Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,28

night at the bar. Why did I have to ruin it by kissing him? This is my second chance for a real friendship, and I can’t blow it. I don’t have a lot of close friends, just Sara and my roommate, Lindsey.

I smile. “Sure. Text me to let me know what time.” I give him my number, and he texts me back so I’ll have his.

He glances at my kitchen. “Your kitchen isn’t as big as mine. We’ll use mine. I’ll pick up the ingredients. It takes a while to make the dough, roll it out, all that. You okay with a few hours’ time commitment? I know you’ve got a lot to cram into that genius head of yours—”

“I can do it.”

He smiles warmly, setting off a flutter low in my belly. “Cool.”

We stand there staring at each other for a long moment. There’s something hypnotizing about his eyes as they change from warm to heated to smoldering. Wait, what? My mouth goes dry. Is this not one-sided?

He blinks, gesturing toward the door and easing back a step. “See ya tomorrow.”

“We could watch a movie or something if you want to hang out.”

“I’m going out, but thanks.”

I rub the side of my neck. “Oh. Sure. Have fun.” I don’t expect an invitation to join him. He’s probably cruising for women at a bar. Not my business.

He walks to the door and stops with his hand on the knob. “Did you know our bedrooms share a wall?”

“No,” I say slowly as the undeniable truth dawns. Oh God.

He grins. “Now you know.”

8

Brendan

I’m waiting in line at the grocery store with the tortellini ingredients on Saturday, and I find myself smiling about seeing Chloe later this afternoon. Ridiculous. The only reason I’m looking forward to it is so I can stop wondering what she’s doing next door. Yesterday I heard her orgasmic cry when I got out of the shower, so, okay, I got jealous. I went next door to see who the hell she was with. Turns out she was alone. At first I felt awkward, relieved but awkward. Hey, I didn’t want to hear what I heard. She was so bright pink with embarrassment I couldn’t help teasing her. Her excuses were hysterical and frigging adorable. Which is how I decided it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time together as friends.

I shift forward in line, my mind conjuring her again—soft blond hair, sharp green eyes, petite curvy body, always in a tank top and jeans. Sometimes she throws a cardigan over the tank, sometimes not. I spend way too much time dwelling on the delicate lines of her collarbones. The bow in her top lip, the fuller lower lip.

I text her, letting her know I’m on my way home with the tortellini stuff. Almost sounds like we share a home. Shit. I suddenly wish I could take it back. It sounds too domestic.

Chloe: I accidentally got your mail in my box. Stopped by your place this morning, but you weren’t home. I slid it under your door. Early workout?

Me: Ha. No. I haven’t made it home yet from last night.

Chloe: Sounds like a wild night.

I think up a noncommittal response. This isn’t my first female text rodeo. She’s curious what I was up to last night; otherwise, she would’ve just said cool or sent one of those girly emojis. Maybe she wonders if I hooked up with someone. Would it bother her if I did? Fact is, I never spend the night after a hookup anymore. It’s just not worth giving a woman false hope that I’m looking for something more. I went to a party last night and then crashed on the couch at a friend’s place, who’s lucky enough to sublet a rent-stabilized apartment in the city. But Chloe doesn’t need to know that.

Me: Not as wild as yours, I’m sure, party girl.

No reply.

I scowl at my phone, irritated beyond reason that she didn’t reply. I need to stop getting so worked up over her. Chloe’s path, while noble, could never gel with mine. She could end up way out in California for all I know with med school and whatever comes after. I’m anchored here with my family’s construction business. Yet another reason it’s not worth getting tangled up.

And then I see three dots on my phone screen. My pulse kicks up in anticipation.

Chloe: I’m weirdly looking forward to cooking.

I smile and text back. Me too.

I’m not crossing the line. But I might walk right up to