I ate leftover spaghetti for lunch and saved some because I knew I’d be having it for dinner as well, since I’d be alone tonight. My phone buzzed beside me as I was sprawled across my bed, four chapters deep into my romance novel. I lifted it to find a text message from an unknown number.
How’s the book?
I glanced around the room and back to my phone, thinking before typing a reply.
Who is this?
My phone vibrated again a few seconds later.
Am I that forgettable, Kettle?
I huffed and dropped my Kindle beside me on the bed.
Stalker.
The phone was quiet for a minute before another text rang through.
Those pajamas are hideous.
I flipped over and yelled as I saw Abel in the doorway of my room. I grabbed my pillow and threw it at him, but he just stood there, letting it bounce off his chest.
“Really? A pillow is your defense against a stalker?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I have a hot date tonight. If I’m lucky she might put out.”
I rolled my eyes as I flipped back onto my stomach and grabbed my Kindle. “You don’t need luck for that, but you may need a dose of penicillin.”
Abel laughed and grabbed my pillow, walking it across the room and tossing it to the head of my bed.
“Where’s Trish?” I asked, not bothering to look up from my Kindle.
“Changing her clothes.”
“And how did you get my number?”
“Magic. It’s one of my many talents—much like your ability to turn men gay.”
“Is your first talent being a criminal?”
“That hurts. That really hurts, Kettle. You know, if you really want to be like Trish, you need to ditch the books and stop judging people.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I never joke about putting down a book,” he said.
I was wrong. Abel’s first talent was being sarcastic, and it was infuriating.
“So the perfect people have feelings too? I never would have guessed.” I tossed my Kindle and pushed up from the bed. Abel towered over me in a charcoal button‐down shirt and dark‐wash jeans. His hair was messy as usual, and his appearance stopped me in my tracks. He looked hot as hell.
“Oh, no. Not feelings. Just a low tolerance for hypocrites, Kettle.”
“I’m not a hypocrite, and stop calling me ‘Kettle,’ you asshat.” I glared up at him, but his face was relaxed, and I swear I saw a smile tugging on his lips. He enjoyed getting under my skin.
He pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch. “This has been fun, but I have a date. Don’t give yourself a paper cut, Kettle.” He turned to leave, and I groaned with frustration.
“It’s a Kindle, you idiot. There is no paper.”
He pulled the door closed behind him, and I wanted to scream, but I just walked to my bed and sunk down on the edge. My door popped open again, and I looked up at Trish with Abel behind her.
“We’re heading out. Don’t party too hard.” She laughed, and I glanced up at Abel, who winked before she pulled the door closed, and I was finally alone.
Once I heard the door to the apartment open and close, I walked to the kitchen and got a glass of wine. OK, it wasn’t a glass; it was a coffee mug, and the wine came from a box. It didn’t matter, because it did the trick either way.
I gulped it down and let the warmth spread throughout my body before I poured another and made my way to the living room. I plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. I hardly ever watched TV anymore, but the house was too quiet when Trish wasn’t here.
I settled on the news and listened to the anchor ramble on about the government until my mug was empty and my eyelids grew heavy. I struggled to hold them open, but I soon gave in, and the anchor’s face was replaced by Brock’s.
“Are you going to sleep all damn day?” Brock whispered in my ear, and I startled awake, wiping my mouth to make sure I hadn’t been drooling. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable.
“Shh. You’re going to wake my roommate,” I whispered, and pointed the mountain of blankets in the bed across the room. Heather had moved in late last night, and she didn’t arrive silently. It took two of the workers to drag her in here, and they basically left me to calm her down. It took about an hour before her drugs began to wear off, and then she passed out, snoring like a chainsaw.
Brock glanced over his shoulder and smiled as his eyes met mine again. He brushed his knuckles lightly over my cheek, and I knew my skin blushed red under his touch. “You’re beautiful when you wake up.”
“Hardly.” I pulled my covers off my legs and stepped out of bed. The tile was cold under my feet, and I looked around for my shoes.