I glance at my watch, the tension in my shoulders dissolving as I take in the time: 2 p.m. Four hours before I head out for my second workout of the day. A dull ache pulls at my hamstrings when I shift my weight, the kind of lingering burn that reminds me twenty-six feels old for a rookie. I roll my ankles and stretch my calves, the muscles biting back in protest.
The ache is a pleasant reminder of the gruelling work I’m doing to make my mum, sisters, and myself proud. That thought saves me the mental gymnastics of talking myself out of hitting the gym like I so badly wish to, thanks to Rafa taking over practice with his incessant drills. I don’t know where he learned them, but I’d be willing to bet it was straight from the pits of hell.
It only takes a few steps before I’m down the short hall, past the open-plan kitchen, and into my room, grabbing my e-reader from the top of my bookshelf.
I chew on my bottom lip, glancing between my bed and the open doorway that peers out into the living room. My stomach churns with unease at the thought of spending any more time in my bed than necessary.
Bedrooms are for masturbation, rest, and sleep.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping as I carry myself to the sofa, where I intend to rot for the next few hours. I don’t want to disturb Adhira, but she’ll have to get used to me being here at some point, and I won’t be making loads of noise while reading.
Discomfort bristles at the base of my spine, and I pull my shoulders back, searching for the pieces of myself that care more about my wellbeing than the comfort of others.
I paid my rent. This place is as much mine as it is hers, and I’m probably being dramatic. Mum has always said I let things get to me too much, and Adhira is more than likely just taking a nap. I’m sure her lack of desire to meet me has more to do with her than it does me.
I flick off the lights as I make my way to the living room and settle into the plush dark-teal sofa, revelling in the clean, new feel of the smooth fabric beneath me. It’s such a massive contrast to the grimy second-hand sleeper sofa with springs that nearly cut into my arse cheeks.
The balcony doors to my right are draped with drawn-back sheer linen curtains with geometric patterns painted in gold, not hiding the sprawling buildings of the city surrounding us. Her faint, gourmand scent lingers in the air, sweet and grounding, like the ghost of her presence woven through the flat.
For the first time since I arrived in Embershire at the start of the season, it feels like I can take a full breath and look forward to the future without being dragged down under the weight of my responsibilities. This flat is like a promise to myself that things are getting better and brighter; I just have to hold on and find out.
I slide my glasses into place, prop my legs up, and get lost in the magical words of Kath Richards.
The room is nearly pitch-black by the time I hear Adhira’s door creak open.
I peer up over the rim of my glasses as she exits her room, but I can barely make out her shape in the darkness that’s fallen around me. I hadn’t realised how late it had gotten, my chest tightening at the thought of missing a workout.
Reaching for the lamp on the end table, I flick it on, and my eardrums are met with the most horrendous sound of terror.
“Ahhhhh! What the ever-loving-fuck!” Adhira screeches like a tiny pterodactyl, her small frame leaping a foot in the air, mouth wide in fright. My heart jumps violently as adrenaline surges, half a laugh and half a yelp catching in my throat.
She bends forward, planting her hands on her knees, sucking in deep, ragged breaths. She doesn’t straighten as her dark eyes cut across the living room, pinning me beneath her glare, causing my cheeks to heat with embarrassment.
I ogle her, unable to help myself because it seems my eyes are glued to her, unerring from the sight of the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen, casually standing in my living room as if she’s not meant to be on a pedestal in a goddamn museum instead. My jaw goes slack as my eyes roam over every inch of the work of art in front of me. Her silky dark waves cascade down her back and over her slim shoulders, her mesmerisingbrown eyes sharp with a narrow glare. Her high cheekbones are a deep ruddy colour that pops against smooth, bronze skin.
My gaze dips lower, finding her in a white tank top that’s ridden up her abdomen, her arms covered by a thick, fluffy green robe that hangs loosely from her shoulders. Light-grey athletic shorts fall from her slim hips, and fuzzy bunny slippers encase her feet.
She’s gorgeous. And angry. So fucking angry, and I kind of…likeit?
“Hi,” I squeak out, my voice reedy and unsteady as I lift a limp hand and wave awkwardly at her.
“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” she huffs out, crossing her arms over her petite chest. “If this living situation has a shot in hell at working, my new flatmate can’t be caught lying in the dark like a goddamn criminal!”
I tear my gaze from her, opting to look anywhere else because I can’t handle this much eye contact—not when she looks like an angry kitten that I want to snuggle the rage out of.
“Sorry,” I apologise sheepishly. “I was out here reading, and the time got away from me.”
Pushing myself up, I stride over to her, keeping a safe distance so as not to make her uncomfortable. Towering over her, I jut out my hand for her to shake.
“I’m Elijah Elliott. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze flits from my face to my hand before she grabs it in some sort of power grip, and I’m almost certain she’s asserting her dominance.
Her handshake is so firm that my arm would have fallen off had I not tensed my muscles to lock it in place.
“Adhira Shah, and I’m not so sure ‘nice’ is the word I’d use. That remains to be seen,” she says, dropping her hand. She traipses past me into the kitchen, stumbling briefly, catching herself on the kitchen counter.
Every instinct in me flares to go to her, to help, but I clamp down on it, staying still and silent. She rights herself, acting as if it hadn’t happened at all, and reaches up on her toes to open a cabinet and grab a red glass. Her pyjama top rides higher, revealing a small strip of warm-brown skin and a tattoo on her hip that I can’t quite make out from here. Before I can inch closer for a better look, she’s already at the kitchen island, filling her glass with water and taking a long swig.
