Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

JANE

3 months later

"Are you fucking serious?"

My elbow smacks into the fridge door as I tug the carton of milk out—the empty carton.

"I mean, I understand not getting more," I whine out loud to no one. Jars of jam and condiments rattle loudly when the fridge door shuts behind me. "I even understand forgetting it on the counter. But to put it back empty ?"

I release a long breath, rinsing the carton out and cramming it into the recycling bin.

"I'm going to kill him." It's not an empty threat. It's one I've made several times over the past three months since Gaby moved out.

Desperate for caffeine, I search through the cabinets for powdered creamer, not willing to drink my coffee black. When I come up empty, I let out a loud groan.

"Rough night?" Joe leans against the kitchen wall, his smug smirk the only thing he's wearing other than the towel wrapped around his waist. "Shit, are we out of milk?" he asks, glancing over my shoulder, his expression consumed with what I cannot believe is actual surprise.

I glare at him through narrowed eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

The only good thing about Joe, and the primary reason I haven't kicked him out, is that he's punctual with rent and has a steady, well-paying job. Also, he's big and muscular with wide shoulders that exaggerate his narrow waist, and one of those stomachs they wash clothes on. So, he's handy to have around should someone break in.

And even though I'd love to live here alone, and use the extra bedroom as a study, sadly, even rent-controlled, this place is unaffordable on my measly non-for-profit salary at the local women's center.

Joe moves around me, reaching into the fridge and bumps his toweled hip into mine, forcing me to jump back.

I'm not usually skittish. But who wouldn't be stuck in a tiny room with a tall, half-naked man who has more ridges on his stomach than a mountain range? Add to that this is Joe Miller we're talking about; the bane of my existence, the reason women remain single. His arrogance only dims his charm and charisma. His know-it-all attitude shadows his intelligence.

I'll admit, he's gorgeous, with short, nearly black hair and amber eyes, but he's fully aware of his good looks and uses them to his gain.

And why does he always need to pop his pecs? Not only does it make my skin crawl when he does it, but it also makes me want to gag.

And did I mention his shoulders? They're so wide. Like, unnaturally wide for someone who wasn't born on Krypton.

Joe leans against the fridge, popping his pecs, and I roll my eyes. "Fuck, you're testy this morning."

I press my lips together. "I get testy when the milk runs out, and no one picks some up." I open the cabinet and point to the recycling bin. "Or puts the empty carton back into the fridge, so it's impossible for me to know to buy some when I go to the fucking store. Like I did last night!"

"Janey, relax." He plants a hand on my shoulder, but I brush it off. "I'll get some later."

"Don't call me Janey. And you mean tonight, after work?"

"Exactly," he replies in a voice so deep it makes me crack my neck, then strides away as if he's solved the problem.

I follow him down the hall, stopping at his bedroom door. "And what do I do about my coffee now ?"

That annoying smirk returns as he spins around. "Go get one at the coffee shop like calm, rational people do."

His dismissive shrug only half distracts me as he tugs at the knot of his towel. A blush spreads over my cheeks, betraying me, but gets hidden when he kicks the door shut in my face.

"I am totally calm and rational, Joe," I reply under my breath.

"Sure, you are." His laugh pierces through his door.

I force a deep breath into my lungs and storm into my bedroom to get ready for work.

JOE

The rent is cheap, the place is great. The rent is cheap, the place is great.

Every time Jane starts in on me about some petty shit, I repeat this mantra in my head. It's an almost daily occurrence, which is why I choose to stay late at work or go out with friends so often.

"Joe, you left your dirty dishes in the sink."

"Joe, tell your girlfriends to be quieter in the morning."

"Joe, don't leave empty cartons of milk in the fridge."

Okay, she may be right on that last one. I rarely forget to get milk and definitely never leave empty cartons in the fridge. I must have been tired.

Come to think of it, I was. After an eventful couple of hours, I had just given Sheryl a goodbye kiss. So, yeah, I probably put the empty carton back in the fridge. My bad.

But the rest of Jane's complaints are needless nagging—nagging I don't need from my roommate.

Now, if she were my girlfriend, I'd take all the whining. Hell, if she were my girlfriend, I'd bend her over the counter until she took back every single word.

But since I can't do that and live in a town with an incredibly competitive housing market, and surging rent prices, I won't be stupid enough to bite the hand that houses me. And I wouldn't dream of making our living arrangements even more uncomfortable by bringing sex into the mix even if there are days the thought lingers in my mind for far too long.

Like this morning, dressed in tight boy shorts and a T-shirt that slips off her shoulder, showing off the small lotus tattoo above her collarbone. The sight always triggers a strange reaction out of me, and today is no different. Only this time, I nearly broke my rule and showed her exactly how agitated she makes me.

Shaking off the insanely unwise thought, I glance down, then with a heavy sigh, I check the clock. I don't have time to jerk off, since I now also need to stop at the coffee shop before work, but as I slide my hand down my stomach, applying pressure to my hard-on, I realize I might not be able to wait until tonight. A second chime on my phone reminds me I'm running late and don't have a choice, so I snap my hand away, reminding myself that my next hookup will be more pleasing if I hold off.

After putting on a crisp white shirt and wrapping a navy-blue tie around my neck, I step out of my room, bumping into Jane in the hallway.

Dressed in one of her usual bohemian dresses that reaches her ankles, she glares at me, but my gaze drops to her silver anklet and toe ring, the sight prickling my skin like warm wax. I'm not sure why she insists on hiding her gorgeous legs and plump curves underneath those horrible dresses, but I smile and wish her a good day.

She glowers back. "Yeah, you too."

"And I'll get milk," I add.

She rolls her green eyes at me—I've never seen someone look so disappointed and annoyed at the same time.

"Don't bother," she says, slamming the front door in my face.