Page 13 of Crossing Lines

“I need to head into work,” I say, “but we should exchange numbers now that we’re roommates.” It’s logical—practical, even. We’re living together now, so it makes sense to have her number. That’s the only reason I need it.

“No.” She pulls a face, her displeasure obvious.

“And what if there’s an emergency?”

“Ugh, fine.” She snatches my phone from my hand and aggressively types her number into it before calling herself.

“See you later,” I say, walking to the front door.

“Or not,” she calls out. “You don’t have to come home tonight, you know.”

When I’m in my car and at a traffic light, I touch my lips, surprised by the urge to smile. I can’t remember the last time I went into work with a smile on my face, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

I’ve always prided myself on my ability to maintain a certain level of order in my life, but since moving in with Nina, my carefully constructed routine has been thrown into chaos.

For the past two mornings at exactly five forty-five a.m.,I’m greeted by the sight of Nina perched on the kitchen counter,a bowl of cereal in hand. We still don’t have a table, chairs, or even a couch. I don’t know why I started to come down fifteen minutes earlier than I normally would. Is it to see her? To spend more time with her? No, that’s ridiculous and can’t be right. I just need more time to prepare my coffee since it keeps disappearing from the cabinets.

Nina only eats sugary cereals with a splash of milk,so small it’s like she’s eating it dry. After our first morning together, for some unknown reason, I ordered myself a box of every kind of cereal in the grocery store. Yesterday and today, I’ve brought down a new box along with my coffee supplies. Why? Who the fuck knows. I don’t even like starting my day with so much sugar, and yet I still eat a bowl before going to the office promptly at six.

Today, I bring down a marshmallow cereal and she keeps looking at it as I prepare my Turkish coffee in the cevze. As always, Nina’s eating a cinnamon sugar, off-brand kind of cereal.

“Why don’t you use a machine like a normal person?” she asks, nodding toward the cevze.

“Sometimes the simple things in life are the most enjoyable.”

“Says someone who is choosing the least simple way to make coffee possible.”

I glance at her. “Have you ever had coffee this way?”

She shakes her head.

“Then you can’t comment on it until you try it,” I say. “It’s a far superior way to enjoy a cup because I can control every aspect of the brewing process.”

“Your micro-managing and perfectionist ways are showing.”

I snort. “I didn’t get to where I am without caring about the details.” I pour the coffee into a Turkish cup and hand it to her. “Try it.”

She looks at me skeptically before slowly bringing itto her lips. The moment the brew hits her tongue, her eyes widen. “Jesus, that’s strong.”

“Strong, but good.”

She takes another sip, and another, and another while I make another cup for myself.

After a few minutes, she says, “You should keep your day job. Your coffee-making skills suck.”

“Oh really?” I scoff. “I happen to know my coffee-making skills are top-notch.”

“Oh? And who told you that?”

I take a step closer, so close I’m almost touching her bare leg, and glance over the rim of her cup. “The empty mug in your hand says it all.”

She huffs. “Me drinking it even if it’s bad doesn’t mean anything.”

“I think it does,” I say, my voice deepening into a low, sensual rumble.

She raises an eyebrow in challenge at whatever look is on my face. I’m not sure what she’s challenging me to do, but something sparks to life inside me, urging me to take the bait. I can’t afford to lose control, but the way she’s looking at me? It’s like her defiance calls to something reckless within me, something I thought disappeared under the weight of taking care of everyone around me.

I take a step back, needing to put some distance between us. I don’t have time for whatever this is. I’ve got responsibilities—an entire organization depending on me. Letting her in is reckless, and I know betterthan to flirt with that kind of danger. If I’m not careful, I might just lose sight of everything I’m working toward.

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