Chapter 6: Tate

I shouldn’t get excitedthat Natasha is tipsy as fuck right now. I’m a responsible adult who would never take advantage of my roommate in her state of inebriation. Not sexually at least. Without half a bottle of wine in her system, I doubt Natasha would be sitting across from me talking about her feelings. She’s so fucking pretty and even prettier when she relaxes and stops treating me like I’m sick in the head just for wanting a good look at her tits.

Anyone in my position would have done the same thing. We already have a dog together. We might as well make this happen.

“I’m only going to have sex with a man I love,” Natasha says. “I’m too old for games. Too old for casual. Too old for situationships.”

Just hearing Natasha say the word ‘sex’ sends my desires into overdrive. I need to have her. I don’t know how the hell I’m actually going to do it, but I want it so fucking badly it hurts.

“Don’t you think sex could be good for you?” I ask her. Natasha’s lips tighten into a thin, disapproving line. She looks and acts like she hasn’t had sex in decades. I struggle to believe dick wouldn’t improve her attitude. Or a tongue in her pussy. She shakes her head, spilling those insanely big curls all over her shoulders.

“No. Not without love it isn’t.”

My dick is about to burst out of my pants watching her lips and her sexy ass mass of curls. Hot fucking damn, she’s gorgeous.

“I respect that.”

I don’t know if I respect that. I want my tongue in this woman’s pussy. I don’t like the idea of her second guessing that…

Natasha drops her gaze again. What is wrong with her? It’s like my good looks and shrimp alfredo have no effect on her.

She’s going to make this very difficult. It’s not like I don’t think Natasha has a point. I swear I’ve said the same thing to Duke Callahan and my cousin Terran several times. I’m done screwing around. I want something real.

But at this point, it’s been too long since I’ve met anyone who even gave me hope that there could be something real out there. And Natasha is distractingly beautiful. I don’t even care that she hates my guts. Whenever I wake up from my deep, long sleep, I feel better that she’s there.

I’ve never felt that way about a roommate before. There’s something different about her. I can feel it. I hope that Terrorist can convince her to stay if I can’t.

“What?” she says, challenging me because that’s the type of thing that excites this woman. “You think life is better when women let men use them for sex and then throw them out when they’re done?”

“I never said that.”

“But it’s what you think,” Natasha says confidently. It pisses me off that she’s so cocky about it.

“It’s not what I think,” I respond, my voice getting sharp with her for the first time. “Respectfully, Natasha, you don’t know me at all.”

“I know plenty. I live with you, remember?”

“Right. Then you know that I haven’t slept with anyone since you moved in here.”

“I don’t know that for a fact. You could have fucked in your truck. At the gym. At a Flying J gas station.”

“What’s a Flying J?”

“Never mind,” Natasha says, scrunching up her face in a funny little way. “The point is, I don’t keep track of your sexual habits.”

“Then it might be a good idea not to speak about them,” I say to her.

Our eyes flicker angrily to each other. The anger and tension between us is so fucking strong. I don’t know what the hell I’ve done to piss this woman off so badly. Am I really that terrible of a roommate? I don’t think so.

“I’m not crazy for guessing that a sexy, muscular, 6’8” white guy spends all his free time getting laid.”

I smile.

“Did you just call me sexy?”

Natasha looks horrified. Then she makes a life-changing decision. She finishes the rest of her wine. We are officially done with the bottle and I barely had any. I don’t know if I should be impressed over how well Natasha handled her liquor or concerned that it might affect her the wrong way and get her to start fighting me.

Again, I have other plans.

“I didn’t,” she says. “I would never call you sexy.”

“I heard you,” I say to Natasha, almost ready to drag her out of that damn chair and haul her ass off to the bedroom. “I think you said I was a sexy, muscular, 6’8” white guy.”

“None of those words describe you,” Natasha says with the confidence that only a very drunk woman could pull off.

“Are you sure? I think I’m a white guy.”

“Yeah well, whatever. You’re not even that hot. Who cares about big biceps or an eight pack or a nice ass? Nobody. Get a personality.”

Her voice slurs a little bit. And she sounds so goddamn fine.

“A nice ass? Should I get out a tape recorder?”

Natasha glares at me. “You are an asshole.”

I would let her call me names all goddamn night as long as she never took her eyes off me. I grin because I don’t see the point in arguing with her particular claim either. You don’t need to be a nice guy to be a firefighter. You need to be big and strong, willing to risk your life for others and have the strength to work the worst hours in the worst conditions.

“Yup. I guess I might be.”

“Don’t you even feel bad?” she asks. Natasha tucks some of her pretty ass hair behind her ear, revealing a beautiful dark brown jawline and a gorgeous pair of earrings dangling from her ear, hitting her face in just the right way. I appreciate a woman with good tastes.

