Page 18 of Resisting my Roommate

The nightstand on the opposite side is vacant.

While I’m curious about what book has his attention at the moment, I’m more intrigued by the framed photographs lining a long shelving unit opposite the bed.

Moving toward it, I pick up a picture of three teenage boys, all of them with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Based on their nearly identical appearance, I gather this is Jude and his brothers.

I grab the next photo, my heart warming at the large family in front of a Christmas tree adorned with glittering ornaments and sparkling lights. Wrapping paper and bows lie scattered at their feet, evidence of a holiday well-celebrated. This photo is clearly more dated than the last, but I have no trouble identifying Jude amongst the five children, who all bear a strong resemblance to each other.

One of the boys is much older than the rest, already a teenager in this photo, while the other three are still elementary school aged. And amongst the four boys is a little girl who can’t be more than two years old.

A pang of envy hits me as I continue examining the photos of the obviously happy and close-knit family. I’ve never experienced this kind of familial bond. I don’t see an ounce of irritation or animosity between them. Instead, there’s only love and affection.

Not wanting to invade Jude’s privacy more than I already have, especially after his hospitality, I turn to leave. But as I do, something catches my eye — the edge of a photo tucked under a ceramic dish. It’s probably just another family photo, but I carefully lift the dish anyway.

Like I expected, it’s another photo. But this one stops me cold.

A tiny figure floats in a sea of darkness — an ultrasound photo dated a little more than three years ago. Maybe it’s a niece or nephew. Given his close relationship with his family, it wouldn’t be a far-fetched assumption.

But something tells me it’s more than that. The way Jude keeps it tucked away suggests it holds a deeper significance to him.

My heart breaks at what that could be, a chill washing over me.

The silence of the house is suddenly broken by the sound of the front door opening. My pulse skyrockets, a shock of adrenaline shooting through me as I hastily put the photo back, making sure nothing else is out of place. Then I tiptoe out of his room and continue down the staircase, trying to act as if I hadn’t just been spying on him.

But my feet catch on the last step, causing me to stumble forward. Just as I brace myself for an embarrassing face plant, two strong hands grip my hips.

“Easy there,” Jude’s deep voice rumbles in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I snap my head up, my eyes tracing over his damp hair and the beads of sweat dotting his brow, making me think he just finished working out.

I shouldn’t ogle, but it’s impossible when he’s less than an inch away.

And he’s shirtless.

Broad shoulders narrow into a sculpted chest and defined abs. Don’t even get me started on that little V that disappears into his shorts, making me wonder what else is hidden past his waist.

“Are you okay?”

I return my eyes to his, the smirk on his lips giving away that he obviously caught me checking him out.

“Just peachy,” I answer, my voice coming out more breathy than I intended.

“Good.”

I expect him to release me now that he knows I’m fine.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he continues to hold me, neither one of us breaking eye contact.

A surge of electricity courses through my veins, making me forget everything. My botched wedding. My current predicament. Hell, I even manage to forget about that mysterious ultrasound photo I found mere seconds ago.

Instead, all I can think about is the intensity in Jude’s eyes and why the feel of his hands on me seems to ignite something within me.

He takes a slow survey of my body, his gaze lingering on my bare legs before working its way to meet my eyes once more. When he does, I notice something flicker within — curiosity, attraction, longing. Especially when he steals a glance at my lips, as if wondering how they would taste.

Then, with the flip of a switch, his expression suddenly hardens into the same guarded one from our first meeting. He releases me and steps back, creating space between us.

“Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I need to shower and get to work.” His tone is even as he pushes past me and up the stairs.

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