I pass out two minutes after changing into sleeping shorts and a tank top, backwards diving into my bed.
***
There’s pounding on the door. It’s dark in my bedroom. I guess my nap was a long one.
I groggily roll out of the bed, thinking it’s my bedroom door, but then I realize it’s the front door. I throw on my robe and tie it. The knocking gets louder. More insistent. I grab my phone in case I need to call 9-1-1.
I glance at my screen as I hurry to the door and see it’s 1:33 AM. I slept right through the evening. Didn’t even have dinner. My stomach rumbles as if agreeing with my thought.
I flick a light on and look out the door’s peep hole.
Aiden is standing there.
I twist the lock and open the door and realize he was using the door to hold himself up. He falls forward and grabs for me and we both go to the floor, but he gasps and gets his hand under my head to cushion my fall. He’s on top of me. He winces.
“Sorry, baby,” he says huskily, and I’m momentarily stunned. Our eyes meet.
His suit is rumpled. His eyes are bloodshot. He reeks of booze.
“Hey Roomie,” he says huskily and leans forward, lifting his hand out from under the back of my head and bracing on his forearms, which are on either side of my face.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Losssss my keyssss,” he slurs. He reaches for my hair and he’s playing with my curls. And he looks deep into my eyes.
“Get off me,” I order.
“Hmpf. Good idea.” He grinds against me, and holy crap, he’s got an erection.
And I’m furious.
I shove, hard, and he topples over. I scoot and scamper until I’m on my feet. He’s sitting on the floor, looking up at me, looking disoriented.
“What’s the matter, Curly Sue?” He gets to his knees and starts to crawl toward me.
“You’re drunk; go sleep it off, Aiden.”
“We both know you wanna fuck me,” he says, matter of factly, head tilted, a grin on his face.
I scoff.
“You can’t deny there’s sexual tension…” He lets that hang.
“Go to bed, Aiden.” And I turn to walk away, because I’m not engaging in an asinine conversation with a drunk guy.
He grabs my ankle and I tumble and fall and somehow, he’s moved so that I land right on him. He rolls with me and pins me to the rug.
“Hey!” I protest.
“I like the way you say my name. Wanna see if I can make ya moan it?” He tilts his head again.
“Stop.”
“Scream it?”
“Aiden!”
“Both.” He gives me a wide smile.
“Let go.”
He lets go of me.
“I’m going to bed.” I crawl away and get up.
“Good idea. I’m a comin’ too.”
I spin back round and glare at him. “You touch my door, you’ll lose your fingers.”
His smile widens. “You want me. You do. Everyone wants to fuck me.” He shrugs and heads to the kitchen and opens a cupboard above the fridge and yanks out a nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam and then turns to me.
“Carly,” he calls out. I’m already on the move, heading back to my room.
Ouch. My knee stings. I look down. Rugburn!
“What?” I snap, rubbing my knee.
“Maybe I should rachet that sexual tension up a few notches. See how you handle it.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got an ego the size of Texas, Aiden Carmichael.”
He stares dead into my eyes and manages to pin me to the spot. He wets his lower lip with his tongue and then skims that lip with his top teeth. It’s as if he’s tuned in sharply to staring deeper into my eyes.
If I weren’t so exhausted and flustered, and if I didn’t already hate him, I’d probably melt. Instead, I give him a sour look, the left side of my upper lip going up in my signature Billy Idol expression, a look that does a great job of expressing my distaste.
But, it doesn’t work.
His lips part and his chest moves up in an inhale and then as he slowly exhales, it’s like he’s blowing out sex potion.
Before I give anything away, I spin around and storm to my room.
I hear him laughing behind me.