My grip on the razor tightens as I start to move it down the side of my face, leaving a smooth line behind. I rinse the razor under the cold water and bring it back up to my face, holding it close to my skin.

I stare at myself in the mirror, but it’s not me who I see.

It’s the vexed stare of my new roommate.

Damn.

It’s been at least half an hour since the bathroom incident, but I’m still worked up like a goddamn teenager in heat.

My counselor mentioned her name, but I can’t remember. I can’t even focus on racking my brain to find that tidbit of information. All I can think about is how hot she is.

My head is pounding, and fuck, my hands are still shaking.

It’s not fear that’s squeezing my chest in her clutches. It’s pure, raw need and anticipation, all fueled by the knowledge that I’ll be seeing a lot of her.

A lot.

I’m not even sure why I’m surprised, but I am.

When I arrived two days ago, I was told that I’d be partnered up with a woman. Apparently, sex addicts are now paired with love addicts. I was told something about knowing that a girl is obsessive and clingy being a huge turn-off and usually…I would agree.

As soon as I hear the word commitment, my dick goes all limp. Limp like floppy, soft, put on your PJs and go straight under the covers because there’s not going to be any action tonight, ma’am.

The only thing worse than obsessive and clingy is doing the same woman twice.

I never do twice. That’s almost a relationship.

I do one hook-up per woman; strictly one hook-up only.

And lots of fucking, preferably in all kinds of shades and flavors.

I aim to please, and I aim to return the favor, but I don’t do commitment. Not once; not twice. Never. The mere thought of a woman asking for my phone number causes my entire body to break out in a cold sweat.

In my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with being different than the rest.

But good gracious…my new roommate is a goddamn nutcase.

And most importantly, she’s hot.

If love were a cake, she would be the icing on it.

There is no denying I would fuck her in a heartbeat if the chance presented itself.

Her hair, long and curly, moved down past her breasts. Her breasts bounced as she stormed out. I could instantly tell from the way they moved that they were real. And I’m pretty sure she is a natural redhead, too. Even though I don’t really have a type, redheads with their fiery temperament and milky complexions are my weakness.

Secretly, they’ve always been my favorite kind.

There’s a fire burning inside them that can never be stifled.

I bet she’s so wild in bed she’d let me continue to fuck her even after the bed breaks, which, judging from the quality of the mattress in my bedroom, won’t stand a chance once I get down and dirty.

Something tells me she isn’t going to be quite as easy to get, though. She carries an air of dignity and aloofness, as if she’s used to keeping guys at arm’s length.

It could be my imagination though.

Could she be a nun?

I so would do one, love addict or not. Except…she can’t be. She has a confidence about her that not every woman possesses.

I think of her fiery, hazel eyes and feel my cock hardening again.

Goddammit.

A door opening and closing registers in the periphery of my mind, then footsteps—light and wary.

It’s her.

I know it with certainty because of the way my body reacts. Every muscle tenses and my heart begins to pump more blood directly to my crotch.

Maybe she’s changed her mind and is about to ask for a little merry welcome party in my bedroom. The possibility gets me excited, makes me realize maybe this place isn’t as bad as I initially thought.

The footsteps stop in front of my door. There’s a slight pause, as if she’s hesitating, plucking up the courage.

Finally, a knock⎯strong for a woman her size.

With a grin, I jump up, but as I open the door, I know with certainty that our little party will never happen.

The surprise is short, but it wipes my grin right off my face.

Fuck, the angry frown on her face makes her even more beautiful. She doesn’t turn her head away. She doesn’t glance at my dick or at my chest, two of my best features. Her eyes are focused solely on mine⎯penetrating and intense, and a hell of a lot challenging.

“Can you please, for the love of God, put something on?” she says with disdain, as if my nakedness is annoying, something to be avoided.

She even sounds bored.

“Why?”

She scowls, her gaze not leaving mine. “Because it’s rude to run around naked.”

I cock my head to the side, taking her in from head to toe. I cannot help but smile. “What are you?”

“What am I?”

“A nun?”

For a moment, she seems taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you a nun?”

She stares at me blankly before her brows shoot upward. “Wow. You’re a jerk with a capital J. What are you going to ask me next? Whether I’m the maid? Because I bet that’s the fantasy playing now right before your eyes.”

I let out a snort.

