Page 7 of Practice Makes Perfect

“What… how…?” My tongue feels twice its normal size as I process her words. I’m fumbling and so inarticulate it’s embarrassing, but I can’t help but smile just the slightest bit at her flirting. That’s all it is, but it feels good, nonetheless. Women don’t flirt with me, or if they do, it’s not obvious enough for me to notice. Billie makes it obvious in such a way that I’m sure to never miss it, a move I appreciate. As she continues to stare at me, I feel my nipples pebble from the cold and the attention.

Moving over to where I tossed my shirt, I snag it off the floor and put it back on as quickly as possible, not caring whether or not it’s inside out or about the fact that it is still incredibly damp. My eyes move to Billie’s and if I didn’t know better, I would say there was a slight bit of disappointment shining from them. “Why are you in my apartment?” On any other occasion, I would be pleasantly surprised to see her here, but I don’t like being caught out as I’m undressing, especially not in front of a woman so completely out of my league.

Billie tosses her tablet to the side and it hits the couch cushion with a soft thud. She stands and walks towards me, playing with the end of her long braid as her slender form sways from side to side. She’s wearing some kind of bodysuit that hugs her like a second skin. It leaves very little to the imagination, and even though I have imagined quite a bit where Billie is concerned, it seems I never even got close to conjuring up a fraction of the perfection of the real thing. She’s all lean muscle and soft curves, and my fingers twitch with the need to reach out and touch her, trace the skin along the delicate line of her neck. When she’s in front of me, her head tips up slightly to look me in the eyes. She’s close enough that I can smell roses or maybe some other flower wafting off her skin, and I’m tempted to take a deep inhale. The closeness has me wanting to simultaneously take a step back and also one forward. I’m terrified of being this close to her, but at the same time I can’t find the strength to pull away.

“I’m your new roommate.” Her rich, captivating voice washes over me and I’m so lost in the sound that her words barely register.

“What’s that now?” I ask lazily. My gaze is drifting over the olive skin of her face and landing on the milk chocolate orbs that are her eyes. Brown is sometimes thought of as drab, less notable than lighter colored eyes, but Billie’s eyes are the furthest thing from dull that you could get. The lightness near the pupil draws you in, but it’s the depth of color from the rest of the iris that holds your attention. The color of her eyes is as much a reflection of her personality as anything else. Her friendly and outgoing nature draws you in, but it’s the sense of something deeper beneath the surface that keeps you entranced.

A faint smile comes across her lips and she shakes her head at me, lightly rolling her eyes. “No one ever listens to me,” she confesses.

While her tone is teasing, I feel like there’s a deeper hurt there that I’m curious about. Why would no one listen to this amazing woman? Her hand reaches down and grabs onto mine, pulling me over to Maya’s old room. It’s a good thing she’s steering me along because my mind is spinning, stuck on the softness and warmth of her skin against mine as well as the fact that a little zing of electricity seemed to shoot up my arm the minute she touched me. My mind is so focused on the feeling that I’m liable to walk straight into a wall if she doesn’t prevent it. Finally, she stops at the doorway and I peer inside. For the last few weeks, this room has been basically empty of everything except a few hangers in the closet. Now, there is a fully decorated bedroom inside. A large bed with a pink duvet stands in the center of the room with two mismatched white nightstands topped with slender lamps acting as sentinels on either side.

Billie steps into the room, plops herself down on the bed, and smiles up at me. “What do you think? I don’t really have a ton of my own furniture, so I bought a bunch from the store and a couple of other places in town. I’m not really sure what style it is, but I’m calling it mountain chic,” she explains, leaning back on the bed.

