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Tilly
“I thought you were asleep, Matilda.”
I glance over to where Sebastian is standing in the hallway. He’s only wearing a pair of black pajama pants.
I heard him come in less than an hour ago. It was just past midnight. I was in my room watching a video on my laptop that Frannie sent me of her latest obsession.
Apparently, my twin was serious when she told me last week that she was going to start sewing matching dresses for her daughters. They are a year-and-a-half apart, but Fran has such fond memories of the two of us being dressed alike when we were kids, that she wants to “recreate that magic” with her girls.
I couldn’t help but laugh when she called it magic.
I hated being forced to dress just like my twin until we graduated from middle school. Most of our close friends could tell us apart since Frannie chipped one of her bottom teeth when she fell off her bike when we were seven-years-old.
Everyone else in our school called me Frannie first before I corrected them. It made sense to them given the fact that she was more popular than I was.
“I could say the same.” I tighten the sash of my short blue silk robe. “I’m just grabbing a glass of juice.”
“Pour one for me too.” He motions to the cupboard that holds the glasses. “I dropped some money on the counter for food before I left for work. I want to pay for half of every expense.”
I nod. I was surprised when I woke up early this morning and found two hundred dollars on the counter next to a handwritten note from him. He wrote down his cell number alongside an explanation that I should use the number if I ever need to text or call him. He also wrote that he ate a bowl of my favorite cereal and wanted to pay for half of our combined food costs for the month.
“I’ve never spent more than a hundred dollars a month on groceries.” I reach into the cupboard and grab a small glass. “I put most of your money in the top drawer of the foyer table. Fifty a month is good.”
He approaches and reaches for the glass of orange juice after I fill it. “One hundred a month for food? It all makes sense now.”
I lean my hip against the counter, tugging the top of my robe together with one hand. It was the only thing I put on after I had a bath. “What makes sense?”
“The fact that you have no food in your refrigerator other than this juice, a carton of milk and what looks like an apple with something growing on it. Maybe it isn’t an apple. It could be a tomato, or was a tomato.”
I take a drink to ward off a smile. “I get take-out most nights.”
“I did too when I was your age.” He arches a dark brow.
I try to keep my eyes trained to his face, but the man has a six-pack and a trail of dark hair that dips below the waistband of his pajama pants. Even though I’ve already seen what’s hidden under the fabric, I sense the uptick in my heart rate just from thinking about what his cock looks like. I also feel my nipples harden.
Maybe Kate was right about that photographic memory thing.
I shake off the thought. “When you were my age? You’re not that much older than I am.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
I know that. Maya told me a lot about him when she was trying to get me to agree to have dinner with him. He went to high school with Julian. I did the math.
“I’m twenty-five,” I offer although I have a feeling that’s not a surprise to him.
“I know,” he confirms with a nod of his head. “When I was twenty-five I survived on burgers and fries.”
“I prefer salads.” I lie with a smile. I don’t think Sebastian cares what I eat, but for some inexplicable reason, I want him to see me as someone other than a woman who chows down on greasy burgers and dozens of fries whenever a craving strikes.
I’m taking full advantage of my rapid metabolism while I can.
“Don’t get me wrong.” He takes another sip from his glass. “I still eat junk food more than I should, but I supplement with fruits and vegetables.”
His large hand falls to his rock hard stomach. “I made a vow to myself that I’d stay in shape for at least another decade or two.”
My gaze follows the motion of his hand. Every move he makes is mesmerizing. I should remind him of our rule about being fully dressed when in a common area, but I’d rather stare in silence at his muscular arms and chest.
“I can’t promise I’ll be around most nights, but we can split the cooking duties if you want.”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?” he asks, setting his empty glass in the sink. “Or you won’t? If you don’t cook because you hate the cleanup, I’ll load the dishwasher.”
I look down at the front of the stainless steel dishwasher. “I don’t know if it works. I’ve never used it.”
He scratches his jaw as his eyes scan my face. “You wash dishes by hand?”
I sigh. “I wash my glass or mug by hand. It’s not like I have enough dishes for a load. Lisa never ate here, so she didn’t use it.”
“Do you ever cook?”
“I made Maya macaroni and cheese once when she was living here.” I smooth my tongue over my bottom lip. “She handled the dishes that day.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ll cook for you, Matilda. When our schedules sync and we’re both home around dinner time, I’ll make something for the two of us.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I inch back, suddenly feeling a wave of heat rush over me. “I’m happy with take-out.”
“I’ll cook you dinner,” he insists as he leans closer to me. “Consider it a thank you for letting me rent the extra room.”
I should clarify that I had zero say in that, but I don’t. “It’s late. We should head to bed.”
His full lips curve into a sly grin.
Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.
I glance down and my eyes zero in on the front of his pajama pants and the obvious outline of his now semi-hard cock.
My gaze shoots up again to his face. “I meant that I should go to my room and you’ll go to the other bedroom.”
He runs a hand through his now messy hair. “I’m going to sit up for a bit, but I hope you sleep well.”
There’s a part of me that wants to sit with him, even if it’s just to stare at his profile while he gets lost in his thoughts. He’s doing that now. His jaw is clenching and his fist is tightening around the edge of the counter.
“Sebastian,” I say his name softly.
He raises a brow in silent response.
“I hope when you do go back to bed, that you sleep well too.”
The corners of his mouth rise in a gentle smile. “I haven’t slept well in years. Insomnia comes with the job.”
I nod, even though I have a million questions begging to be asked. He’s just my roommate. We barely know each other and when he doesn’t offer any more details about why sleep eludes him; I turn and walk back to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