Even in the simplest outfits, Natasha looks so fucking sexy.

“What should I feel bad for?” I ask her, although deep down I know I should feel bad for all the thoughts running through my head of the dirty things I could do to Natasha. I would bend her over this table right now if I could.

“Maybe being an asshole?” Natasha suggests, shaking her head, but smiling a little bit, like she’s flirting with me.

“Not particularly sorry about that,” I respond, turning over in my head how I’m going to get Natasha into my bedroom. Or hers. I’m not picky.

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting about that?”

“I’m wondering if you might be a sociopath,” Natasha says calmly.

I laugh. “What’s a sociopath?”

“How can you not know what that is?” she snaps. “Very suspicious.”

“You mean a psycho killer like Ted Bundy or some shit?”

“No. I mean someone with no empathy.”

“I have feelings, Natasha. Just because I don’t spend all my time yapping about them doesn’t mean those feelings don’t exist.”

“Yapping?” Natasha replies defensively. “Since when do I yap? You asked me a question. I would have never brought up this sappy emotional stuff to the person I’m planning to–

She trails off.

“Planning to what?”

“Never mind,” Natasha says suspiciously. “I’m too drunk. Way too drunk. I need help getting up. And getting the fuck out of here.”

I didn’t expect to get this lucky. I freeze, entirely taken aback by Natasha’s request. Was this wine extra strength somehow? She stares at me with wide brown eyes that are totally innocent.

“Are you sure you know what you’re asking?”

I don’t know why I stop myself. It’s exactly what I want – Natasha handing her perfect body over to me. She makes a kissing noise with her teeth and rolls her eyes at me again. I’m starting to get turned on by the way she rolls her eyes.

“You’re a fireman, Tate. You’re not a criminal. Just a pain in my fucking ass.”

Ouch. Whatever. I can’t let her get to me. All of this anger from Natasha is just sexual tension that she’s too afraid to break. I can take that anger and help her out. If only she would let me.

“What if I’m not ready to carry you to bed yet?” I ask her, my voice slow and tense. I never know how this woman will react to me and I love the anticipation.

She doesn’t hear the undertones in my voice, or if she does, Natasha ignores them. She adjusts her thighs and leans back in her chair, looking closely at me. She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Why? You want to talk about more of those feelings you allegedly have out here?”

I don’t like the grin on her face. Natasha is a smart woman and she can tell that she just pushed up against something uncomfortable. It’s my fault for pushing her about her past.

“Not particularly.”

She grins. “That makes me want to ask you questions. You’re right, Tate. I’m not ready for bed. I’m drunk enough that I actually want to talk to your stupid ass.”

But she will be. I have to believe that. I want it so fucking badly that it has to be true. I keep staring at her and have another sip of wine. The windows are pitch black and the sills covered in so much thick snow that there must be whiteout conditions out there.

It’s just the two of us stuck here alone. And we have all goddamn night.

“Okay, Natasha,” I say. “Feelings. What do you want to know about my feelings?”

I meet her gaze and try not to falter. A strong woman like Natasha senses weakness and she seems like the type who wouldn’t suffer it. It’s pretty easy to show her she doesn’t scare me. And neither do her questions.

“Tell me about who broke your heart,” Natasha asks with an almost gleeful expression on her face. This is what she needs to know to have proof that I’m emotional? What’s the point in confessing heartbreak to Natasha? I’ve been a man long enough to know that when women ask you for vulnerability, they have terms and conditions surrounding that vulnerability well set in their minds.

“I’m not doing that.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You are. You got me to confess my deep dark secret.”

“What? That you have psychosexual issues.”

Natasha makes that tooth kissing noise again. My muscles tense up. Why does she want to know that? She doesn’t want sex on the table, right? So it doesn’t matter.

“My only issue right now is my roommate who snores like a freight train and has absolutely no consideration for me,” Natasha says.

“Since when do I snore?”

“Says everyone who snores. Ever. Record yourself, Tate. It’s annoying.”

I laugh. “Is that why you hate me so much?”

“Among other things,” Natasha says with a lot of enthusiasm. I’m glad I can use her hatred to make her forget this discussion about feelings. “I also said you were inconsiderate.”

“Except for when I cooked you shrimp alfredo and got you a new puppy.”

“Terrorist is a responsibility, Tate. Not a gift,” Natasha says. But she smiles a little and I can’t tell if she’s just tipsy or if something I said finally warmed her up to him.

“I cooked for you. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Since you got your heart broken?” Natasha teases.

Our eyes lock. I want to fight getting real with her so damn badly. But I just… can’t.

“Yes. Since I got my heart broken.”

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