Huffing, Shay says, “I am so confused right now it’s not even funny. Who in the hell is in that house with you? And how are you all right with him staying? I still just don’t get it.”
I relent and finally share, “It’s freaking Shane Thoma who’s staying with me, girl! He’s the guy who was here when I first arrived. He mixed up the dates of his stay, and, well, here we are.”
“Wait,” she replies, “are you talking about Shane Thoma, the freaking Bears hockey player?”
“I sure am.”
“That’s crazy!”
“I know.”
“Hmmm,” she murmurs, and I can tell the wheels are already turning in her head. “Well, now I certainly understand why you don’t mind staying there with him. He is hot, hot, hot.”
“He sure is,” I agree with a snicker.
“You’re not sleeping in the same room as him, are you?” she asks, mischief in her tone.
Shay is just being Shay, and I tell her, “Stop! Of course not. We each have our own bedroom.”
“For now,” she wisecracks.
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Good God. You are too much. Nothing romantic is going to happen with me and the hockey player. The most I expect out of this situation is that we become friends.”
“Hmmm, that would be cool too,” she agrees. “Bet we could get him to score us a few free tickets for some home games next season.”
She does have a point, so I reply, “Yeah, maybe.”
“Still,” she says on a sigh, “it would be amazing if you and Shane Thoma started dating. What a way to rebound from that last jerk. And talk about trading up.”
I laugh and reiterate that he is just going to be a friend at the very most. “So quit being such a dreamer,” I state. “This isn’t a romance novel.”
“But it could be. After all, you are in paradise, stuck in a house with a gorgeous dude.”
I mentally throw up my hands. “Ugh, I give up.”
Falling back on the bed with a huff, I change the subject to our business. She lets me know that things are under control and running smoothly.
“So don’t worry,” she insists. “I have everything covered.”
“I won’t,” I reply with a big yawn. “I know you got it.”
In a soft voice, she says, “Aww, someone is getting sleepy.”
“I am,” I admit.
“You had a long day, Willa. I’ll let you go.”
“Okay,” I murmur as my eyes start to close.
We disconnect, and though the subject of my hot roommate didn’t come up again, he is all that’s on my mind as I begin to drift off.
Why does he have to be so good-looking?
And why is he so sexy?
His usually mussed-up reddish-brown hair really adds to his appeal.
Crap, he even has dimples when he smiles.
