Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“ It won’t happen again. I promise. Thea, come back home. Where are you? ”
Thea stared at the text message from her boyfriend—Correction: cheating ex -boyfriend, Alec.
“ She didn’t mean anything. I love you .”
She ground her teeth and clenched the phone in her hand.
It did not help matters that her family messaged her, “ Where are you? Alec is worried. Forgive him, Thea. He made a mistake. We are all human. You two are perfect together .”
Perfect together? Was she just supposed to accept him cheating on her because they were both from the same world? Dating in the deaf community—it was a smaller pool. But because she spoke a language that was rarer in the city than others, that was supposed to mean she should accept less love? Hell. No.
There have to be other deaf men in L.A. I haven’t met yet . Or maybe hearing men who knew sign language. The possibilities are endless , she told herself as she turned her phone screen to black. You don’t need him to not be alone .
She had friends. She had a pressing new need to find a job. More important things are happening than men.
At that moment, while she and Mallory stood outside the apartment, the door swung open to reveal Draven Maxwell: Aka, the most attractive man in California.
God. Damn .
Thea gripped her notepad harder as it threatened to slip right out of her fingers like buttered noodles instead of dry paper. She deserved a gold medal for her self-control in not letting her jaw drop at the sight of him. She had just never been this close before.
Slicked back, shoulder-length black hair flowed out in wisps to frame his face. Prominent, sharp cheekbones cast sinful shadows over his lickable jawline. Tattoos wrapped around his forearms, the ink stretching over veined, thick muscle.
He reminded her of a dark, villainous elven fae—beauty that felt otherworldly.
Every bit of dark clothing he wore stretched over muscle. Black, fitted jeans strained to encase strong thighs.
His black sleeveless shirt dipped at the sides and showed…so much skin. Like so much skin. Smooth, tan skin. If he turned to the side and bent over, his entire toned chest and abdomen would be on display through the gaping fabric.
She had seen the all-consuming sight of his abs before—when he threw his shirt off during most of his band’s shows.
He played drums, shirtless and sweaty, and thrust those arms, muscles bulging and straining as he slammed his drumsticks down again and again. An endurance and talent that made a woman think about all other contexts where a man could use such a constant rhythm.
But more than anything, his eyes made her heart beat harder in her chest. Those slanted green eyes, narrowed in that sexy fox-like kind of way, always made it seem like he was thinking something indecent. Something shamelessly dirty.
Bright green irises, like Peter Pan’s tights. A wicked smile that whispered of sin and sex and more sex. He was the human version of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland . Sly and charming and dangerous. And all you want to do is pet him .
“ Unbelievably attractive male seeking roommate ” was right. Thea couldn’t even judge him for writing that in the ad. She thought to herself, If I looked like him, I’d be a narcissist too .
Her chin tipped up just to gaze at him. The man was the kind of tall that led to a lot of head injuries and many smitten women.
His sparkling chartreuse-green eyes examined Thea as hers did to him. His gaze paused at her pearl necklace, and he glanced down to where her skirt hit her knees—a professional length.
Was he expecting every woman who passed his doorstep to wear a tight mini-dress? Did he think Thea was some groupie dropping by for a quickie at three o’clock in the afternoon?
She frowned at him. Look at the guy . Those mouthwatering muscles. Those sexy tattoos. He was the textbook definition of a player.
He probably wouldn’t be able to define the word “monogamy” if he had a gun to his head. Hell, he might spell it ‘mahogany’ and ask what wood had to do with anything .
Thea’s duct-taped heart had no time for that.
Mallory strode inside the apartment to hug her fiancé Wren.
Gut-wrenchingly handsome Draven stepped back, gesturing for Thea to walk inside. To enter his world.
This may be my worst idea yet …
She suspected dirty floors and sticky counters from spilled alcohol and soda. There’s probably a drum set obnoxiously placed in the living room, taking up space .
Draven’s fingers clenched around the doorframe, balancing his forearm just over her as he continued holding it open. The longer she hesitated, the more annoyed the drummer appeared to become. Scrunched eyebrows. Flaring nostrils.
You left Alec, and now you have to deal with the consequences .
For the first time in a long time, she had choices to make. New home; new job; new life .
She stepped inside.
* * *
“Uh, hi.”
Draven Maxwell’s heart banged to a harsh, hard rhythm that put his drumming skills to shame.
There she was, dressed like a 50s housewife with her white pearls and her neck-to-knee dress, flaring at the hips, and his body reacted like she wore a thin, silk slip and held up a sign that said, “ I am here to seduce you .”
