“Whoa! Back up there, buddy.” Cannon sticks up a hand. “What guy?”
“Some debt-collector asshole,” I spit out.
“You somehow mysteriously found out a debt collector was hounding her and you stepped in and made the payment…Why do I feel like there’s more to the story?”
Oh, there is more to the story. Much more. But I know Cannon would chew my head off if he finds out exactly how things went down.
This is all getting too much for me to handle. “I’m looking for somewhere else to stay,” I tell them.
“Why’s that?” Cannon asks challengingly.
Because it’s awkward as hell, living with my friend’s ex-wife.
Because she hates my freaking guts.
Because just the thought of her makes me sprout a woody.
The instructor clears her throat from the front of the room. “Okay, everyone. It’s evaluation time!” she announces with an excited clap. “I’ll be coming around the room to take a look at everyone’s progress.”
I glance down at the tangled heap on my lap. Well, shit…
A low murmur fills the room as the people around us hurry to tie up loose ends on their various projects. The instructor begins making her rounds.
Cannon leans close to me and lowers his voice. “Give this living situation a shot before doing anything rash. She needs this more than you think.”
His words kick a weak spot low in my stomach. But I know better. Iris Merlini doesn’t need me. In her words and actions, she’s already made that abundantly clear.
13
Iris
Sweat drips into my eyes. I can’t breathe. I lean forward, resting my hands on my knees, trying to suck in gulps of oxygen.
Lord, I hate running. I’m tired, I stink, and I feel on the brink of death, and I only managed to complete one mile today.
I try to take a jog a few times a week, balancing out that cardio with daily strength conditioning workouts on my bedroom floor. I don’t seem to be losing any weight, though. All this hard work and nothing to show for it. But after what went down the other night, I’ve needed more than ever to burn off some of my restless energy.
The replay of my roommate and me, grinding all over each other, has been on broadcast in my head since I woke up in his bed that morning, surrounded by his linen and his mouthwatering scent. I was a breath away from pushing my panties to the side and handling the achy feeling between my thighs.
Thankfully, I still have a morsel of dignity left. So instead, I tiptoed back to my room and slid into my workout gear. I managed to make it out the door without waking Jude where he slept on the couch.
But Operation: Torture by Way of Cardio really doesn’t seem to be working. I’m still all keyed up with lust.
My steps falter when I enter the living room. The furniture has been pushed aside and I find Jude on the floor. A man who I presume to be his physiotherapist hovers above him.
The sight catches me off-guard since my roommate usually leaves the house for his PT sessions.
He grunts, almost shouting out, when the stern man pushes on his leg. His palm slaps against the hardwood floor and pain mars his face.
I scurry into the kitchen, wanting to give him his privacy. He’s a proud man and I can’t imagine he’d want me witnessing his vulnerable moment.
My roommate and I still don’t see a whole lot of each other. Between his therapy, my business research, and my overall objective to keep my distance, we usually just see each other when we’re coming and going. I’m just not sure what to make of him now that he intervened with that pushy debt collector.
It frays my nerves that I had to accept Jude’s help with that overdue credit card a few days ago. All because my ex wouldn’t man up to his responsibilities.
Still, I have to admit—now that that particular creditor is no longer hounding me, some of the weight has lifted off my shoulders.
And let me make something clear—I do not condone tackling people. It’s not something I usually do. But regaining my independence has been super important to me so I lost my mind a little bit when it felt like Jude was trying to encroach on that. A primal instinct kicked in to fight for my newfound autonomy. I may have taken it a little too far.
Jude didn’t have to help me, especially with how cold I’ve been to him. But now that the fog has cleared from my head, I feel a deep sense of gratitude toward him for his unexpected kindness.
As I’m gulping down a glass of water, I steal a little peek into the living room.
Jude’s expression, though…The grit, the determination, the tenacity to push through the pain even when giving up would be a whole lot easier. I can’t help but respect that. It’s kind of…sexy.
Gosh, I’m so tangled up inside. Especially after the way he held me and soothed me and listened to me that night.
Could I have been wrong about Jude Kingston all these years?
I’m calling into question everything I thought I knew about the man. I’ve always considered him the bad guy. But is there a shred of a chance that he might be a decent person after all?
I mean, the bad guy wouldn’t volunteer to pay off a debt that has nothing to do with him. The bad guy wouldn’t sit with me and let me babble my broken heart out into his bottle of expensive tequila. And the bad guy definitely wouldn’t have slept on the couch when my drunk ass passed out in his bed…Right?
Foxxy swaggers into the room and catches me undercover-ogling my roommate. She cuts her eyes at me and swaggers right on over to her food dish. “Oh, don’t give me those judgy eyes,” I hiss at her. “Have you
