Page 34 of The Bridges I've Burned

“Good. It’s settled.” He grinned, looking pretty damn pleased with himself. “Let’s eat. I’m fucking starving.”

After the four of us sat around Marin and Macon’s kitchen island, awkwardly drinking coffee and munching on pastries, I offered to take my new roommate to the rental so he could get situated.

He reluctantly agreed, and after a quick good-bye, we drove separately to the little yellow house Macon had aptly named Ochre Bay.

“I can’t believe Macon owns rental property,” Zander said the moment he stepped out onto the curb.

He reached into the back of his car and pulled out a black duffel bag and a large guitar case. I tried not to stare as his biceps bulged, the ink wrapping around his arm in a stunning piece of artwork that demanded attention.

“Why?” I asked as he slung the duffel over his shoulder.

No baseball cap today. With his messy hairstyle and mirrored sunglasses, he somehow looked even hotter than he had the night before.

If that were possible.

“We didn’t exactly have the easiest childhood,” he said as we headed down the walkway. “I don’t think either of us would have imagined…” He paused, staring at the house in front of him, his eyes distant.

I turned to him. “What you said last night…” My words were hesitant as I blew out a breath, trying to gather the courage I needed. Usually, I didn’t need it. I never had a problem being brazen with my opinion. Until him, it seemed. “You can’t do that to him, Zander. He?—”

A brief flash of pain painted his features before he gave a hollow shrug. “It is what it is,” he said, and then he walked away, leaving me there in the middle of the driveway.

With the code Macon had given him, he made it clear he didn’t need a tour guide and let himself in, not bothering to even glance back over his shoulder.

I let out a sigh and headed inside. As soon as I was through the front door, I searched for my new housemate but found myself alone.

I guess he is settling in just fine.

Looking around, I suddenly felt antsy. I wasn’t used to the feeling of having nothing to do. I’d brought him here to show him around, and now that I no longer had that task, I felt…useless.

I went to my bedroom and grabbed my laptop. Maybe I’d just check up on a few things while I had time.

Yeah, I know. I was on vacation. But…

Heading back into the living room, I tucked myself into a cozy chair and opened my computer, trying not to feel guilty for the four emails I’d already responded to.

It will only save me time in the long run, I told myself.

I heard him before I saw him.

“You doing anything important?” he asked as I turned my head.

I did a double-take. He was still in those black shorts and rock tee, but he had a sleek black guitar strapped across his chest.

I swallowed audibly.

What is it about a guy with a guitar?

“Uh, um… no. Just catching up on some work emails,” I answered, ashamed of myself for the girlish stuttering.

He is just a guy, Elena. You’ve literally met hundreds of them. He is not special.

Get a fucking grip.

“Aren’t you on vacation?” he asked as he took a seat. He positioned himself on the edge of the cushion, propping the instrument on one thigh, as if it was second nature. “Sorry, am I allowed to ask personal questions?” His flirty comment was a complete contradiction to the broody man who’d left me in the driveway less than an hour ago.

“Seeing as we’re living under the same roof now”—I rolled my eyes—“I’ll allow it.”

“All right, so you like to work on vacation?”

---