Climbing up the bed toward me, he tosses a few accent pillows to the floor and fluffs the others to make himself comfy.
“What are you doing?”
“You said we should stream a movie.” He finds the remote amongst my covers and points it toward the television.
“No, I saidyoushould stream a movie tomorrow while I’m on my date.”
He ignores me. “What are you in the mood for?”
Ugh.
“Nothing.”
Everything.
The TV goes on, menu popping up. His finger works the cursor up, down, and sideways until he settles on the one show I haven’t watched but secretly wanted to watch.
“We are not watchingDouche Boy Island.” I say the words even though I don’t mean them.
He glances over at me. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
God, he smells good.
Looks so…good in my bed. No shirt, just boxers.
Young and cute and so hot.
I give up trying to resist. “All right. But you have to turn the lights off. It’s late, and I don’t want to be up all night.”
“Deal.”
When he rises, I watch his back muscles flex; thighs, too. Wide shoulders, amazing neck.
Ugh, the whole back side of him is a delight to watch.
Guilt assails me.
Duke is my roommate, not a piece of meat! I shouldn’t be ogling him. I am an educator who molds young minds, for Pete’s sake!
He’s back on my bed in a flash, flopping onto the covers, face at the end of the bed, feet near my face. Remote control in hand.
He flips.
Scans.
Goes up and down, then up again, consistently lingering on that same damn show:Douche Boy Island.
He casts a glance back at me.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. You’re the guest.”
He doesn’t move his gaze back to the television, only raising his brows at me. “Um, that’s a first.”
“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself because this isn’t the Ritz, and I hadn’t heard of you before last week.”
“Wait.” He sits up now, interested, and sets the remote aside. “You’re tellin’ me you hadn’t heard of me before?”
“Why would I? I don’t watch sports.” I make meat and cheese trays for sporting events but watching them? No. You’ll find me in the kitchen, not in front of the TV.