Page 23 of Nailing Heat

The number of times I’ve mentally scolded myself for the thoughts I have about this woman is ridiculous. Given the factthat she is my roommate and I’m recovering from a divorce that I may have caused, I need to quit thinking of her that way.

I place the pizza that I’m carrying in the kitchen, and head back into the living room. I walk over to where she sleeps. I reach over and push a strand of blonde hair that’s slightly damp from her face. She’s wearing a pair of stretchy biker shorts and an oversized T-shirt that may cover her when she’s standing but right now, it’s showing me the curves of her ass.

When my hand lingers a little too long on her hair, she leans into my touch. I smile and wish I could explore her some more, but I can’t chance it. Or tempt fate. I don’t want her to think I’m being creepy.

“Hey, peach,” I say gently. “Do you want to eat?” I shake her gently and she sighs. I smile at the sound.

I lower myself to the edge of the couch and touch her arm. “Hey, you hungry for dinner, little girl? I finally came home.”

“What?” she says, rolling her torso slightly so that she’s facing me. “Oh hey, you’re back already.”

I chuckle. “I think you may have been sleeping because it’s been over an hour since we texted. It’s seven thirty.”

“Why did you make me wait so long?” she asks, her voice still heavy with sleep.

I grin. “Sorry, I was trying to decipher some patient notes that Cary left.”

She yawns and sits herself up, drawing her legs into her chest. “Yeah, he had terrible handwriting,” she mumbles, understanding my plight.

“Hence, why it took so long,” I say with a smile. I’m rewarded with a wide one from her as well.

“Either way, I don’t like to wait for food,” she teases me. Her voice is light and friendly. Not as growly as it was when I woke her up this morning.

“I will remember that,” I tease her back.

“Where is this food you speak of?” She looks around, sniffing the air. I notice her blink once, twice and a third time.

“You okay?”

She nods slowly. “Sorry, my contacts are adjusting. They are really dry from sleeping.”

“Where’s your solution? I can get it for you.” I offer.

She stares at me, still blinking rapidly. I have no idea if she’s going to answer me. So, I take off for the bathroom and open the cabinets that have been designated for her. No solution. I pull open a drawer and there it sits. In a little organizer with a bunch of bottles that could be lotions or perfumes. I grab it and head for the living room.

“Here you go,” I say, holding it out to her.

She accepts the bottle, tilting her head back so that the solution falls into her eyes when she squeezes the bottle. After another round of blinks, her eyes must be better. She’s watching me and smiling.

“Thanks for doing that.” She stands and moves toward the bathroom.

“Here, I’ve got that for you,” I tell her.

“Thanks,” she sounds surprised, but her smile is genuine, so I put that in the win column.

When I meet up with her in the kitchen, I see her pulling plates out of the cabinet.

“That pizza smells heavenly,” she says as she opens the box.

“I thought so too. I asked August where the best pizza was by the stadium, and he pointed me to Marco’s.”

“It really is. I usually don’t get it much because they don’t deliver.” She shrugs. “Convenience is key sometimes.”

“Delivery has its perks,” I tell her, wondering why I feel so nervous around her sometimes.

She attempts to pull a slice of pizza out of the box and swears under her breath when the cheese clings to the neighboring slices. She pauses for a moment and glances in my direction, as ifdeliberating on how many slices she can conceivably take with me standing next her. It makes me wonder how she would handle this if she were alone.

“Knives are where again?” I ask her.