The House Mate (Roommates, #3)

Addison

There’s a reason he’s still single at thirty-five.

Ever since Max had left my room a couple of hours before, the words had played through my head like a broken record. It didn’t matter what I said or did to try to convince myself; it all just came back to that. He was ten years older than me. And my boss. It could only lead to trouble. Right?

Walking around the backyard, I picked up Dylan’s toys and thought over everything that had happened earlier. It had been so quick-in the space of thirty minutes, I’d gone from being almost fired to being promoted to potential casual sexual partner.

Casual.

That must be his thing. After all, his tryst with Tiffany had been “casual” before he stopped it. And with Dylan’s mom too. How many women had he been with that way? And how long did it take for him to get bored with them? He’d been with Dylan’s mother for only a few months . . . was that a long stretch for him? Was that what he thought commitment was?

I glanced down at Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head lying together in the grass, their plastic hands touching in wedded bliss.

“How do you guys make it work?” I sighed. They looked at me with their lifeless eyes, and I scooped them up into my tote full of toys with a groan.

Okay, so what if he was a player? He said he wouldn’t hurt me. And so long as I had my head on straight, he couldn’t, could he?

Because what if he was right? What if all I needed to shake off this whole Greg thing wasn’t to stay away from men, but to feel what it was like to be desired and wanted for the first time in years?

I pursed my lips and sank onto the bench of the picnic table where stuffed animals from this morning’s tea party were still seated. All the glossy plastic eyes stared at me, and I picked up the teapot, if only to have something to do.

“I wish this was something stronger than imaginary tea,” I muttered, and then poured myself a cup before offering it to the doll opposite me.

“He’s a good man, a good father.” He cared about Dylan so deeply that I could feel it when I watched them together. But then, if it didn’t work out . . .

I stuffed my teacup into the tote, then ushered the rest of the tea party toys along with it.

How long had it been since I’d been properly laid? Every girl deserved fireworks, didn’t she? Greg had certainly never delivered where that was concerned, and as for the other men in my past . . .

There hadn’t been much of anyone to speak of. A few short relationships here and there, sure, but nobody real. Nobody who made me want to tear off my clothes and ride him like a rodeo bull.

Not like Max.

I’d never even had a one-night stand or one crazy, reckless night. And where had that gotten me?

Twenty-five and practically a virgin for all the times a guy had made me come.

I’d always thought it was me. That somehow I was just so bad at sex that I wasn’t capable of getting to that point, but maybe if I gave Max a try . . .

God, just thinking about his hard cock pressed against me made me shiver.

I stepped away from the table and yelped when I discovered I’d stepped on a plastic tea set spoon. After stuffing it into the bag with everything else, I strolled in through the back door and set a pan of water on the stove to heat.

No matter what I decided, it was going to take some time to sort everything out. There was no doubt about that. I’d have to learn to live with the fact that his assistant-the woman he saw every day-had nearly been with him too, along with who knew how many women. That he wouldn’t stay in my life forever. That it wouldn’t be love.

But for me, it had never been love before. What difference would it make?

I pulled the items I needed for dinner from the fridge and set them out on the counter. A roar sounded from the living room, but I barely heard it.

Because I only had twenty-two more hours to decide whether Max was worth the risk, and I had no frigging clue what to do.