Thea could wear a trash bag as a dress, and his body would still act like she was a supermodel.
What is it about this girl?
His mouth dried up; an aching in his chest began. He was ready to accuse her of witchcraft because she transformed him back into that awkward teenager who had no idea how to talk to girls.
His body needed a reality check because she looked like she had been groomed her entire life to be a politician’s wife. Forbidden. Prim. Proper. Not someone who would have any interest in a drummer from a rock band.
But damn, she was beautiful.
Do not lose yourself in those intelligent, piercing gray-blue eyes , he told himself.
Her hair hung in loose, dark brown waves, and some strange part of him wanted so badly to reach out and touch a strand. Rub it between his fingers. Prove she was real.
She did not seem as transfixed by him. Why did her frown feel like a punch to the jugular?
He gestured for her to come into the apartment. “Come on in.”
Her cute little nose wrinkled at him, displaying the judgment he should have expected but hoped not to see.
After what felt like an eternity, she strode inside, glancing around the messy living room. She raised an eyebrow at his large drum set in the corner of the room.
Black trash bags were stacked up against a wall. Alcohol bottles still decorated the coffee tables. Draven had done his best to clean up the place. Still, a little over an hour was not enough time to cover cleaning the kitchen, living room, and shared bathroom after hosting the band’s latest afterparty.
“Sorry it’s such a mess.” Draven grabbed one of the trash bags that tipped toward the ground, ready to spill over. “An afterparty got a bit out of hand.”
“Dude,” Wren muttered, shaking his head. “She can’t hear you.”
When Draven looked back over to Thea, she pointed to her notepad, on which she had written, “ I’m deaf .” Her furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips painted a clear expression of, “ Wow, you are stupid .”
Draven had spent most of his life seeing that expression.
“Right. Sorry, um…” Draven mimicked drinking from an invisible cup, shimmied his body like an odd snake dance, and mouthed, “Party.”
She nodded grimly, her regal eyebrows furrowing even more as she watched him.
“We’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Wren said, pulling Mallory after him as they left Draven’s apartment.
Mallory waved goodbye to Thea and made a threatening hand gesture at Draven to make herself clear: Thea was to be protected and treated with respect. It really pissed Draven off that they expected him not to do that—what he believed to be the bare minimum of human interaction.
When the door closed, leaving Thea and Draven alone, he shifted his weight onto his opposite foot and awkwardly tapped a palm against the side of his leg. “So…” he began.
Seeing his lips move, she uncapped her pen again and underlined the “ I am deaf ” on her notepad. She then turned to a new page in her notepad and wrote something. She showed it to him. “ How often do you throw parties? ”
Right. She thought he was a party animal. “Not often.”
She looked at him like he was dumb again, then she turned back to show him her original note.
Right. He walked to his kitchen and found a pack of blue Post-it notes and a black pen. “ I don’t throw parties often .” He showed her his note. “ Promise .”
Her gaze fell from the note to his black nail-polished fingernails. Her nose wrinkled again.
Right. Fighting off annoyance and hurt, Draven gestured for her to sit on the couch across from him so they could talk.
She took her time sitting, fanning out the skirt of her dress and checking for crumbs in the cushions before allowing her full weight to settle. She then stiffened and jolted to the side of the couch.
Her hand dipped between two cushions and yanked out a red lace bra that had poked her.
Her expression twisted into one of disgust as she held the crimson lingerie. She then dove her hand right back down between the cushions. She pulled out another bra—clearly a different size from another woman.
“Goddamn, are you a great fisher or something?” Draven couldn’t even recall hooking up with someone on his couch. It was entirely possible someone else had hooked up on his couch after he had gone to his bedroom to sleep post-afterparty.
But now, Thea thought her new roommate was the manwhore of L.A.
Shit .
She hastily jotted down another note, and he held his breath while waiting for what she had to say next.
When she held up the notepad, he read her words, “ I need a place to stay, but I just want to be clear: I’d like to limit our interactions with each other. I think it is clear we are two very different people, and I don’t think we need to be more than cohabitors. ”
Was it just him, or had a cannonball ripped through his chest and left a gaping hole?
If she wants to judge me without even knowing me, fine , he thought to himself.
Her gray-blue eyes seemed to stare through people, but apparently, she couldn’t see him, just the archetype box he had been thrown in. Just like everybody else.
His ex-girlfriend’s words again speared through him, “ You fuck a drummer. You don’t date one .”
If Thea wanted to think of him as nothing but the dumb, sex-addict drummer—fine.
He would be the biggest manwhore she had ever seen.