The Soul Mate (Roommates, # 4)

“Want to watch a little TV?” Mason asked as he stepped away from the sink, rolling his thick shoulders to stretch and leaving me with my tongue hanging out.

“TV sounds good,” I said, wondering if I should plant the seed for my early departure now so it would be an easy, hassle-free extraction.

“Cool. Pick your poison.” He turned on the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall opposite his bedroom, his Netflix cue already loaded.

“Lots of car shows.” I nodded toward the screen.

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, then settled back onto his cream-colored sofa. “I’ve got one I’m working on. Probably not worth the price I pay to store it, but it’s a hobby.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“A Mustang,” he said. “My dad taught me how to work on old muscle cars when I was growing up. It helps to have something to do with your hands or to unwind after a bad day.”

I could think of something he could do to occupy his hands. Shaking the mental image away of his weight pinning me to the bed while I moaned, I moved toward the sofa.

“I can understand that,” I said.

In fact, the similarities in our lives growing up were almost eerily similar. Before my father had gotten sick, I spent almost every Saturday in our garage, watching him as he toiled over a Cadillac he’d inherited from my grandfather. He used to tell me that oil ran in our blood and that-once I figured out my true calling-there’d finally be a mechanic in the family.

Every time I’d laugh and he’d explain that he was kidding, but that if I ever wanted to work on the car I could join him. Instead, I’d always sat on my stool and handed him tools as he fiddled with this or that and tried to explain to me what he was doing. I never understood, of course. I was too young then.

But selling that Cadillac once he was gone to help my mom get on her feet financially? That had been one of the hardest days of my life. Handing over the keys had been like handing over a part of my dad to some random stranger.

“Maybe not car stuff,” I said. “You ever watch Jane the Virgin? That’s a pretty funny show.”

“No, what’s it about?”

“It’s about a girl who accidentally gets pregnant and-” I heard myself, then stopped. “You know what? That one is probably a bad idea too.”

He laughed. “Maybe we should just talk.” He patted the seat beside him on the sofa, and I could feel his gaze raking over me, surveying me. He knew, of course, what was underneath my clothes. He’d already seen me-all of me.

So why did I still feel so exposed? Because baring my body was far easier than stripping away the curtain to my soul.

Joining him on the couch, I crossed my legs if only to dull the ache that rose inside me at the smell of his spicy-sweet cologne. “What do you want to talk about now?” I asked.

“You. Always you,” he said.

I grabbed a nearby throw pillow and hugged it close. “Well, not much to say there. You know where I work and my favorite childhood toy. That’s about all of it.”

He laughed, then moved a little closer, so close that his arm brushed against mine. “Do you date much? Any serious relationships you want to rehash? Bad blind dates, maybe? Tinder horror stories?”Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Well…” I thought hard about my answer. What I did technically couldn’t be called dating. Unless, of course, he counted my long-term, committed relationship with my friendly bedside vibrator. If that were the case, I’d bet at this point I could petition for common law marriage.

“Not quite,” I said.

“So before me, the last guy was?”

“Years ago,” I confessed, averting my gaze.

“I wondered,” he murmured.

“Something about me just screams cat lady?” I joked.

“No.” He shook his head. “You were…I could tell.”

“How could you tell?” I narrowed my eyes, wondering what in the hell he meant. That I was so inexperienced and rusty it gave me away? White hot annoyance crept up my spine and landed on the back of my neck. Maybe I’d just discovered a minor flaw marring his perfect resume.

“Honestly? You were just so tight,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “I’ve been wondering ever since then if it was because you hadn’t been with anyone for a while, or if maybe you always feel that way. So wet and warm and-”

There was no denying the surge of need building between my thighs now, and my breath caught as I met his gaze. “I-I don’t know.”

His eyes went dark and his jaw tensed.

“Only one way to find out,” he said.