He steps toward me and I’m frozen. I can still punch him if he tries something. I’m not afraid to break pretty boy’s nose.
He’s taller than me by a lot and I feel impossibly small under his looming height.
He lowers his head, and his lips come dangerously close to my ear. I feel a sweat break out across my brow bone.
“My name’s Hollis,” he says in a low voice. “Hollis Wilder. It’s … nice to meet you Mia Hayes.” I swallow thickly as he steps away and winks.
I finally move then and it’s a bad idea because he’s still close enough that our legs get tangled together and we both fall to the ground. Somehow he cradles me and I end up on top of his toned chest, my fingers grazing the small smattering of chest hair there.
We stare at each other for a moment and then he breaks the silence with a wicked grin.
“If you wanted to get on top of me, all you had to do is ask.”
“Ugh, you asshole,” I groan, smacking his chest as I disentangle myself and stand. Thank God his towel stayed in place.
He smiles cockily from the floor, his body lifted on his forearms and elbows.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Get out of my room!” I shriek like a banshee.
“Whatever you say.” He pulls himself up and saunters from my room like he owns the damn place.
Why is he even in our house?
He better not be staying here the entire time he’s recording his album, or I’ll lose my mind.
I let out a small scream and slam my door closed, making sure to lock it as well.
“That guy is infuriating,” I mutter to myself. “Hollis Wilder,” I repeat in a mocking tone. “Ugh, even his name screams self-righteous asshole.”
At least he’s a hot self-righteous asshole.
“Dear God, I’m in trouble.”
I head for my bathroom and shower, but even it can’t cool my temper.
* * *
It doesn’t take me long to shower and dry my hair. I dress in a pair of high waisted shorts since it’s hot as balls today, and a cropped gray tank. My stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s getting closer to ten o’clock and I haven’t eaten yet.
I wander downstairs and find yet another guy I don’t know in the kitchen.
Why are all these douches in our house?
His back is to me as he rummages in the refrigerator.
“Can I help you find something?” I ask.
The guy jumps away from the fridge.
“Yeah, sorry.” He gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m hungry.”
“I gathered that. I’m Mia, by the way.”
“Fox,” he answers.
He’s a little shorter than Hollis with dark spiky hair and stubble on his cheeks. He’s thin and lean, but at least he’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt.