Masterson

ELIZABETH

OVER AN HOUR LATER AFTER our day together, a very shower damp Roman is standing in the doorway of my bedroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, holding my favorite hot pink bra and black lace panties in his hands. I'm terribly embarrassed because I don't make a habit of allowing men to touch my lingerie, but because I've been slacking on doing laundry, I had to hand wash a few things in the bathroom sink.

Of course my traitorous eyes are magnetically drawn to Roman's bare sculpted pecs, lean torso, and his well-defined abs, but his lack of boundaries infuriates me enough to snap out of it. I'm freshly showered and sitting up in bed in only a long t-shirt and panties with my laptop on my lap. He needs to stop dropping by my room whenever he feels like it, and he definitely needs to wear more damn clothes.

"Why don't your bra and panties match?"

I just need to breathe through his totally inappropriate question, as I try to divert my eyes away from what I imagine is under that towel.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Women's underwear is expensive," I explain. "I buy things on sale, so they don't always match." An honest answer, but delivered in a slightly patronizing tone. "Matching underwear is a frivolous expense for women who can afford it. Understand, rich boy?"

"Your coke sniffing boyfriend couldn't buy you any matching underwear?"

That was a low blow.

"I'm sorry but what crawled up your ass in the last sixty minutes, and why are you even taking a shower here? Don't you have your own place, pervert?"

Roman flashes me a devilish smirk. One he must use that wobbles a woman's knees upon sight, because it was working wonders inside my panties. I rub my legs together under the sheets of my bed like a cricket in an effort to stop the buzz that is slowly building between them.

"I was using the bathroom in my father's house, and your skivvies were hanging on the shower rod for anyone to see and touch. It was almost as if you wanted someone to see them, cousin."

Roman chucks my favorite bra and panties across the room and they land on top of my lampshade. I wonder if I let them stay there and sizzle a bit, if I could get him arrested for arson.

He's in a stinky mood.

"And there's definitely nothing perverted about touching your itty bitty bra and granny panties."

"You're such an ass sometimes."

"Not as big as the one you're lying on. Speaking of that. Why are you in the bed? You're supposed to be getting dressed. We're going out in thirty damn minutes. Leave the coding or whatever the hell it is you do alone for one night, nerd."

This jerk!

He's been missing in action for thirteen days (yes I'm counting), and then today he just whirls into my life like a hurricane. Forcing me to hang out with him all day; bossing me around; threatening the landlord with bodily harm (although I appreciated the end result). Standing in my doorway, giving me attitude, like we've known each other all our lives. It's infuriating; and possibly addictive. I'm afraid that I'm starting to like his brand of crazy a little too much.

"I repeat. What crawled up your ass?"

"I'm just wondering why you're in the bed talking to some dude in New Delhi when you should be getting ready to go out. You've known all day that we're going out."

"All right already! I'll be ready in thirty minutes."

"Not thirty; fifteen minutes."

"What! Why?"