The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(27)

Rosie’s breath hitched at the contact, and the motion somehow brought us even closer. On instinct, my arms went around her sides, my hands gripping the edge of the island. Peaches surrounded me, the soft heat coming off her body as my arms caged her, reminding me of how long it had been since I’d let anyone this close. Or close at all. Reminding me of how natural physical contact and touch had always come to me. And how I had isolated myself after what happened.

A warning flashed behind my eyes. Step away, off-limits. You’re in no place or shape for any of this.

So just as quickly as I’d moved forward, I pushed back.

Rosie was safe with me. I hadn’t made that statement lightly. I might be labeled a brute by my cousin for my lack of… refinement or manners, but I wasn’t a caveman. I had every intention of respecting Rosie. Especially now that we were going to share this apartment. Even if only temporarily.

“All right.” I turned around with a clap. I opened a few cabinets, looking for the flour. “I promised you churros. So, you’re getting churros for breakfast, roomie.”





CHAPTER SEVEN


Rosie


We were roommates.

Temporary roommates, as I’d been sure to make very clear.

Because I wouldn’t take advantage of Lucas’s kindness.

It was one thing to stay in Lina’s empty place while she was on her honeymoon, like I’d intended when I’d shown up two nights ago. But it was Lucas who had been promised the apartment. I’d only accepted his help because I… I was a little desperate.

And I didn’t mind the company.

And fine, okay. I was tempted by the idea of spending more time with him, too; temptation encouraged by my—totally under control—crush. But most of all, I was running out of time. I had eight more weeks until my deadline and I couldn’t afford wasting them searching for an alternative, affordable accommodation if I was being honest. Realistic. I needed every minute and penny I had, because worse come to worst, if I didn’t hit my deadline and cash in part of my advance, my savings account would suffer.

So I’d stay with Lucas. For a few days. Until the repairs at my apartment were done. Which I was hopeful would be soon.

Returning my gaze to my laptop as it sat in front of me, I reminded myself that my focus should be on my manuscript, and not on everything else going sideways in my life. Particularly, not on Lucas.

I checked my word count for the day.

One hundred out of my daily goal of two thousand words.

A sad hundred words in three long hours. Half of which were notes for me. Setting the nonexistent scene.

I returned my gaze to the mostly blank page in front of me. My fingers hovered over the keys and I… I closed my eyes, tried to summon something, anything, and nothing solidified. Fear sprouted. Spread. Settled right in the middle of my chest. Like a stone, heavy and solid. And just like it always happened, that familiar urge to scream rose.

And once more, I suppressed it.

Because I was Rosie. Keeping it together was my thing. I planned, rationalized, took a deep breath, and adjusted without losing my shit. I was the reliable friend and daughter.

When I’d written my first—and only other—book, everything had just… come to me. It had been like opening a valve and releasing something that had been locked inside, waiting to be let out. The yearning to be loved, fiercely. The wonder of becoming someone else’s world. The joy of finding that person—that one person—that… fits. Someone who isn’t necessarily perfect, because nobody really is, but someone who is perfect for you.

The time-traveling spin had been just for fun, because I’d always had a soft spot for a lost, fish-out-of-water hero. So I created a man from the past, an officer stuck in the present day, battling his demons and trying to come to terms with a love he thinks he doesn’t deserve. Because he might have been lost, but that never meant he couldn’t be found by someone. His person. Even when all odds are against him and even after being flung forward in time a century or two.

So why couldn’t I—

A loud screech caught my attention.

Lucas?

It couldn’t be. He’d left to explore the city a few hours ago and wasn’t supposed to return until late afternoon.

I walked to the door and looked through the peephole.

An old woman dressed in red dungarees stood in front of her door across the hall, her hands on her hips. A loveseat seemed only halfway inside her apartment.

I stepped into the hallway and ventured a “Hi there! Do you need help with that?”

No reaction or acknowledgment. The woman was busy pulling at one of the arms of the mustard-colored leather loveseat, which was lodged into the doorframe.

“Hello?” I said a little louder, taking a step forward. “Can I help you moving that?”

Still oblivious to my presence, the woman—who must have been somewhere in her seventies from the mane of gray hair and crooked posture—shoved the piece of furniture forcefully. And when it didn’t move, she took a couple of staggering steps back.

Closing the distance between us quickly, I gripped one of the arms of the loveseat.

Her gaze finally zeroed in on me, her brows shooting up her wrinkled forehead. She screeched, “Oh, for the love of all that is holy!” A hand patted her chest. “You scared the bejesus out of me, girl!”