Seeing Billie sprawled out on a large bed has my mind wandering to inappropriate places. Needing a distraction, my eyes move away from the temptation on the soft mattress in front of me to a pink chest that sits at the foot of the bed. More pink catches my eye, and I look to the side to see a matching pink dresser standing against the wall with a white tea tray on top of it. The tray itself is rather unremarkable, but two of the items that sit on top of it have my feet moving closer. Reaching out, I take a hold of one of the small wooden perfume bottles I made a few months ago. It’s small, fitting in the palm of my hand. The floral pattern I stenciled on the top looks as good as I remember. I’m no artist, so I was a little worried that I would muck that part up, but as it turns out, I did a great job.

When I face Billie, she’s biting her lower lip, her expression a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. “You’re PO Box 153?”

She winces slightly and moves from the bed, taking the bottle from me and holding it to her chest. “Yes,” she sighs. She clutches the bottle tightly a moment longer before she reverently places the item back on the tray. “I wasn’t hiding my identity on purpose. It just seemed easier to do it that way. No pressure to make something perfect for a friend.”

I chuckle slightly. “Is that what we are? Friends?” With someone like her, I would love to be so much more than that, but I know that’s impossible. The number of friends I have is few, so if she wants to be counted among them, I’m not going to stop her.

“Sure,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder. “I mean, I know we don’t know each other too well, but I’ve heard a lot about you from Jake. Between that, my light Instagram stalking, and the custom items I’ve had you make for me, I think we could consider ourselves as friends. Especially now that we’re living together.”

“Yeah, about that.” I rub the back of my neck, pulling a face when I feel the dried sweat there. With the shock of my unexpected guest, I momentarily forgot how gross I still am. “How did that come about exactly?”

Billie’s shoulders slump and she bites her lip again. “You’re not mad, are you? Maya said it would be okay.” Her looking uncertain of herself for the first time since I’ve met her throws me a bit. She sighs and sits back down on the edge of the bed, staring down at her hands before meeting my gaze once more. “I kind of got fired and lost my apartment. Jake and Maya offered their house, but they just moved in and are all ‘perfect little family,’” she says, sounding wistful. “I didn’t want to disrupt that.”

A humorless chuckle escapes as I shake my head. “I get that,” I tell her. I almost join her on the edge of the bed before I remember how dirty my clothes are and remain standing. “They invite me over for dinner all the time, but I don’t want to crash the happy family party.”

“Exactly.” A knowing smile spreads on her face before it falters slightly for a moment. “I have a ton of savings and can find something else. Living here with you just sounded like a lot more fun that living on my own, but I really don’t want to impose on you, Carter.”

Is a gorgeous woman living with me an imposition? No, because she raises the aesthetic appeal of the place tenfold and likes to have fun, but also yes because I feel out of sorts whenever she’s around. That doesn’t mean I’m going to kick her out though. “No worries,” I tell her. My hands get stuffed into my pockets before I do something silly like reach out and touch her in reassurance. The need to provide touch comfort has never been as strong with anyone as it is with her, and it’s a little disconcerting. “It will be nice to have a roommate again. After living with JJ for so long, it’s felt too quiet lately.” It won’t be too bad. My work keeps me pretty busy, and I’m sure Billie will have plenty to do. We’ll probably barely see each other.

She sighs with relief and smiles brightly at me. “Well, I’m not too loud of a person. And as a thank you for letting me stay, I’m going to help out in the shop. Give Maya more time to work on her crocheting and all that.”

My mouth opens and closes for a moment before I can form a reply. “Great,” I squeak.My voice sounds about an octave too high, so I clear my throat. “That’s great. Well, I better clean up and then we can talk more.”

Before she can reply, I turn and beeline over to my room and grab some clean clothes before rushing into the bathroom. After I turn on the faucet, I rest my hands on the counter and stare in the mirror. My expression is shell shocked, a perfect reflection of how I feel. How am I supposed to start dating when the one woman I’ve ever been instantly attracted to, the one who throws me even more off my game that usual, is sleeping in the next room? With a sigh, I strip off my soiled clothes and step under the spray and try to give myself a little pep talk. I can do this, I just have to focus on trying to find my person and remember that Billie is firmly in the “never going to happen” box. That’s easier said than done, especially when I’ll also have to try and ignore the new and exciting feelings she stirs within me.

