“I’ve changed my mind,” I announce as I go to slam the door in his face, but his foot wedges into the space, and he pushes his way inside the apartment.
“Don’t be like that. Surely, you didn’t get too many applicants for a run-down apartment like this. I’ll pay double if money is an issue.”
I scoff as I turn to face him. This man oozes money, so I have no fucking idea what kind of joke this is. But he was the only one who applied for the room.
“Are you going to be selling drugs out of my kitchen or something?” I ask.
“More like prescribing. I’ll have you know, I’m a doctor.”
My gaze narrows as I give him another once-over. He exudes a smug arrogance, with his freshly trimmed facial hair, perfectly styled hair that has a few curls framing his face, and high-end clothing. I have a strong sense that this asshole is lying out of his ass.
His attractiveness isinfuriatingbecause his personality leaves a lot to be desired. Men like him piss me off.
“Were you always this hideous?” I ask curiously. “Or perhaps it’s that awful personality you should keep to yourself.”
He’s still smiling as he dumps his bag onto the couch, already making himself at home.
“Must be nice to have a new target to take all that hate out on, huh? Don’t worry,Cattivella, you can try all you like to drive me out, but I’m here to stay.”
My jaw clenches because I have no idea what "Cattivella" means, but I have no interest in asking him either. The arrogant stranger probably has all types of girls asking him to give them pretty nicknames in his native language—what I’m assuming to be Italian from the slight accent. I also hate that he’s fucking right. He’s the first person who hasn’t thought better of engaging with me once I rebuke them for it.
I might’ve agreed to this roommate thing, but the truth is, the thought of having to deal with someone else’s feelings revolts me. I can’t even regulate my own, so it’s easier to force everyone away.
“Are rats a common issue in Manhattan?” he asks as he looks at Borris. The moment he offers him attention, Borris wriggles out of my arms and leaps to the ground so he can sniff at the newcomer.
Little traitor.
“He's a long-haired terrier, and his name is Borris. If he gives you an expression that he hasn’t been fed or needs another snack, he’s lying,” I say as I walk over to the kitchen counter and light a cigarette. “If you fall for it once, you’ll be enslaved to him forever.”
“Why do I feel like he’s giving me those eyes, right now?” he asks as he squats down in front of Borris. Part of me hopes Borris growls or scares him, but the little shit is a traitor. Tail-wagging, he easily gets picked up.
“Good to see you’re still using my lighter. By the way, stealing is a punishable offense.”
I shrug. “I’m pretty sure the least you could do for a girl is spare her a lighter after she makes you come.”
“If memory serves correctly, I wasn’t the only one who came that night. You were so frightened by it that I’ve never seen a woman run away so quickly,” he says as he scratches under Borris’s chin. “But you can use my cock anytime you need, roomie. I’ll never deny your needs.”
A liquid warmth floods to my core, the carnal images and thoughts from that night reappearing; the high as we fucked on the sand by the water. I take a long, thoughtful draw of my cigarette. This man could be the perfect distraction I need. It’s a shame I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Sorry, I’m not interested if I’ve fucked you once already.” I lie. Because falling into a rhythm with this man would be dangerous, I already know I’d get hooked, riding the same high as our last encounter.
“We shall see,” he says as he places Borris back down. “So, what’s your story, anyway?”
Nope.
Not into this conversation at all.
I push off the counter and point toward the second bedroom.
“That’s your room. Don’t come into mine, and don’t go upstairs into my studio. I expect cash every week for rent. And stay out of my way.”
I fish through my purse for the spare keys. I throw them in his direction, and he catches them swiftly, staring down at the llama keychain.
“If I were you, I’d get in early for showers during the evening. Between eight and ten, the hot water is pretty sparse in the building,” I tell him.
“That’s no problem. My work occupies me until the early hours of the morning.”
“Doing doctor stuff?” I ask rhetorically as I head toward my bedroom to get ready for the evening. I was halfway through picking out my outfit when he arrived. I don’t need to know any more about this man, but seriously, why the fuck does a doctor want or need to live in a place like this? He doesn’t exactly look short of cash.