She has no idea.

Really, I just can’t help myself. She isn’t just hot; she’s funny, too. That’s a sexy combination.

“Well, are you?” I prompt.

She scowls. “No, obviously.”

“That’s too bad.” I cross my arms over my chest as I regard her with the kind of look that’s melted many panties. “I’ve been wondering if you’re—”

“A nun? Into women? Something like that?” She looks at me, her hazel eyes shimmering with anger. “Why? Because I don’t like seeing you naked? Big newsflash. I’m none of those things. I’m just not impressed, that’s all.”

“Huh.” Sounds like she’ll be panting my name by the end of the week.

“Yeah.” She nods her head, as though to convince herself of the ridiculous statement she’s just made.

“How come?” I take in her posture, the way she glares at me. Her perfume, a blend of roses, wafts past me, and I force myself not to inhale too deeply. In fact, I’m fighting the urge not to lean over and bury my nose into her skin, then lick my way down her neck to her breasts.

“You seriously believe everyone wants to see you naked?” The annoyance is gone, replaced with disbelief.

I cross my arms over my chest, unable to stop the hint of a smile creeping over my face. “Not everyone, no. But I’m sure most want to, you included.”

She lets out a snort. “Well, you’re wrong, buddy. No woman with her head safely screwed on and a modicum of self-respect would want to unless she had no choice.”

“I can assure you most of them plead with me to take off my clothes.” I grin at her. “So, why are you here again?”

“I’m here to get treatment, just like you, even though I’m not…I’m not a…” she trails off as she waves her hand at me, “you know, I’m not like you.”

The silence that follows is long and peaceful. Unlike her gaze, which is wild and doubtful and a little rebellious.

I realize she’s waiting for me to say something, but I’m not going to help her out by declaring that she’s not a nutcase or that she doesn’t belong here.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Why are you here right now, standing in front of my bedroom door?”

“I want to talk,” she says.

“I’m not going to move out if that’s what you’re here for.”

“I know. And I don’t expect you to.” She pauses, not returning my smile as she takes a long breath. “As strange as it may sound, apparently, we’ve been roomed together on purpose. So…” She trails off again, biting her lip as she eyes her hands. For a second, I can’t help but wonder if she’d slap me if I sucked that lower lip of hers between my teeth. But the opportunity vanishes the moment she looks up again, her expression softer.

She really has the most beautiful eyes. Almond shaped. Framed by full lashes. Only the slightest hint of eyeliner and mascara. “Look, you can jerk off as much as you want. Honestly, I don’t care what you do. But if we’re to make this work—”

“Will,” I cut in.

She frowns. “Huh?”

“You made it sound like there’s a possibility that we might fail. But we’re not going to. We are living together. We will make it work. Just pointing out a fact.”

Not least because there’s no chance in Hell I’m losing my chair on the company board.

Her features harden again; her eyes are ablaze with fury. Whatever thought’s riding her, it’s riding her hard. “Just be finished in ten. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

Her mouth stays open as if to say more, then she closes it, but her gaze lingers on my neck. “You might want to do something about the bleeding,” she says eventually.

“What?”

She spins around, slamming the door behind her.

I reach up to my neck and realize there’s blood on my fingers. I must have been so engrossed in my thoughts of her that I cut myself while finishing up shaving and didn’t even realize it.

Fuck.

I didn’t even feel the pain.

Thinking back, our little conversation was kind of hot.

And she even encouraged me to finish up. At least in my mind she did when she gave me ten minutes to finish up shaving

Maybe I should listen to her and finish what I started.

My hand travels south, and I exhale a sharp breath in surprise. I’m still completely hard. Our little confrontation has turned me on. My grip tightens around my cock, but I can’t bring myself to resume the action.

I’m so close to my goal—too close. After my assistant, I managed to squeeze in the neighbor right before heading for rehab.

One more conquest, and my 365-day, non-stop sex calendar is complete.

The truth hits me like a train.

Damn.

Why am I stuck with a sexy nutcase as my roommate? The rules are clear: all other patients are completely off-limits.

I even had to sign a damn admissions release that I’d abide by those rules.

Talk about callous and unfair.

But what if she hasn’t signed hers yet?

The rules would be broken by only one of the parties involved in the tryst, so it would be a “glass half-full/half-empty” kind of situation.

