Page 7 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

“Oh please.” I gesture with my drink. “You are a wall of muscle. I practically bounced off you when he took that sharp turn.”

“Wall of muscle?” He perks up. “Are you admitting I’m built for impact?”

“I’m saying it’s commendable you didn’t flinch when I accidentally touched your thigh.”

Accidentally.

My roommate’s eyes gleam. “You call that a touch ?”

I blink. “I beg your pardon?”

“If that’s your definition of touching, I’ve got concerns about your definition of groping.”

We lock eyes. Neither of us laughs. The silence stretches—charged. Heavy with the memory of thigh brushes and shared breath in the back seat. The wind picks up like it’s eavesdropping, waiting for someone to strike a match and set this rooftop on fire.

Turner nods toward my drink. “How’s that working out for you?”

I glance down at the glass. Pink. Melty.

Half gone.

“Still recovering from the first,” I admit, swirling the liquid. “At this rate, I’m one sip away from proposing to someone.”

He moves closer, dipping his head so he can get close. “I’d say yes.”

I laugh—nervous, breathless. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a monster.”

“True.” His laugh is low and causes me to shiver. “So. How long have you known Nova?”

Aww. A topic I can bite in to. “Since college. She was my roommate sophomore year, and the rest is history.” Honestly, she only made it through two years at University, but we kept in touch after she dropped-out to take design classes at a Tech school.

I sip my drink again, grateful for something to do with my mouth.

He leans a little closer, his smile easy now. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not introducing yourself to your new roommates by cooking naked in the kitchen?”

My cheeks go nuclear. “Die of embarrassment, mostly—and I wasn’t naked.”

He laughs again, soft and low, and it vibrates under my skin.

Whew! Is it hot out here?!

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. I’m still sleep-deprived,” he deadpans. “And being out after 10 p.m. is legally inadmissible.”

I shift, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “You really weren’t expecting me that morning, huh?”

His smile turns sheepish. “Not even a little. I thought the house was empty. I was ready to faceplant straight into bed and then—bam—hot girl in her underwear, making eggs and threatening me with a spatula.”

Hot girl…

“I’m extremely good at making things weird.” I exhale.

He lifts his glass. “To weird.”

I clink mine against his. “To weird.”

A beat passes, charged and warm. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight and your lungs work too hard.

His voice drops, all teasing gone. “You’re kind of impossible not to look at, you know that?”

My entire body heats at the compliment . Not the kind of heat that makes you blush and giggle like a schoolgirl—no, it’s the kind of heat that makes your knees give out and your brain scream LICK HIM.

Not a single soul has ever told me I’m impossible to look at. Not even people on the internet, where compliments come cheap and filters do most of the work.

My smile falters—the teeniest bit—and I hope he doesn’t notice the way my breath stutters or how tightly I’m gripping the stem of my glass.

“Are you drunk?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Of course not. Look at me—do you have any idea how much alcohol I’d have to drink to get drunk?”

My eyes sweep him up and down, scanning his large body. Gorgeous. Unyielding. His entire existence is a walking thirst trap, and I’m standing here pretending to be unimpressed while my internal monologue is drafting our wedding vows.

“I know, I know!” I deflect. “You’re built like a linebacker. We get it.”

He smirks. “I’m a beast.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I stare down into my empty glass and frown. Pluck the flower out and set it on my tongue, chewing.

“It means I have endurance.” His brow lifts. “Lots of it.”

I blink. Twice.

Did he just …? Was that an innuendo …?

“You can’t go saying things like that,” I murmur, trying to sound annoyed—and failing.

“I can’t?” He tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my roommate.”

“There’s a handbook now on what we can and cannot say?” He grins, white teeth sparkling at me in the most attractive way. I imagine those teeth nipping at my skin…

“Are you implying that…” I say slowly, letting the words drip from my lips like syrup. “You don’t think roommates should respect boundaries ?”

His smirk wavers.

He regrets making the joke—I can see it in his eyes.

I lean in, keeping my tone light as I go on. “No seeing each other half-naked by accident or on purpose. Definitely no flirting at rooftop bars.”

Turner clears his throat. “Are those the official rules?”

“They are now.” I tilt my head. “Unless you want to renegotiate?”

His nostrils flare.

Eyes drop to my lips.

Oh yeah. He wants to renegotiate .

I suck on the rim of my empty glass. “You said endurance, right?”

His brow lifts cautiously. “Lots of it.”

“Hm.” I tap a finger against my chin. “That’s an arrogant statement to brag about. You know that, right?”

“You’re a little brat.” He huffs a laugh, shifting closer like he can’t help it. His voice dips lower, rich and rough. “Stop messing with me.”

If only he knew…