The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(108)

Stay for good.

So I limited myself to watching Lucas, Lina, and Taco leave, and a few minutes later, I was alone. Again. Just how I’d been before Lucas had slipped into my life and somehow made himself… irreplaceable.

“All right,” I said to my empty apartment. “I’m on my own. And that’s good. It’s okay.”

Only it wasn’t. Not really.

Because I already missed him, and that was crazy. It was… ridiculous. Outrageously so. But there was this beating, breathing thing inside of me, demanding to be let out.

And just like that, it was as if a lightbulb had lit up in my head. One that was wired to the organ in the middle of my chest. I grabbed my laptop bag, pulling out my computer and plopping back down on the couch. I opened my manuscript and did the only thing I had known how to do once upon a time. I wrote about every single thing I didn’t know how to… handle. How to process. Every fear in my head, every powerful emotion raging in my heart, every terrifying question, and every suffocating certainty. Every hope. And I just wrote. I released them into my story, so I was able to untangle them the best way I knew. On paper.



* * *



Hours later, I was lying in bed. Wide awake.

I’d somehow managed to work until past midnight, and I’d thought that the exhaustion from the day and the productive writing session would knock me out. But nope.

I stared at the dark ceiling of my bedroom. Stealing glances at my phone. Wishing it would light up with a message or a call. Wishing I was brave enough to grab it and reach out myself.

But the screen remained pitch black. The device silent.

I wasn’t daring to do anything about it, and I was driving myself crazy.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I let out a groan.

There were so many unwritten rules about how women should behave with men they were interested in. Men they’d kissed and wanted to kiss again and again and again. But this was Lucas. This was me. It didn’t feel like those rules should apply to us.

I had seen him naked, beautifully imposing as he stood under the stream of water, with his hand on his dick. Hurting for me. Vulnerable. Powerful.

And before that, I had kissed him in the rain, not caring about anything but his lips, as they moved around mine.

I had danced with him to our soundtrack, spinning in his arms while I bathed in his laughter.

I had comforted him when he’d had nightmares, wishing I could take the fear away.

I had let him hold my hand in his when I needed someone to comfort me. And I’d let something that had started like an experiment turn into something real.

The rules didn’t apply.

I was a grown-ass woman. I didn’t need a reason to send a message to him. To my friend. To one of my best friends. To the man I couldn’t stop thinking about.

I started for the phone. “Fuck it—”

And in that exact moment, the screen lit up.

Heart in my throat, I scrambled for it, managing to tangle my legs in the comforter and flinging myself to the ground. “Ouch! Dammit.”

From my position sprawled on the carpet, I stretched an arm and grabbed the device from the nightstand, not bothering to return to the bed. It was a text.


Lucas: I might have separation anxiety.



My lips stretched into the biggest, most ridiculous grin ever, and my fingers rushed to type an answer.


Rosie: I thought only pets got that.

Lucas: You’re up.

Lucas: Did I wake you?

Rosie: Nope. I was wide awake. I’ve been working for hours.

Lucas: That makes me happy. How many words?

Rosie: Lots

Lucas: That’s my girl.

Lucas: You must be exhausted, though. I should let you go to sleep.



The thrumming in my rib cage rose to my temples as I came up with an excuse to keep him with me.


Rosie: Don’t worry. My brain is still on so I can’t sleep.

Rosie: You could… keep me company? Maybe?

Rosie: Until I fall asleep.

Lucas: Oh yeah? You’d like that?

Rosie: Yep.

Lucas: Well, you’re lucky I’m an excellent entertainer and great company.

Lucas: Most of the time.

Rosie: I know.

Rosie: All of the time. Even when you’re a grouch.



A picture appeared on my screen. It was a selfie, and he was frowning. Pouting.


Lucas: a grouch like this?

Lucas: I still think I look handsome. Sexy, even.



He did. He always did.

Another message came in.


Lucas: would you entertain me, too?

Lucas: send me a pic.

Lucas: for the sake of my separation anxiety.

Lucas: I’m scared I’ll forget your face.

Rosie: are you… flirting with me, Lucas Martín?

Lucas: is it working?



With a nervous snicker, I snapped a selfie and sent it.


Lucas: is that… the floor? Why are you laying at the foot of the bed?



Oops. My Lucas-hazed brain hadn’t thought of that.

Another photo of him popped up on my screen. It was taken from a longer distance, as if he’d stretched his arm to snap the shot so I could see that he was lying in bed. On top of the covers. Shirtless. His glorious, glorious chest on display, his tattoo peeking out of a corner of the screen.