Chapter Six

Billie

Carter’s quickly retreating form brings a frown to my face as I slump back onto the mattress of my new bed. He seemed so flustered at the end of our conversation that I get the feeling he might not actually want me here. Or maybe he doesn’t want me helping at the shop? My eyes roam around the light wood of the ceiling and I contemplate how to deal with my skittish roommate. He doesn’t know much about me beyond my flirting and anything Jake has told him, which probably hasn’t been much.

The sound of the shower turning on has my gaze flicking to the wall that’s shared with the bathroom. My eyes squint as I try to see beyond the drywall and plaster, wishing I had x-ray vision. My mind’s eye starts to conjure up images of Carter soaping himself up and washing away all traces of his time outdoors. While I love seeing him look squeaky clean, his coming into the apartment covered in a bit of dirt and smelling like the forest was something I wouldn’t mind seeing more often either.

And when he whipped that shirt off and revealed so much tan skin and muscle? God, I practically melted into a puddle and had to bite down on my knuckles to keep quiet. He’s not chiseled like guys that grace the cover of magazines. His arms are bulky and his torso is a slab of hard muscle, and there isn’t as much definition as if he spent hours in the gym, but he’s fit, and he looks a whole lot more real than some of the Ken dolls I’ve been with in the past. Then he started to take off his pants, and while I would like to claim that I would have been a good girl and stopped him from shucking those filthy jeans, I suspect that my desire to know the answer to the boxers or briefs question would have won out.

With a shake of my head, I sit up and hop off the bed before my mind can wander down that road any further. I’m turned on enough already as it is and don’t need to add ‘caught masturbating’ to our awkward roommate bingo card.

My feet carry me out into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and my eyes catch on the grocery list and meal planning calendar that I saw yesterday when I moved in. Maya explained that it was Carter’s idea, something to keep them all organized when they were always busy with the shop and taking care of JJ. As I look over the scrawling letters of his list, an idea hits me. He’s probably worried that I’ll be a terrible roommate, or that I won’t know what I’m doing at the store. After everything he’s done for his family, Carter doesn’t need another project on his plate, and I’m sure he’s worried that’s what dealing with me will be. A big, annoying, hot mess of a project. Well, I may not be known for being the most practical person in the world, but I can certainly focus and make sure I’m the best damned roommate slash coworker he’s ever had.

Opening the refrigerator, I check to see what’s inside in hopes that I can scrounge up something to make for dinner. Best cook in the world is not a title that I will ever hold, but I know enough about preparing food to get by, even having the skills to make a few of my mom’s favorite Bulgarian dishes. When I open the vegetable crisper and see tomatoes, cucumbers, and some peppers, I decide to make shopska salad. It’s a pretty warm day out, and something light and crisp like the native dish will be perfect. Finding some chicken breasts, I decide to throw together a marinade and get that going as well so that I can cook them up for dinner this evening. It will be quick, easy, and best of all, Carter won’t have to lift a finger. Tonight, I want to prove that I can be a great roommate and tomorrow I can prove what a competent worker I can be.

Pulling out my phone, I switch on some deep house music from one of my favorite European deejays and dance around the kitchen while I work on my dinner prep. Nightclubs may not really be my scene anymore, but the music is something I won’t tire of anytime soon. The fast tempo and solid base line have me twirling from one side of the kitchen to the other, my booty shaking all over the place. Peeking my head into the fridge one more time to see if I can find any lemon juice, I startle when I pop back out and see Carter standing on the other side. “Shit!” The lemon juice container falls to the floor as I clutch my chest and try to catch my breath. “You scared me,” I tell him. Watching as he adorably tries to stifle the smile that I know is just begging to spread across his face does nothing for my racing heartbeat.

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