Chapter Two

Pineapple pizza? August didn’t know what was worse, his grandmother conveniently leaving out the fact that his new roommate was a woman or the woman in question having terrible taste in pizza. If you were going to eat junk food, at least go whole hog: pepperoni, sausage, extra cheese, all the artery-clogging toppings. Not fruit.

His stomach turned over, unease eating a hole in his gut. His duffle felt like a thousand-pound weight on his arm. Or maybe it was just the thought of dumping said bag inside, where he’d be living with this woman for the next six months, that was weighing on him.

How could Gran do this to him? It wasn’t that he was opposed to living with a woman, but fair warning would have been nice. And what kind of name was Mo for a woman anyway? He was expecting to be greeted at the door by a guy in his sixties with a beer gut and pants up to his nipples. Not a tiny, curvy blonde with streaks of—was that neon pink in her hair? Different strokes, he supposed, but oh boy.

He tugged his bag tighter to his side and stepped over the threshold to find his own personal hell. The apartment was nice, adequate space, but also a cluttered mess of books, clothing, and old takeout boxes. The air held a distinct pungent aroma that wasn’t bad, necessarily, but also wasn’t pleasant. His nose wrinkled as the smell of sugary cake and laundry detergent assailed his nostrils. Two very different odors that did not mix well together. Having worked for years on various produce and flower farms, he knew his scents, and this one stunk.

Mo winced. “Oh, sorry. I kind of mixed up my days and thought you were coming tomorrow.” She gestured around the living room. “I swear I was going to have all this cleaned up. I’ve just been swamped with work lately.”

Lately? This place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a solid three weeks. His gut pitched, apprehension eating him at the sight before him. He knew he could be a bit obsessive with his cleaning, but how did people live like this? Just staring at all this mess was making his whole body twitch and his anxiety skyrocket.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, but she must have heard him, because she graced him with another one of those wide smiles. One that made his heart pump faster and suspicion fill his brain. He didn’t trust people who were happy all the damn time. Life was hard, and anyone who didn’t see that was either on something or extremely sheltered. Her eyes were a clear golden brown, so he didn’t think she was high on anything but her sunny outlook on life.

Joy. Yippee for him.

“Oh, come on. You don’t know that.”

She laughed, the sound making his heart pound even faster, but damn if he knew why. Discomfort. He was going to blame it on this mess of an apartment and this mess of a situation.

“We’ve only just met,” Mo continued. “We haven’t even gotten to know each other, so you can’t say it won’t work. Unless you’re psychic.”

He wasn’t. He didn’t believe in any of that new age shit. But judging by the flowy tie-dye skirt, the peace sign printed on her tightly fitted yellow tank top, the crystal pendant hanging around her neck, and the massive amount of bracelets she wore around each wrist that clanked like weird little musical chimes with every hand gesture she made, August would venture a pretty good guess she believed in that kind of stuff.

She grasped his hand in hers, tugging him out of the living room that looked like a trash tornado hit it and pulling him down a narrow hallway.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

He followed, because what the hell else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he had any friends in the city. He’d left his job working for a flower farm out past Telluride to come to Denver and help his grandmother with her shop. Gran lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment that was basically one step above a retirement home. He couldn’t stay with her.

A hotel was always an option, except he’d already signed a six-month sublease and sent Mo a deposit and first month’s rent, on Gran’s insistence that she had found the perfect roommate for him—thanks a lot, Gran. If he left now, he’d be out that money and probably on the hook for the rest. Considering his chosen career didn’t lend itself to piles of cash, that was something August couldn’t afford.

“Here it is,” Mo announced with a flourish, dropping his hand and doing a little twirl in the empty bedroom.

He clenched his hand into a fist, trying to get rid of the weird little zing sensation left over from the woman’s touch. What the hell was that about? A quick glance around revealed a tiny bit of positivity for the night. At least this room was clean. Spotless, in fact. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

Mo stepped back as he entered the room. “My friend Lilly used to live here. She has a bit of an anal streak, so she cleaned it from top to bottom before she left, and I haven’t been in here since, under threat of black hair dye in my shampoo.”

He glanced back at her as she clutched her bright blonde locks highlighted with the most ridiculous hair color he’d ever seen. “Black hair dye?”

An odd threat, but everything about tonight had been odd. Why not strange cosmetology intimidation?

“She knew I had a new roommate moving in, and she didn’t want me scaring you off with a dirty bedroom.”

Would have been nice if her former roommate had extended the threat to the communal living areas, but he was at least grateful for the sanitized bedroom.

He continued to take in his surroundings. Seemed doable, for a short time period anyway. If nothing else, he could spend all his time in his room. Better than going out there to brave the land that a dumpster threw up in. August dropped his bag to the floor, a loud thud echoing in the bare space.

“Is that all you brought?”

He turned to face Mo, glancing down at his bag and back up to her. Not way up, because the woman was small. Couldn’t be more than five feet tops. His six one absolutely towered over her. He feared getting too close to the woman. He didn’t want to intimidate her with his size or make her feel uncomfortable. August was uncomfortable enough for the both of them right now.

“No.” He shook his head. “I have a few boxes in my car downstairs and a pod coming tomorrow with my bed and a few other things.”

She beamed. “Great! You can sleep on the couch tonight if you’d like. It’s super comfy, I promise.”

He could also sleep in hell. Which he imagined would be exactly like the clutter-covered couch.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine in here.” Not wanting her to insist, because she seemed like the kind of person who would when it came to creature comforts, he lied. “I have a sleeping bag out in my car, and I’ve camped on much worse surfaces than a carpet-covered floor.”

He had no such thing in his car, but he’d rather use his duffle as a pillow and whatever clothes he had as a blanket than sleep out in that living room. He was grateful for the place to stay, but he was paying his share. They’d have to have a talk about cleanliness if they were going to get through the next six months.

“All right.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if she didn’t quite believe him. “If you’re sure?”

“I am,” he said with a quick nod.

She shrugged. “Okay, then. Why don’t I help you grab the things from your car? I’ll help you unpack, and we can chat. Get to know each other.”

He supposed that was a logical idea. Although he was beat from driving six and a half hours, he should get to know the person he’d be living with for the next six months. At the same time, a get-to-know-you session with his perky, untidy new roommate—who was not a guy, but a very attractive woman he found as engaging as he did exasperating—sounded exhausting. Still, he should try to be polite. After all, the woman had opened up her home to him, even if he was paying his share of the rent.

What in the hell had possessed Gran to think they would be suitable roommates? She was his polar opposite, the extrovert to his introvert, the Oscar to his Felix. You know, if Oscar was a smoking hot bombshell and The Odd Couple had been filled with awkward sexual tension.

“That’s okay.” He tried to get his mouth to curve into a pleasant smile, but he feared all he could achieve after tonight’s surprises was an awkward grimace. “It’s not much stuff. I can grab it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’m a lot stronger than—”

The doorbell interrupted whatever she was saying. Mo’s face lit up with excitement, and August had to suck in a sharp breath at the beautiful way her eyes shone.

“Pizza’s here!” she exclaimed, running out of the room and calling over her shoulder, “You grab your stuff, and I’ll get the food. We can get to know each other over dinner.”

Perfect. Just perfect. A messy apartment, a perky roommate, and pineapple pizza, his very own personal hell.