Chapter 5

Cooper

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I try not to look at the girl, since she’s really not a safe roommate choice and her caramel brown eyes and plump, rosebud-shaped lips are distracting me from my roommate hunt. But my big head isn’t always the one running things.

This girl is hard to stop looking at. And then there’s the way she handles herself so seriously, with her head held high and shoulders back. She’s not built as a fighter, but she has the spirit. That tongue on her is going to get her in trouble, but I’ll be damned if I say she doesn’t do it for me.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Branna asks, then blushes. “I mean, the room that’s up for rent?” For just a minute, she breaks out of her tough persona and looks down at her feet, crossing a hand over her body and holding her other elbow in it. For just a moment, she looks a little shy, but still goddamn breathtakingly beautiful, and I have the conflicting desires to protect her and to take her, deep and hard all at once.

No. Down, boy. I’m definitely going to need to give Wednesday’s girl a call tonight, maybe a little early. I’ll have her before my second training. She won’t mind the sweat.

“Right. It’s over here,” I answer, leading my unimpressive group of potential roommates to the spare room.

“Niiiice, dude.” Pothead flops down face-first on the bed, arms spread-eagled, and doesn’t move.

“Does the d-d-door lock?” Peter shuts it to look at the backside of the knob, closing us into an uncomfortably small space for four grown bodies, especially of complete strangers.

“The key didn’t come with the place when I got it, but I’m fine with you getting a lock.” Though it won’t be you getting a lock, at least not for this room. There is no way he’s moving in, I already want to wring his neck and we’re not even through the tour yet.

Then again, pothead still hasn’t moved from his spot on the bed and I’m just not getting any sense that this guy has his shit together enough to pay rent, much less on time. I’m not in for that headache and I’m also not cool with him dealing out of here, if he develops a little entrepreneurial spirit. The last thing I need is the hassle of cops knocking down my door. I’ve had my share of government goons—I was one once and have no need to deal with them again.

“Is the furniture included?” asks Branna, looking in the small dresser that’s shoved in a corner of the room, in lieu of a closet.

“Yeah, it is,” I reply. If she moves in here, it’s going to be the longest exercise in fucking self-control that I’ve ever done. All I want to do with her and that dresser is sit her perfect ass on it while I pay some of that other kind of lip service to those perfect breasts. I’ve been with some attractive women in my time, but this one is something else.

“And internet?” She looks me square in the eyes, like she’s haggling.

“There’s a library a few blocks over,” I say, staring her down just the same. She doesn’t flinch or waver, even for a moment.

“Have you ever had bedbugs?” she asks.

“Bedbugs?” I smirk. No, but I’d like her in my bed. “No.”

“When is the move-in date?” she asks.

“It’s free immediately,” I answer.

“And the lease term?” she asks.

“Month to month,” I answer.

“I’ll take it,” she says, still not breaking eye contact. She’s the most cocksure chick I’ve ever met, at least at that moment.

“I’ll let you know who I decide on,” I say.

Branna raises an eyebrow in response and turns her head to give Peter, who’s neurotically playing with the window lock and checking the mosquito netting, a long, slow look. Then she looks back at me and nods at the pothead, now on his back on the bed, playing with his fingers.

“Again, I’ll take it.” She crosses her arms over her chest. I like the balls on this girl. I also like the breasts on this girl, which are only better-presented when her arms crossed over her chest press them up towards the neck of her t-shirt to make space.

“Alright. Out!” I say, straight at Peter.

“B-b-b-but—” he says, eyes flicking back and forth from me to Branna at a crazy speed.

“The room’s no longer available,” I say, “You, too.” I give the pothead a little help, taking his wrist and hauling him off the bed. I smooth it over with a hand, not doing much to counter the wrinkled sheets, and give it a solid thump.

“All yours, babe. Get that deposit to me by tonight.”

“My name is Branna,” she says, coolly. “Here is the rent now.”

She hands me a wad of cash, clipped together with a pastel pink, swirl-shaped paperclip, and slides her backpack off of her shoulders and onto the bed.

What am I getting myself into?

I show the two losers out and have to admit that I’m happier to be living with her, even though I’m going to need to up my training intensity and take a lot of cold showers, than I would be living with either of them.

I come back in and pour myself a glass of water. On second thought, I pour her one, too.

I rap on the half-shut door to her bedroom with my knuckles.

“Come in!” she calls. I push the door open with my shoulder.

“Water?” I ask, holding out one of the glasses.

“Thanks,” she says. She takes a small sip and lets out a little sigh. “It’s hot out.”

“Yeah, this summer’s been brutal. For all the snow we get in Boston all winter, you would think we wouldn’t swing straight to ninety-plus degrees every summer” I say. “Need any help with moving in your stuff?”

“No, I handle my own,” she says, challenge written in her eyes.

I look around, in case I’m missing something. But no, the only new additions to the room are one hot girl and one backpack. One hot girl, who seemed to immediately regret telling me her real first name, has less stuff than I’ve seen other girls take to the gym, talks like she isn’t scared of anything, and is coming from something so bad that living in a dump with a man who’s a complete stranger is appealing.

I don’t need military instinct to know that getting involved with this mysterious girl is asking for trouble.