The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(31)

And because this was me, and I had to fail at acting normal around this man, I miscalculated the distance to the coffee table and banged my knee against it.

“Por Dios,” Lucas muttered, rushing to my side. He leaned down as if he had every intention to check the bump on my knee. “Let me see—”

I stepped back before his hand ever made contact. “I’m fine,” I reassured him. “It was nothing.”

Lucas straightened, coming to his full height. He looked down at me as if he was trying to piece something together. Then, he leaned his head to one side slowly, and to my utter surprise, he chuckled. “Yeah, not Bella Durmiente. You’re a tougher princess.”

And that unexpected observation, for whatever reason, made my heart do a cartwheel in my chest.

Perhaps I wanted to be tough. Or maybe, I simply wanted to be called a princess by someone. Or not just someone, but Lucas. And that— That was something I shouldn’t have been thinking of in that moment. Or any moment. So, I answered with the cheeriest “Thanks!” Then I grabbed my sleeping clothes and sprinted to the bathroom.

When I reemerged, all those dangerous, dangerous thoughts parked aside, I found Lucas leaning against a kitchen cabinet as he typed something on his phone.

“You can go in now,” I told him. “I’ll pull out some blankets and a pillow for the couch. I know where Lina keeps everything.”

Lucas looked up from the device, zeroing in on my face. He nodded, and his mouth opened with words that never left him. His gaze descended, as if compelled by something, making its way down my body while I stood there in nothing but a sleeping tee, shorts, and all the glory of my messy hair. One pass, that was all he did. One single, leisurely pass of his eyes as they traveled from my head to my toes and then back up again.

His gaze met mine again, and he said in a voice that sent a tiny shiver down my arms, “Thank you, Graham.”

Graham. I couldn’t remember if he’d ever called me just by my last name. Maybe earlier today? After the hug attack.

Distracted by that thought, I watched him as he pulled some clothes from his bag and headed to the bathroom. When the door closed behind him, I thought about that quick peek he’d taken. At me. At my legs. But I threw a sheet over the couch and told myself that I wouldn’t dwell on it. They were nice, female legs. And Lucas… was into that. Women. Legs, apparently. So what?

If he were to stroll out of that bathroom showing off his calves, I’d do the same. Heck, I’d done it this morning, when he’d been wearing nothing but a—

“You really didn’t need to prepare the couch for me, Rosie.”

Lucas’s voice came from somewhere behind me. I was ready to tell him he had another thing coming if he thought he’d be sleeping on the couch again, that I was preparing it for myself, but the words died on the tip of my tongue when I turned and encountered the sight before me.

It wasn’t naked calves.

It was far, far better than that.

It was Lucas. In sweatpants—gray sweatpants—and a thin cotton tee.

But the sweatpants.

They hung low on his hips, and the fabric clung to his legs. His oh-so-not-naked calves. And his two strong-looking thighs. And those much, much more interesting parts that hung right in between.

And I— Jesus, what the hell was I doing?

There were about a hundred rules in the Roommate Handbook for Civil and Not Creepy Cohabitation that I might have broken by looking at his crotch. Even through the fabric of his sweats. Which wasn’t leaving much to my—

“Rosie?”

Feeling my cheeks flaming hot, I dragged my gaze back to his face.

Lucas was smiling. Grinning, really. As big as I’d ever seen.

“Sorry,” I breathed out, the blush I knew was covering my face spreading throughout my whole body. “Did you… hum… Did you say something?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and the cotton of his shirt stretched. Goddammit. “I said many things, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, okay.” I swallowed. “Anything… important that we should discuss?”

He pointed behind me. “Yeah, that you’re not sleeping there. But that’s not open for discussion.”

“Why not?” I frowned. “It was part of the deal.”

Lucas drifted in my direction. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to stroll across the small studio. He stopped only when he was right in front of me.

“Rosie,” he said in a low, warning voice that made my stomach flop for some reason. “Take the bed.” He smiled, but it wasn’t lighthearted and fun. “Don’t make me fight you over this. Because I will.”

How? That part of me that had my stomach flip-flopping wanted to ask him. How would you fight me exactly?

But instead, I murmured, “Fine.” I decamped to the bed on the other side of the studio. I huffed as I threw the covers back and slipped in. “We’ll see who takes it tomorrow night.”

“We’ll see,” he added right before turning the lights off. “Roomie.”

I heard Lucas ruffle with his blankets, and I forced my eyelids shut so I wouldn’t search for his shape in the dark. So I wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. Lucas Martín, sleeping a few feet away from me. In his outrageous gray sweatpants.