It’s a possibility, far-fetched, wild, and forbidden, but I decide I like it. Therapy is supposed to start tomorrow. What’s one broken rule before treatment has started? You can’t break something that she hasn’t agreed to yet.

They would understand.

We’ve already been labeled as addicts so we’re not here for the free coffee, right? We’re here to get help. I bet they even expect us to have a relapse or two along the way to recovery.

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I barely register the footsteps thudding down the hallway.

The knock on my door startles me.

“Jesus. How long does it take you to get done?” she mutters, probably thinking I can’t hear her through the closed door.

More knocking, louder this time.

Good grief.

Is she trying to break down the door?

“Why the fuck can’t you just give me a few moments?” I yell, trying to sound angry, but I can’t help the amusement creeping into my voice.

“Your ten minutes are over.”

I groan, more out of desperation than out of frustration. “Another minute.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Bossy much?

The steps retreat.

This is going to be interesting.

As soon as I enter the living room, her relaxed expression turns into another frown.

“What took you so long?” She scans my white robe. “Is this what you call dressed?”

“Which one do you want me to answer first?”

“Sorry?”

“You asked two questions,” I explain patiently. “Which one do you want answered first?”

The slightest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her luscious lips. “I’m just saying you should put in more effort if you’re sharing your apartment with someone. Wearing proper clothing is one of those things that doesn’t require much effort on anyone’s part.”

“What’s wrong with my robe?” I glance down, my hand brushing over the white fabric.

“It’s called having manners.”

“Are you implying that I don’t have any?” I wink. “Sweetheart, if you knew me, you wouldn’t make such a statement. This is a major trade up. I’m usually naked.”

“Naked?” She draws out the word. At the same time, her gaze is drawn to my lap. “Yes. I sleep naked, I cook naked, and I fuck naked, if you have to know.”

“Whoa. Hold your horses.” She holds up a hand to stop me from saying more and lets out another long breath. “Jeez. I knew you were a sex addict, but seriously, there’s no need to go into detail.”

I cringe at the way she emphasizes the last word. She makes it sound like I’m some kind of perverted fuck who fucks the entire day.

“I’m not a sex addict.” The words come out more defensive than intended. Fuck, I hate how weak it makes me sound. But more than that, I’m annoyed by the fact that she just managed to make me want to justify my actions.

I shouldn’t feel the need to explain my life, and yet in her presence the word “denial” springs to mind.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” she says.

“Well, they’re wrong.”

Our gazes lock in a fierce battle.

She isn’t afraid of making eye contact, I notice.

She isn’t shy, either.

So, why doesn’t she want me to touch her in all the good places, like most women do?

“What do you want?” I slump down on the couch, still eyeing her.

“A chat.”

“About what?”

“About ground rules.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It won’t take long,” she adds as she catches my alarmed glance. “Now that it’s clear we’re expected to share this apartment, we need to discuss how—”

“The answer is no.” I jump to my feet again. “I didn’t come here to be told by a woman what I can or can’t do.”

“But—” She leans forward and her frown deepens. “—you haven’t heard me out yet.”

“True. But you see, I know what women want from me, and the answer is no. Are you done?” I make a point to take a step toward the door.

To be honest, I’m enjoying myself. I enjoy winding her up.

Her face distorts into anger, just as I expected. “That’s so sexist of you. You have no idea what I’ll ask of you.”

“Believe it or not, I do. You’ll want what all other women want.”

“Again, so sexist. But you’re wrong.”

No woman has ever called me a sexist. “What are you saying?”

“You got it all wrong,” she repeats.

I take a step toward her, my gaze buried in her blazing eyes. “Let me prove that I’m right. If I make a correct guess, I want you to go out with me.”

Shock crosses her features. I can see it in the way her eyes widen the moment her mind processes the meaning of my words. At last, she leans back, the shock replaced with surprise. “You want to go out with me?”

Surprise and complete disbelief.

What’s so hard to believe that yes, I’d take her out to dinner and then I’d rock both the bed and her world?

“Yes,” I say slowly.

She frowns. “Why?”

“To get to know you better.” Among many things.

“We barely met half an hour ago.”

“That’s correct.” I’ve taken out women I knew for less than ten minutes, so half an hour is pretty long for me.

