Page 31 of Burn Point

“It’s just… You shouldn’t do this if you don’t want to. And she shouldn’t hound you about it. You need to talk to her.”

The announcers on TV went wild as the Braves hit a walk off grand slam. Jordan and I sat in silence, watching the runners round the bases, while I stewed on her advice and tried to ignore my body’s reaction to the close proximity. I was uncomfortably aware of how she curled into a ball on the couch. All I had to do was pull her legs over my lap…

Eventually, she stood and stretched, the hem of her shorts riding high. Jesus, her legs were gorgeous. And I had no business thinking that, especially when I’d promised we’d only be roommates.

Gathering up her empties and mine, she said, “I’m headed to do a little more work and turn in.” She fiddled with the bottles and continued. “If doing this calendar is important to you, you need to do it. Good for you for sticking to your beliefs.”

I waited until she passed back through the room on her way to bed and called, “Hey, Skippy, are we good?”

She offered me a thin smile as she paused on her way to her room. “Yeah, we are.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but finally, she just thumped the back of the couch with a fist. “Thanks for a great day.”

The game wrapped up quickly, then I did my normal check on the house, making sure it was all locked up. The bedrooms in my house sat almost across from each other at the end of a hall, the doors slightly offset, with Jordan’s door being before mine. Hers was closed as I passed by.

Sometimes I could hear her working late into the night, talking to herself while she edited. I’d bet she wasn’t even aware that she was doing it. I didn’t mind. I was getting used to the noises of someone else living in my house. Truth be told, I liked having her here. We shared the cooking and cleaning, and we got along great.

Plus, every third day I lived with a crew of men, so I was used to being with people all hours of the day.

In an effort to be modest around my roommate, I put on pajama pants then lay down on the bed and flipped the TV on to watch the post-game show. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. Shit. I’d left it by the couch.

I tiptoed into the hallway on the off chance that Jordan was asleep.

The bathroom door sat slightly ajar, letting light shine through. As I drew closer, I realized that Jordan was changing, the creamy expanse of her back to me as she slipped off her shirt.

I stood frozen. There was something so freaking sexy about the curve of a woman’s back. Her skin was smooth and pale, begging me to trace my mouth along the curve of her spine.

My dick swelled, and my heart stopped.

What the fuck was I doing?

She was my friend.

I had no business lusting after her.

Hustling to the couch and back to my room, then closing the door as quietly as possible, I crawled into my bed. Images of silky, creamy skin flashed through my mind, making my dick ache. But I would not jerk off to the thoughts of my innocent friend. Even if she did have gorgeous hair and soulful eyes. Even if she did get me.

God, I was an asshole. Thinking about a woman I had no business thinking about. She was my roommate, for Christ’s sake.

But if I drifted off to sleep with the memory of light-hearted laughter, and shining blue eyes… Well, it was just because I’d had fun making someone’s day brighter.

Chapter 7

Jordan

I connected my phone to the Bluetooth speaker, blasting some T-Swizzle as I opened the back door to my new adventure van. I’d been spending a couple of hours a day working on her. We had stripped the inside of leftovers from the dog grooming business. In the week or so that I’d had the van, Nate and I had planned out schematics for how to finish the inside. I’d put in the insulation and measured out where I wanted everything to go. Now it was time to lay the flooring.

We’d grown into a routine that started each morning with coffee together on the back porch discussing our plan for the day. On the days he was off and available to help, we’d spend the day working together. Then, at night, one of us would cook while the other cleaned. And we’d find a ball game or something on TV and just chill. The loneliest nights were those when he was on duty. I still felt weird about being in his home when he wasn’t there, but I was getting used to it.

“Skippy, did you remember to charge the drill batteries?” Nate called from inside the garage.

“Yes!” I called back. I went to the bed of his truck and carted the boxes of flooring to our work area. I’d gone with a pale wood laminate. The cabinets would be white, and the upholstery would be neutrals. If I went with a soft palette, I could add pops of color here and there. Plus, the brightness would be really refreshing.

He came out of the garage, faded jeans hanging low on his lean hips, dirty T-shirt tucked into his back pocket. He was lean and muscular. A tattoo running along his ribs. My mouth went dry at the sight of him shirtless.

I quickly looked away, bending to study the boxes I’d dropped by the back of the van door. His dusty boots stopped in my line of vision.

“Do we need a drill to install these?” I knew full well we didn’t, I just enjoyed teasing him. And I needed a moment to gather my composure.

“No, but we might need this.”

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