Page 18 of Wish You Would

I slid to a stop as the person at the stove turned around.

I catalogued the messy blonde hair and rumpled button-down shirt that fell to just above a pair of long, shapely legs, none of which belonged to my roommate. “You’re not Luke.”

The hot stranger treated me to an assessing gaze of her own, from my sleep-rumpled undercut to my Port Agnes Pride tank top and boxer briefs. “Neither are you.”

“Honestly one of my finer qualities.” I made a beeline for the coffee pot. “Wild night for you, too, huh?” I asked as I filled my favorite mug—which was actually one of those soup mugs with a recipe for mushroom soup on it—to the brim.

Her eyes followed me as I walked to the kitchen island and climbed onto a stool. “I’m sorry,” she said, her perfect brows furrowing. “But who are you?”

“Ah.” I smiled and sipped my coffee. The bitter, scalding liquid immediately got to work soothing the aftereffects of the night before. “So, Luke didn’t tell you.”

It wasn’t the first time since I’d moved in with my business partner turned friend that I encountered one of his overnight guests. Also not the first time I found them in the kitchen, making breakfast. Dude must have A+ dick game.

“Tell me what?” She turned to move the frying pan from the heat, rescuing the bacon from a fiery fate. I silently blessed her as my tummy rumbled.

“I’m his live-in lesbian.” Lifting my mug, I toasted her and sipped again.

She frowned. “His…what?”

I was saved from further explanation as the man himself sauntered into the kitchen, dark hair damp from his shower. “Morning.” As he passed the island, Luke grabbed my mug. He took a long sip, then put it back down in front of me. “Something smells good.”

I pulled my coffee closer, glaring at him. He grinned, unbothered. “Good morning, Tiff,” he said, dropping a kiss on the other woman’s cheek on his way to the coffee pot.

“M-morning,” Tiff replied, looking from Luke to me, then back again. Poor thing. She was baffled. Not that I blamed her. It wasn’t every day you hooked up with a hot businessman and woke up to another woman in his house.

Luke, utterly oblivious to the situation, poured his own cup of coffee, then turned to face us. He wore his usual expression of handsome neutrality as he sipped from his Heathcliff’s mug. Tiff stared, as if waiting for him to explain this strange dynamic he’d tossed her into. Resting my chin in my hand, I watched and waited. Straight People Theater was fascinating. Who knew when I agreed to move into Luke’s guest room that I’d be getting a place to live and a show?

Silence stretched. I drummed my fingers against my soup cup and bit my lip to keep from laughing. Or to keep from calling Luke a dumbass. Both were extremely viable options in this moment.

Finally—finally—Tiff broke. “So, you just…live with another woman and you didn’t think it was important to mention when you invited me back to your place?”

Luke blinked. Then, he looked at me. I shrugged. “I told her,” I said. “Live-in lesbian. No interest in the dick.”

He gestured his free hand toward me, as if to say, see? “Gigi rents the guest room,” he said. “I have never seen her breasts.”

I choked on the coffee I’d just sipped. “Jesus, Luke. What is wrong with you?” I asked once I recovered.

“What?” He looked perplexed. “I haven’t.”

Ignoring him, I turned to Tiff, who was watching this exchange with wide blue eyes. “If I were you, I’d get out while I can. This one,” I gestured toward Luke, “is pretty, but not so good with the people.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke open his mouth to protest. I lifted a hand to halt him. “It’s true.”

He sank against the counter in defeated agreement. Not for the first time, I wondered how he managed to be so good at his job. But he was. A year after he invested in Heathcliff’s, we were booming. And we weren’t the only small business he’d turned around. Luke Elliott: brilliant business mind, shitty emotional intelligence.

Tiff looked at the frying pan still in her hand, then at each of us, mulling over everything that had transpired since I walked out of my bedroom ten minutes ago. I could see the moment she decided the chaos wasn’t worth the dick. She put the pan on the stove, brushed her hands over her hips, and nodded.

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get dressed,” she said, backing down the hall.

Once she was gone, I faced Luke again. He was nonplussed as he reached for a piece of bacon. “Moving you in is the best thing I’ve done in years,” he said as he chewed. “I haven’t had to let anyone down easy in months.”

“You know,” I replied, leaning forward to take the rest of the bacon from his hand. “You could just tell them you’re an unfeeling prick before you bring them home.”

It was an unfair assessment, I knew. But in the time I’d lived with him, I’d seen Luke bring home more than a few pretty blondes. Some seemed sweet, some cold. All had hopes for something more with the hot and wealthy dude they’d just boned.

None ever came back.

There was something to it. Some history Luke kept close to the vest. And the way Luke’s blue eyes flickered at my words told me I was right.

I’d discover what it was one of these days.

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