Tragic

No boys bother me this time.

The words don't get stuck in my throat when I meet the hostess in Cookie's. I say "I belong to Ronin" because I have to. This is what I do to get by for now. I order a salad because while I might've been born thin, eating hamburgers every night is a guaranteed way to pack on the pounds and when your body is your money maker, you don't screw yourself over like that.

I eat and watch people and when the waitress comes by to check on me I order some scrambled eggs and bacon to take home and stick in the fridge for breakfast.

When the order's ready I take my free food and walk back to the studio and crawl in bed, thankful that I have somewhere to sleep, a bit of food to hold me over, and a general feeling of secure well-being, even if it is only temporary.

Ronin Flynn never shows up with dinner and instead of making me angry, this makes me happy.

Because I had him pegged right from the start. Ronin is a player, a user, and a control freak. And I want absolutely nothing to do with him. I'm here to make money and that's all.

Chapter Thirteen - ROOK

I wake slowly in the morning. I can hear the birds singing and recall leaving the door open to get some air flow through the screen door last night when I came home from the diner. It smells like spring. The air is cool and the gentle breeze travels all the way down the hallway to my bedroom and flutters the clean white sheets.

I think this is the best moment of my life.

Like ever.

I've never had my own apartment, I've never had my own bed, and I've never woken up in such a nice place two days in a row. I roll over and sigh, content. The sheets are wrapped around my body and it feels good. They are expensive sheets, I think. They are soft. Softer than anything I've ever slept on before.

My eyes open and I spy my pack on the floor. All my clothes are dirty and I really need to do laundry. This place even has a washer and dryer and I almost giggle aloud at this thought. No laundromats for me. For now anyway.

I push that moment of caution away because what's the point of having all this good stuff if I can't enjoy it while it lasts?

My legs swing out of the bed and I gather up all my clothes and stick them in the stackable washer in the closet just off the bedroom. The breeze caresses my naked limbs and gives me the chills, but I enjoy it. The goose bumps travel up my arms and spread out to my whole body. I shiver for a second and then head to the kitchen.

And stop dead in the living room.

Ronin f**king Flynn is sleeping on the couch.

What is he doing here? My eyes track to the front door and I suppose it's my fault, I left it open. There's nothing but a screen door between this apartment and the terrace. My gaze wanders back to the sleeping man. He's lying on his stomach, his one arm tucked underneath him, the other falling over the edge of the cushion, and he's shirtless.

And then I realize I'm naked.

"Shit!"

He stirs and I make a break for the bedroom. It's one thing to let him see me naked half hidden in darkness and quite another to be fully illuminated by the bright morning sunshine. I wrangle the sheet around my body and then head back to the living room, wistfully looking at the washer that contains every single article of clothing I own.

"Ronin!" I say loudly.

Nothing except a half-muffled snore from him. Lord, this man has the most perfectly chiseled and muscular back I've ever seen. Both hands pull up and go under his face, like he's blocking out the sunlight, and this gives me the perfect opportunity to study his flexing biceps. The muscles are thick and hard-looking near his shoulders. They curve down, dip into a little valley, and then climb once again.

I lean down and smell him.

"Why are you sniffing me?" he asks groggily.

"Uh—" Because you smell delicious, the inner Rook says. But luckily the outer Rook says, "I'm checking to see if you're drunk. Why are you sleeping on my couch?"

He peeks up, opening one eye in my direction, squints, and then croaks out some words. "I love your outfit." He grins, winks, and then drops his head back down into his arms.

"Are you leaving?" I ask, frustrated and confused at the same time. "I mean, why are you here?"

"I told you I'd come back with dinner. But when I got here, the lights were on and you were in bed. I only sat down for a second to think up a rational excuse to wake you up, but I guess I fell asleep." He raises his head again, grins sheepishly, and then rolls over on his back, tucks his hands behind his neck, and flashes his perfect body at me as he closes his eyes, probably confident that I'll be checking him out.

I do check him out. It's quite hard not to notice that he's got the perfect six-pack abs and that absolutely adorable fuzzy happy trail you see on a shirtless designer jeans model. Hmmmm… maybe he is that model? "You have no shirt on."

Yes, after all that gawking, I finally manage the obvious.

He opens the one eye to look at me again. "Neither do you."

"I just put all my clothes in the washer. If I had known you were out here, I'd have saved an outfit to wear."

"Oh," he says, sitting up suddenly. "So you have to be naked until the clothes are finished?" He stands and we are only inches apart. He is so close I can feel the heat coming off his body. His hands find my hips under the bunched-up sheet and he sways me a little. "I'm still tired. Come with me." And then he takes my hand, leaving me scrambling to make up for the loss of one limb holding up my sheet, and tugs me back to the bedroom.