Resisting my Roommate (Sycamore Falls #3)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

ABBEY

My heavy eyelids flutter open, and I’m greeted by warm sunlight streaming through the blinds of a quaint bedroom. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. Not just because of my unfamiliar surroundings, but because of the unusual silence that engulfs me.

There are no horns honking. No sirens blaring. No cable cars rumbling down the street.

Instead, I’m cocooned in a thick blanket of calm and serenity that makes me question if I’m still dreaming.

As I stretch my sore muscles in the soft bed, memories of the hellish day I had yesterday flood back. Surprisingly, I don’t feel as defeated as I did last night.

All because of Jude.

He was the last person I wanted to see during my near breakdown in the park. Hell, he was the last person I expected to go out of his way and help me.

But that’s precisely what he did.

I doubt he realizes how much his kind gesture means to me. He may not think much of it, but it gives me hope that I’ll somehow manage to dig my way out of this hole.

Carefully extricating myself from the warm blankets, I plant my bare feet on the plush area rug beside the bed. The soft fibers tickle my toes as I stand and stretch, my muscles protesting. As I pass the floor-length mirror hanging on the wall by the door, I pause, taking in my appearance. Disheveled strands of dark hair tumble haphazardly around my makeup-free face, Jude’s oversized t-shirt adorning my body, the distressed logo of the Wicked Hop prominent.

I bring the fabric up to my nose and inhale, relishing in the scent. It even smells like him. I shouldn’t like it like I do, considering I woke up yesterday morning wearing one of Carson’s t-shirts. But his never smelled like this. Like grit and man and honesty.

Not wanting to give my ex the satisfaction of thinking about him more than necessary, I open the door and step into the hallway, everything eerily quiet. I assume Jude’s probably still sleeping, but when I glance at the door to his bedroom, it’s wide open.

Curiosity propels me forward, and I move on light feet toward his room. I shouldn’t snoop. Shouldn’t even think about invading his privacy like this.

But I’m intrigued by him. Want to know what makes him tick. Why he seems to have this hard outer shell one minute, then acts like a completely different person the next.

I cross the threshold into his room, sunlight illuminating the space, allowing me a better glimpse of it than last night. It’s well-appointed, much like the rest of the house. Again, it surprises me.

When I first moved in with Carson, his apartment was undoubtedly masculine — leather furniture, dark wood accents, no hint of anything floral.

That’s not the case here.

The walls are painted a soothing light gray with white trim, the navy blue patterned bedspread and floor-to-ceiling curtains the perfect contrast. A framed black-and-white photo of picturesque Lake Tahoe hangs over the bed, other nature-inspired photos adorning the other walls. There’s a subtle touch of femininity in this room that piques my curiosity about Jude even more. Everything about this space gives off the sense that a woman has lived here before, despite there being no trace of one now.

I move farther into the room, careful not to disturb anything.

The king-sized bed sits in the center, unmade on one side only. The other side is perfect, the duvet and sheets pulled tight, the pillow undisturbed. As if he’s accustomed to sleeping only on one side.

A dresser stands against one wall, holding a few scattered items. Just past it, an open closet door reveals a row of shirts and jeans. A stack of books sits on the nightstand by what’s obviously his side of the bed.

The nightstand on the opposite side is vacant.

While I’m curious about what book has his attention at the moment, I’m more intrigued by the framed photographs lining a long shelving unit opposite the bed.

Moving toward it, I pick up a picture of three teenage boys, all of them with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Based on their nearly identical appearance, I gather this is Jude and his brothers.

I grab the next photo, my heart warming at the large family in front of a Christmas tree adorned with glittering ornaments and sparkling lights. Wrapping paper and bows lie scattered at their feet, evidence of a holiday well-celebrated. This photo is clearly more dated than the last, but I have no trouble identifying Jude amongst the five children, who all bear a strong resemblance to each other.

One of the boys is much older than the rest, already a teenager in this photo, while the other three are still elementary school aged. And amongst the four boys is a little girl who can’t be more than two years old.

