“She’s been through a lot lately,” he says, quieter this time. “Breakup. Leaving her job. The whole life reset thing.”
“Yeah, I got that vibe.”
“She won’t admit it, but it hit her hard. Just…if you’re gonna be around, don’t mess with her head. Go easy on her.”
I glance at him. “I wouldn’t mess with her head.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read something beneath my words. Then he nods.
“Good.”
We round the corner back toward the house. My shirt’s clinging to my back, and my legs are starting to burn, but my mind’s still stuck on Cassie.
The way she looked last night, all curled up on the couch next to me, wine glass in hand. The way she laughed at that dumb baseball movie. The way she fell asleep with her head just inches from my shoulder.
We already know we check the hot sex box. And now, we’re learning that maybe we also check the “having a low-key-fun-domestic night in” box.
I push the thoughts away.
She’s off-limits. This is real life, not some fantasy. We’re roommates. Maybe some category of friends at best. More like frenemies at this point, though.
After my run, I walk into the house sweaty and determined. Jackson’s words are still echoing in my head like a halftime speech I actually listened to.
Don’t mess with her head.
He’s right. Whatever weird tension there is between me and Cassie? I’m shutting it down. No more glances that last too long. No more flirtatious banter. Definitely no more sex dreams.
I grab a towel and wipe down my face.
From now on, I’m a monk. A celibate, focused, mature man. A man ofrestraint.
She’s just my roommate.
I do a lap around the house and there’s no sign of her. No music, no laptop clicking, no smell of baked goods or margaritas. She probably did head to the coffee shop like she said she was going to.
Perfect. Maybe I’ll sit on the deck, drink a smoothie, enjoy a little peace and quiet.
I open the back door and freeze when I see her.
Bent forward in a deep stretch, arms reaching toward her toes, ass in the air like some cosmic punishment sent to test me.
She’s in one of those matching athletic sets—tiny black shorts, a sports bra that shows way too much toned stomach, and her hair’s in a ponytail that bounces when she moves.
I am so, so screwed.
“Oh hey!” she chirps, turning around like she hasn’t just ruined my life. “How was the run?”
“Good,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat. “Great.”
“You want to join me?” she asks, gesturing to the mat beside her. “I’m just doing some light yoga. You’ll love it. Good for your hips.”
I blink. “My hips are fine.”
“Okay, old man.”
“I’m twenty-nine. Thought you were going to the coffee shop?”
She smirks. “Then you definitely need this. And I decided I needed some activity first. You inspired me.”
