We head back inside, and silence stretches between us for a beat. I'm too aware of how big he is in my small kitchen, how close we are to the edge of something I cannot afford to fall into.
I check the time on the stove. "Okay, well. I need to leave for work in about thirty minutes, so I'll let you get settled. Your keys are in the basket on your bed. The front door sticks sometimes, so you have to pull it toward you a little when you lock it. Wi-Fi information is on the rule sheet. If anything's confusing or if you have questions, we can go over it tonight when I get home." I pause. "If you're still awake. No pressure to stay up or anything. That sounded weird. I just meant—"
"Ainsley."
His voice stops my verbal spiral. I look up.
His mouth does that almost-smile again. "I'll read the rules," he says. "We can talk later if we need to. You don't have to worry about me."
Too late, I think. Not about safety—though that's still filed under "monitor closely"—but about my self-control. My libido. My complete and utter lack of a filter.
"Okay," I say. "Good. Great."
I back myself toward the hallway, nearly tripping over the rug. "Um, welcome again. To the house. To Evergreen Lakes. And thanks for, you know. Existing. No, that's—forget I said that."
He huffs out a breath that might actually be a laugh. "I'll try."
I flee.
Chapter 2
Ainsley
In my bedroom, I shut the door and lean against it, pressing both hands to my face. My heart is racing as if I had just sprinted a mile. My body is thrumming, wired and aching in ways that have nothing to do with scrubbing baseboards all morning.
"What the hell, Boothe," I whisper into my palms.
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. This is why I put ABSOLUTELY NO FLIRTING in all caps on the listing. This is why I wanted some faceless, bland accountant-type with a receding hairline and an addiction to Sudoku puzzles.
Instead, I got a six-foot-something, tattooed, broad-shouldered former military construction worker with gray eyes and a jaw you could cut diamonds on.
Great job, universe. Really nailed it.
I drop my hands and cross to my dresser, yanking out a clean bra and the black tank top I wear under my work flannel. I change, trying not to think about the fact that my new roommateis just on the other side of the wall, unpacking his things, maybe reading my ridiculously detailed rule sheet.
Maybe seeing the bolded NO FLIRTING at the top and laughing his ass off.
I tug on my skinny jeans, then sit on the edge of the bed to pull on my boots. My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Simon:You alive? Steph just told me that your new roommate was moving in today. Do I need to screen for murder vibes when you show up?
I snort, thumbs flying as I answer my boss. He lives most of his time in Las Vegas with his wife Autumn, a friend of mine from high school. But he has a slew of bars in Vegas, and since Autumn's family lives here, they opened a bar here as well. Thankfully for me because they hired me right away, and he's been looking after all of us employees like a father rooster, especially after Steph's ex hurt her.
Me:Background check clear. No visible axes. We're calling it a win.
Simon:Firmly remind him that if he hurts you, I know people who know people.
Me:You ARE the people.
Simon:Exactly.
A knock sounds on my bedroom door, and my heart jumps into my throat.
"Ainsley?" Troy's voice rumbles through the wood. "Got a sec?"
I inhale sharply, then type quickly.
Me:Gotta go. If I'm dead, my garden inherits the house.
