with rules when you could be—"
"Don't say it."
"—climbing him like a tree."
"Steph!"
She grins, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm just saying. You have an opportunity here. Don't let fear ruin it. Climb the tree."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Simon.
Simon: Ace just texted me. What happened? Are you okay?
I glare at my phone, wishing Ace were here for me to smack him over the head.
"Stupid Ace," I mutter.
Me: I'm fine. A drunk customer got handsy. Kevin and Troy handled it.
Simon: Troy's your new roommate?
Me: Yes.
Simon: Good. Glad he was there. You sure you're okay?
Me: I'm good. Really. It’s nothing I haven't dealt with before.
Simon: Still. If you need anything, call me. And tell Steph I said the same.
Me: Will do. Thanks, Simon.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and catch Steph watching me.
"Simon?"
"Yeah. Ace told him what happened."
"Of course he did." She rolls her eyes fondly. "Simon's worse than Kevin sometimes."
"He cares."
"They all do. You're lucky. A lot of people are looking out for you."
"You too," I say.
She doesn't answer. Just picks up a rag and moves down the bar to wipe it down.
By the time we close up at midnight, I'm running on fumes. My feet ache, my back is sore, and all I want is to crawl into bed and not think about roommates or rules or the way Troy's gaze sucked me in as he watched over me tonight.
I drive home on autopilot, the streets quiet and empty. When I pull into the driveway, the porch light is on. Troy must have left it on for me, and something in my chest loosens.
Inside, the house is dark and silent. I lock the door behind me, kick off my boots, and pad down the hall toward my room.
Troy's door is closed. A thin line of light shows underneath. He must still be awake.
I pause outside my door, staring at that sliver of light, and my brain supplies about a dozen scenarios that have no business being there. Troy in bed, shirtless, reading. Troy in bed, shirtless, scrolling on his phone. Troy in bed, shirtless, thinking about—
Stop it.
I slip into my room, close the door, and lean against it, pressing both hands to my face.
"This is fine," I whisper. "Everything is fine."
Except it's not fine.
Steph was right. I am into him. And the rules I worked so hard to create feel less like protection and more like a cage.
I change into sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, wash my face, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed. The house is quiet except for the faint creak of Troy moving around in his room. I hear the soft thud of something hitting the floor—his boots—and then silence.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
But all I can see is Troy standing behind that drunk asshole, his hand clamped on the guy's shoulder, his voice low and dangerous. She said no.
God, that was hot.
Too hot.
Dangerously hot.
The kind of hot that makes a girl reconsider her entire list of rules and wonder what it would be like to just... let go.
I roll over, punch my pillow, and groan into the darkness.
"You're screwed, Boothe," I mutter. "Completely and utterly screwed."
And the worst part?
I'm not even mad about it.