She frowns again, and her confusion deepens. “I don’t get it. Why would you ask me?”

“Because you’d like it.” Not just dinner, but everything else I have to offer.

“You don’t know me well enough to say that I’d like it or you.” She bites down on her lip. “I honestly don’t know why you’d ask me. Besides, there’s nowhere to go, really. If you’re familiar with the renovation plans, you surely know that everything within a mile is closed.”

My smile turns into a grin. She hasn’t said no yet.

To be more precise, she’s absolutely not adverse to the idea, and she doesn’t seem to know about the “don’t fuck other patients” rule either.

“Is that the only thing you’re concerned about? That I won’t find a suitable place to take you out?”

“No.” She leans back and flips a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’ve got another one for you. How about my boyfriend’s waiting for me at home.”

She’s playing the boyfriend card. Haven’t heard this one in a while.

“A boyfriend I really love and never want to hurt,” she adds, her eyes challenging me. “I appreciate the offer, though. I’m sure you mean well, but really, no, thanks, I can’t.”

My lips twitch. She eyes me with mistrust. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just playing with you,” I say. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t date. There are way too many rules here. Dating a fellow addict breaks a couple of them.”

She frowns as she processes my words. “Rules?”

“You didn’t know?” My smile widens at her alarmed expression.

“No one mentioned anything to me.”

“You got a folder, right?” I gesture with my hands to outline the size of it. “Big, brown. Probably weighs more than a stack of magazines.”

“Like that one?” She points her finger to the box she must have dropped near the door.

“Exactly. Pretty much like that one. Now, do yourself a favor, roomie, and have a look inside. Better yet, skip all the info and orientation leaflets and get straight to the book. Turn to page ninety and read the second paragraph, which mentions no dating, among a few other things.”

She stares at me for a few moments, her eyes narrowed. “Why did you ask me out if you knew that it’s against the rules?”

“I wanted to see your reaction.”

“Right. You did that.” She bites down on her lip. She looks kind of cute when she does it. Her teeth are white and perfect, but not in the fake veneers kind of way. It makes me want to suck her lower lip into my mouth to get a first taste of her. To feel her teeth on my skin. Press her hips against mine so she can feel that I’m getting hard for her.

“Are you sure you’re not a nun?” I ask.

“Do I look like a nun?” Her frown is back in place.

“Maybe.”

I don’t know why I keep wanting to wind her up, but it sure works.

“Well, I am most certainly not.” Her eyebrows raise an inch as she tilts her head. Her posture is rigid. I wonder what it would take to get her to relax. “You know you’ve asked me twice already? One more time and it’ll make you sound kind of creepy.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It was just a question. Someone told me something about a nun joining us.” That’s a little lie, one I want her to believe.

“Well, it’s not me.”

“Clearly,” I say. “So, if you’re not a nun, what is it that you do when you’re not in rehab?

There is a short pause before she replies, “I’m a nurse.”

My heart skips a beat.

I’ve never done a nurse. Or, have I? No, I don’t think so.

The realization hits me like a soft, relaxing breeze. I knew there was going to be some benefit to visiting this place.

“A nurse?” I can barely control the enthusiasm seeping into my tone.

“Yes.” She draws out the word.

“Cool.” I lean back, eyeing her. “Must be interesting to see lots of naked people.”

“I don’t, really. I work in a nursing home.” For the first time, I can see a hint of a smile on her face. “Bet that’s not your kind.”

“I don’t have a kind.”

“Right.” Her gaze moves away from me as she begins to play with something in her hand.

It’s a Darth Vader keychain.

“Nice accessory,” I say pointing to her hand. “Can I see it?”

She hesitates for a moment before she stretches out her hand, long enough to let me get a better look, but not close enough to let me touch it.

“It was a gift from my little brother,” she says almost apologetically and pulls back again.

“He has great taste.”

“He’s nine.”

She offers me a soft, almost apologetic smile. Her hand brushes over the length of her skirt. It’s impatience, I assume, but I can’t be sure.

She’s unlike any other woman I’ve met before—cagey, almost hostile.

Judging from her posture—all rigid, her gaze glued to the rug beneath our feet, her perfect teeth gently chewing on that full lower lip of hers—I can sense there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it without sounding rude.

“What?” I prompt.

She looks up, and her eyes meet mine again. “Are you really a sex addict?”

