Room...but Not Bored!

“Yes.”

“Good. My enchiladas aren’t bad, either.”

“I can imagine,” she said, loving the sound of that. She’d have to get an aerobic exercise plan immediately if she was going to eat any more of Jake’s cooking…which she wouldn’t be for any more than two days. At the most.

“And I make great coffee.” He was hitting her where she was vulnerable, which, right now, was her stomach. “And I’m good company,” he continued, leaning forward, very companionable, very warm…. She had the odd feeling he was tempted to kiss her. And, worse, she kind of liked the idea. She licked her lips, which made Jake take in a little breath before he continued speaking. “How do you feel about…?”

Kissing? Love it. Live for it. She felt herself sway toward him, transfixed by his great lips and teasing smile.

“Poker,” he finished.

Poker? Was poker code for what she thought they were talking about?

“Yeah. I like to have people over for all-night games.”

“All night?”

“Yeah. Five-card draw. There’s an ante limit.”

The daze cleared abruptly. What was wrong with her? Jake was talking about poker, not poker. She was obviously feeling overwhelmed by all the changes and the work she faced and was using this physical attraction as an escape valve. Talk about self-defeating. She had to focus on her goal, not on kissing or poker and any of its double meanings.

“So, you’ve only been here three weeks and you’ve got friends hanging out for poker and enchiladas?”

“I know people in Playa Linda, and I’ve lived up and down the coast. The marina where I work a lot is close. And I make friends pretty easy.”

Friends like Heather, no doubt. Friends she didn’t want sleeping over.

“I’m sure you’re good company and you’re a great cook, Jake, but the problem still stands.”

He spoke in a John Wayne drawl, “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us, Pilgrim. That what you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable? Is that it?” he asked, his blue eyes digging in.

There was no point in fibbing. “Yes, actually, you do.”

“I don’t mean to. You don’t have to worry. I don’t believe in fooling around with roommates.”

“Excuse me?” She felt her cheeks go red.

“It’s nothing personal. It just gets too complicated.”

“Oh, it does?” she said. For some reason, she was wounded that he’d said that so easily—as if she weren’t even a temptation. Her inner wild child purred to life—out of sheer stubbornness and exhaustion-induced recklessness.

“Somebody always wants to turn it into something it isn’t,” Jake added.

“And I’m guessing that somebody’s never you.”

Jake shrugged. “Living together triggers nesting instincts for women, I guess, and they start bringing in twigs and bits of twine and dryer fuzz.”

“So you think any woman who lived with you would try to trap you into something permanent?” What an arrogant…

He grinned. “Good point. Not every woman, but why risk it? A good roommate is like gold.”

“I doubt you’d find me a good roommate. I like spic-and-span orderliness and absolute peace and quiet. And classical music.”

“Classical’s good. And don’t be so down on yourself.”

“I’m not down on myself. I’m trying to tell you—” She stopped, realizing he was teasing her.

“It’s all right, Ariel. I’ll find a place to crash for a while—maybe stay on a friend’s boat. Can I keep my gear here though?”

“Your gear? If you can fit it all in the guest room closet, I guess.” She remembered the sailboard and surfboards and the weight bench. No way would that fit in one small closet. She sighed. “Take a couple of days,” she said, “and find a place for you and your stuff.”

“Great.” He sounded relieved. Too relieved. She would stay on his case until he was out. Fully out. Surfboards and all.

“Thanks for the food,” she said, picking up her scraped-clean plate and his. She’d do the dishes as a thank you.

“I’ll clean up when I get back from volleyball,” Jake said. “Why don’t you come with? I’m heading out in a couple hours.”

“No thanks.” Playing was the last thing on her mind. “How about if you clear your things out of my room, while I do the dishes?”

Before he could respond, there was a thump at the door. Jake went to answer it. Lucky bounded in with did ya miss me? all over his doggie face.

“So you smelled the omelet, huh, pal?” he said to the big dog. “She ate your share.” He stuck a thumb at Ariel, but Lucky didn’t take his eyes from Jake. “Okay, okay. I’ll scramble you something.”

“I thought table scraps were bad for dogs.”

“But eggs make his coat shiny,” Jake said, ruffling Lucky’s fur. “He likes my cooking, don’t you, Bucko?”

Ariel did the few dishes while Jake cooked eggs for Lucky. When he’d finished, he slipped the pan into her soapy water.

“So you’ll empty the room now?” she reminded him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a fake salute. “Let’s roll, Luck Man. We have our orders.”

Lucky swiped his buttery mug with a long pink tongue, then galloped eagerly after Jake. Ariel’s gaze snagged on Jake’s terrific butt, the muscles flexing and releasing with grace and power. With a jolt she realized she was letting soapy water drip onto her feet. Stay on task, she told herself. At least she’d gotten Jake to move out of her room. Next would be the cottage.

But when she peeked into her bedroom ten minutes later, the only change was a pile of vintage Hawaiian shirts on the bed—tossed there from the open closet, which still held a variety of footwear like hiking boots, cycling and athletic shoes and Velcro-strapped sandals, as well as another surfboard.

Jake stood at the bureau flipping through a magazine while he did one-handed wrist curls with a substantial hand weight, Lucky at his feet, looking up at him. What’s next, boss?

“How’s the moving going?” she asked. “Can I help?”

“Fine.” He smiled at her, his biceps swelling with a slow curl, his triceps rippling with its release.

Her objection died on her tongue at the sight of all that power on casual display. She averted her gaze and noticed a photo on the bureau. Four people were pictured—a stern man in a uniform, a pretty woman with a pageboy cut, a young girl and a teen boy—Jake with shoulder-length hair, dark baggy clothes and a sullen expression that was the opposite of the carefree, wiseass look she’d seen so far.