{Kayla}

Jake grunts as he drops a box on the kitchen counter. “That’s the last one. Where the hell were you hiding all this shit? I don’t remember seeing this much stuff in your place.”

“I’m very good at utilizing space.” I smile sweetly as I work on the kitchen, trying to keep my nerves in check. I’ve never lived with a guy before. There’s only one bathroom, which freaks me out. I have things I don’t want him seeing. Where am I supposed to hang my bras after I wash them? My panties? And I am not sharing any towels with him. I refuse to wipe my face with anything that’s touched his junk.

We both agreed to box up everything of the captain’s son’s belongings before we moved in. We even took pictures of the apartment before removing everything, just so we could put his stuff back exactly as it was when we leave.

One month. Well, less than one month. Twenty-one days, to be exact. I can do this. The time I’m not at work or in class I’ll just spend at the library. It’s not that much different than how I’ve spent every year since coming to BU.

“What are these?” He holds up the decorative towels I’ve attached to the handle of the oven.

“Towels.”

“These are not towels. They have buttons.”

“They set the ambiance.”

“Oh, hell no.” He removes them and tosses them into an empty box. “This is not a chick apartment.”

I rescue them from a life of towel obsolescence. “You don’t get to decide what we use to decorate.”

“Towels are not decoration.”

“These towels are.” I hold them up.

“Then they aren’t towels.” He jerks them out of my hand and drops them back into the box. “Towels dry things. Wipe things up. They were designed with a purpose in mind, not to hang on the oven. Besides, that’s a fire hazard, having something flammable hanging next to a heat source.”

I can’t stand this and already miss my slum of an apartment. It didn’t burn to the ground, but the authorities did step in and condemn the building until the super brings it up to code. Since he’s in jail for multiple counts of voyeurism, he’ll have to sell the building just to pay his legal fees. Even better, I didn’t get charged with arson since it was all the code violations that caused the fire to spread and not the fire itself. “Is this what it’s going to be like living with a fireman? Everything has to be up to code and all that before you allow it?”

“After what we went through last night, you’re seriously asking me that right now?” He looks at me. I need to throw something at him, so I do. The towels hit his impressive chest. He lets them fall to the floor, his gaze never leaving me. “Are you through?”

This man is so annoying. And irritating. And just…just…Gah! I can’t stand him and storm out of the kitchen before I throw something bigger—like a frying pan. “Fine. You do the kitchen the way you want. I’m going to tackle the bathroom.”

“Good. I hate bathrooms anyway.” He opens one of my boxes marked “kitchen” and shakes his head as he pulls out my cute little pizza cutter. “What’s this supposed to cut?”

“Pizzas.” Any idiot knows what the circular cutter is for.

“Not the pizzas I make.” He then scans the room and hurries over to one of his boxes, pops it open, and pulls out the biggest pizza cutter I’ve ever seen. It’s as big as a pizza. “This is a pizza cutter.”

I roll my eyes. I never cook anyway, so I really don’t care what he does to the kitchen. “Fine. Put whatever of mine is not worthy of your acceptance into a box. I’ll do the same in the bathroom.”

“Just don’t touch my towel.”

“Towel?” I stop and stare at him. “As in singular?”

“Why do I need more than one? There’s only one of me.”

“Gross,” I mutter and hurry into the bathroom before he tells me something else equally disturbing that will make me throw up in my mouth. It’s a small bathroom, but it will work. It’s only temporary. I’ll graduate, land my dream job, and be rid of the man-whore known as Jake Swanson soon enough.

By the time the natural light is gone, I’ve got the bathroom in order, my scented candles on the shelf, my loofa sponge hanging in the shower, and the carpet covers around the toilet. All in all, I consider it a successful day. I’m scared to see what little work Jake has done to the kitchen. I grab his box of unacceptable items and take them out of the bathroom for him to do something with.

As I emerge from the hall, my jaw hits the hardwood floor. Not only is the kitchen set up like something I’d see on the Food Network, he’s also tackled the living room. He has my slightly singed couch, my accent chair, and his two beanbags—the only furniture he owned—all facing a ridiculously ginormous flat screen TV. What is it with guys and thinking bigger is better?

“Hungry?”

He startles me and I spin around. He’s at the kitchen counter, a curious look shining in his eyes. For some odd reason, I can’t pull away from that heated expression. It’s a dark, mischievous dance that sucks me in. My libido springs to life and I curse my body for betraying me. I do not like this man. Period.

I flash my best smile to cover my reaction to nothing more than a glance. “Starving. Want to order a pizza?”

“How about I make something instead? I love the layout of this kitchen.”

“You have the energy to cook after today?”

“Cooking is…” He shrugs and I sigh. Damn, he has fine shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a way for me to relax.”

Another layer of Jake is revealed. Since we aren’t fighting, I go with it. “I thought you don’t do rules. Aren’t there rules when it comes to cooking?”

“Not my cooking.”

Of course. “I’m listening.”

“The key to setting up a kitchen is the work triangle.” He grins and before my very eyes, he whips out all these containers with minimal effort. Hell, he barely moved from his spot. When he gives me a cute, almost shy look, I’m shocked. Literally shocked. Jake isn’t shy about anything. And yet, as he works his magic in the kitchen, he keeps stealing little glances at me. I can’t take my gaze off him. This is a side of him I’ve never seen. I like it. Love it, in fact.

That could become a problem.

“Work triangle?” I ask to distract myself from thinking about anything else I love about my new roommate.

“Stove, fridge, and sink. Everything you need on a regular basis should be within those three points.” He creates a crater in the flour spread on the counter, dumps in some eggs, and works it all together. Amazing. I’ve only made things that come in a box, so watching someone make something from scratch holds my attention. “There’s wine above the fridge if you want some.”

“That would be a yes.” I love wine and eagerly go in search of the nectar of the gods. Good thing it’s red. I don’t like white. Besides, red with red is the rule, and Jake has already opened a jar of red sauce. Oh, and it’s Pinot Noir, my favorite. I’m impressed and don’t know why.

I pop the cork and open the cupboard closest to the sink. Nothing but small glasses and tumblers. I open the next one to find plates, bowls, and coffee cups. “The stemware is in the cupboard above the fridge. There’s an actual glass hanger in there.”

“There is?”

“I know, right? I was shocked as shit, too. Then again, this is the Lynx. I’m surprised the building doesn’t have a doorman.”

“I wouldn’t complain if it did.” I open the cupboard and find a nice collection of wineglasses. They aren’t mine, so I assume them to be his. Guys have wineglasses? I thought they drank everything out of red Solo cups. Again, I’m impressed and don’t know how I feel about that.

I crane my neck. Who puts glasses up that high? Without a word, he wipes his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder, grabs two glasses by the stems, and hands them to me. I both love and hate how tall he is.

“Thanks,” I offer and pour us each copious amounts before handing him a glass.

He thanks me and holds it up. “A toast to our first night together. May we not kill each other.”

“I’ll drink to that.”