“Why are you asking?” I cock my head to the side. “Is it because I asked you out? You know it was a joke, right? Something that people laugh about and don’t take seriously.”

“I know. It’s just…” She takes a deep breath and waves her hand, looking for words. “In spite of your obvious preference to run around naked, you don’t look like a sex addict to me.”

“You don’t look like a love addict, either, and yet here you are, stuck in this place with me.”

She nods her head. “Fair enough.”

I regard her amused. “Out of interest, what do you think a sex addict should look like?”

She shrugs. “Bald. In his forties, I guess. Maybe someone with a few divorces behind him, because no woman is good enough for him so he feels unloved and has channeled that emptiness into his sex life. Definitely someone older than you.”

“You seem to have a very clear picture of a sex addict. Who’s judgmental now?” I grin at her. “To answer your question, you don’t have to worry that I’ll come running to your bedroom door in the middle of the night and force myself on you. I’m not that kind of guy.”

She looks embarrassed at my insinuation. “I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Good,” I say. “But just so you know, I’m not a sex addict. People keep insisting that I am, but I’m not. Honestly, I’m not.”

“Why do they insist that you are, then?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Honestly, it’s not an addiction if I love what I do. I could stop whenever I wanted, but why would I want to?”

“That makes sense.” Laughter erupts from her throat. And, wow. She really has the most beautiful laughter. Pearly, infectious, coming from the heart. Everything about her seems real, unlike all the fake women back home who are after my money.

“You’re good.” She laughs again before growing silent. “Look, honestly, I don’t really care what you are or what you do. You could have slept with half of the female population in the world, and I wouldn’t care. I want to go home, meaning all I care about is getting this whole thing over and done with. The only reason I wanted to talk is to ask you not to clog the sink with hair and not—” she points at my crotch “—don’t touch my things, not my food, not my private stuff, and particularly not after you’ve touched yourself.”

Why does her reference to me jerking off make her sound so damn hot?

Ignoring the sudden stirring in my crotch, I grant her an innocent smile. “That’s all?”

“I think so. I’m not looking to hook up with anyone. I’m not interested in getting into more trouble than I’m already in.”

“Done deal, roomie.”

There is a short, heavy silence.

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, surprise apparent in her face. “You’re fine with it? No arguing? No questions? No complaints? Just like that? Because you said—”

“I know what I said, and the answer’s yes.”

She leans back, all tension gone, but I can feel the waves of suspicion wafting from her. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” I frown in mock annoyance. “Can’t your roommate be friendly with you and agree to your rules for the sake of building a good relationship?”

“Wow. You’re serious then?”

“Absolutely. Now, talking to me wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Her skirt rides up a few inches as she crosses her leg. The way she’s leaned back gives me a good view of her breasts straining against the thin fabric of her top. God, it’s hard not to stare at them and imagine all sorts of things I could do to her naked body.

“It’s all settled then,” she continues, completely oblivious to the thoughts I’m harboring this instant. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. And if you could slip into something less discomforting,” she breaks off as she catches my face, then adds quickly, “or not. That’s totally fine, too.”

“You’re really pushing your luck, you know that?” I say, amused. “But alright, if it helps you feel more at ease around me, I’ll slip into something ‘less discomforting.’ Even though I’ve got to say, I still don’t get what’s wrong with it.” I consider getting up, then decide against it. For one, I’d rather be in her company than in the confines of my bedroom, unsure what to do with myself outside of my office. And then there’s the tiny inconvenience in my pants. I don’t think she’d appreciate seeing another hard-on—at least, not quite yet.

“It’s called having manners.”

“You keep mentioning that.” I wink. “Let’s not go there again.”

“I don’t know a lot about you.” She shrugs. “So, obviously, I wouldn’t know if you had any or not.”

“Then let’s change that, shall we?” I stretch out my hand over the table. “My name’s Kaiden Wright, but you may call me Kade. Obviously, I’m your new roommate.”

“Victoria Sullivan. Usually no nickname, but you can call me Vicky.” She takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Vicky.”

I let her name roll off my tongue, realizing that it’s both sweet and innocent, and somehow fits her perfectly.

In spite of her firm grip, her hand feels soft inside mine. I marvel at the way it fits like it was made to feel perfect against my skin. She looks into my eyes, and for a moment I think I can see a sparkle that wasn’t there before. Her lips part, and her gaze lowers to my mouth the way it does when women have their own naughty thoughts about me and think they’re being discreet about it.

I would have held on much longer if she didn’t let go.

As she settles back against the sofa, her eyes grow distant. It must be something I said or did. I comb my memory to find the thing that’s turned her distant again.

And then it hits me.

It’s not me. It’s about someone else.

I watch her start playing with the keychain again. “He must be pretty special if you don’t want to upset him.”

Vicky looks up, her irises widening, surprise written on her face. “How did you guess?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Judging from the fact that this is not exactly a vacation, it was either that you’re recovering from a bad relationship or that you’re here to get rid of him. Call it a wild guess, but I don’t think it’s the latter.”

“He has nothing to do with it.” She wets her lips, and for the first time I see nervousness and something else—vulnerability—flicker across her face.

I wouldn’t usually pursue the issue, but with her it’s different. It’s partly entertaining, partly interesting, and partly, to my surprise, I find that I care somehow.

“You’re not here because of him?” I ask.

“I’m here because I violated my restraining order that ordered me to keep away from him.”

I lean back. It’s my turn to be stunned. I never expected her to be so frank.

“I take it you’re a professional stalker?”

She lets out a fake laugh. “I’m anything but that.” Her laugh grows silent, the words soft. “It’s all a big misunderstanding. That’s all it is.”

My body tenses at the way she says the words. As if she’s grown tired of having to repeat them over and over again. Vulnerability stains her voice, her stance, even the air surrounding her.

It makes me want to touch her, to hold her hand in mine and make her laugh again, which is absurd. I’m not someone who likes to comfort. Heck, I usually don’t give a damn.

Her hands brush over her skirt, and then she gets up. “I should get going.”

I rise with her. “Want me to help you find your way around?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, but thanks.” She offers me a weak smile.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Your room is—”

“—the first door down the hall. I know,” Vicky says, interrupting me.

“That’s correct. I took the bigger room, seeing that I arrived first. First-come, first-served, dibs, and all that.” I offer her a smile, but she doesn’t return it.

“I don’t mind. I prefer the smaller one anyway.” Her gaze travels to the front of my robe.

With a soft groan, she lifts up the box. I take it out of her hands. “Come on. Let me help you.”

I follow her down the hall and we reach her room. I open the door for her and step aside to let her past. She steps inside, barely giving me a second glance as she hauls her luggage into a corner. As she turns around, I pass her the box. Our hands touch again and her last words echo in my mind.

“To hell with them, Vicky,” I whisper. “I believe you. If you say that it’s all a misunderstanding, then that’s all it is.”

I don’t know what just made me say that, but it feels true.

For whatever stupid reason, I believe her.

“You are?” Surprise replaces the weariness. I expect her to withdraw her hand, but she doesn’t.

“Why not? I’m not the person to judge you. Right?”

My gaze meets hers again, and in that moment, something happens. I don’t know what it is, except that it feels like a vault’s just opened. It’s deep, intense, and a hell of a lot intimate. As my eyes zoom in on her, I know she feels the same way.

We’re standing near the door. She pulls back and places her hand on the handle. It’s my clue to leave. I know it is, and yet I find myself glued to the spot, fighting the sudden want to stay.

She places the box onto the table and then she turns around. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She shrugs. “For making it all so easy, I guess.”

I let out a chuckle. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not doing it for you. I’m selfish and incredibly vain and really need my beauty sleep. A yelling, angry roomie wouldn’t be in my best interest.”

Her lips twitch. “Okay. I don’t want to hold you back longer than necessary.”

Turning around, I head out the door. She closes it behind me when I remember her ugly accessory. I can’t leave without making a last impression.

“Hey, Stalker!”

The door opens again and her head pops out. “Yeah?”

I put on my most serious expression. “May the Force be with you!”

She frowns, confused. Finally, as my words sink in, her lips start quivering, and then a laugh erupts from her chest.

It’s really addictive.

Her lips. Her eyes. Most of all, her laugh. I love people who can laugh like that. Open. Full of life.

“May the Force be with you, too, Panty-chaser.”

I can feel her gaze on me as I head down the hall, realizing I like it. I like her. But most importantly, I want her.

The little, sexy nurse.