A pang of envy hits me as I continue examining the photos of the obviously happy and close-knit family. I’ve never experienced this kind of familial bond. I don’t see an ounce of irritation or animosity between them. Instead, there’s only love and affection.

Not wanting to invade Jude’s privacy more than I already have, especially after his hospitality, I turn to leave. But as I do, something catches my eye — the edge of a photo tucked under a ceramic dish. It’s probably just another family photo, but I carefully lift the dish anyway.

Like I expected, it’s another photo. But this one stops me cold.

A tiny figure floats in a sea of darkness — an ultrasound photo dated a little more than three years ago. Maybe it’s a niece or nephew. Given his close relationship with his family, it wouldn’t be a far-fetched assumption.

But something tells me it’s more than that. The way Jude keeps it tucked away suggests it holds a deeper significance to him.

My heart breaks at what that could be, a chill washing over me.

The silence of the house is suddenly broken by the sound of the front door opening. My pulse skyrockets, a shock of adrenaline shooting through me as I hastily put the photo back, making sure nothing else is out of place. Then I tiptoe out of his room and continue down the staircase, trying to act as if I hadn’t just been spying on him.

But my feet catch on the last step, causing me to stumble forward. Just as I brace myself for an embarrassing face plant, two strong hands grip my hips.

“Easy there,” Jude’s deep voice rumbles in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I snap my head up, my eyes tracing over his damp hair and the beads of sweat dotting his brow, making me think he just finished working out.

I shouldn’t ogle, but it’s impossible when he’s less than an inch away.

And he’s shirtless.

Broad shoulders narrow into a sculpted chest and defined abs. Don’t even get me started on that little V that disappears into his shorts, making me wonder what else is hidden past his waist.

“Are you okay?”

I return my eyes to his, the smirk on his lips giving away that he obviously caught me checking him out.

“Just peachy,” I answer, my voice coming out more breathy than I intended.

“Good.”

I expect him to release me now that he knows I’m fine.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he continues to hold me, neither one of us breaking eye contact.

A surge of electricity courses through my veins, making me forget everything. My botched wedding. My current predicament. Hell, I even manage to forget about that mysterious ultrasound photo I found mere seconds ago.

Instead, all I can think about is the intensity in Jude’s eyes and why the feel of his hands on me seems to ignite something within me.

He takes a slow survey of my body, his gaze lingering on my bare legs before working its way to meet my eyes once more. When he does, I notice something flicker within — curiosity, attraction, longing. Especially when he steals a glance at my lips, as if wondering how they would taste.

Then, with the flip of a switch, his expression suddenly hardens into the same guarded one from our first meeting. He releases me and steps back, creating space between us.

“Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I need to shower and get to work.” His tone is even as he pushes past me and up the stairs.

“Thanks,” I murmur, but he doesn’t look back or acknowledge me. He simply acts as if I’m not even here.

It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. I thought I cracked his tough exterior, especially last night. He was warmer. Softer. Kinder. And the tension that crackled between us as he unbuttoned my dress? I’ve never felt anything like that, the way my body buzzed to life from the simple swipe of his fingers against my skin.

Or maybe I was so desperate to feel something good after yesterday that I imagined something that’s just not there.

Pushing down my confusion, I head into the kitchen, my eyes immediately zeroing in on the one-cup brewer.

Caffeine is definitely needed right now.

With a fresh cup of coffee in my hands, I browse through his well-stocked refrigerator, finding eggs, bacon, as well as some peppers and potatoes I can use to make breakfast potatoes. Then I rummage through his cabinets for a frying pan, surprised at how organized they are, everything exactly where I’d put it if this were my kitchen.

As I chop and dice, I make a list of what I need to do today. My first priority is finding a charger for my phone. Once that’s taken care of, I’ll call my dad and hope he’s willing to pull the stick out of his ass and help me out. I could probably reach out to some of my friends from the Peace Corps, but none of them live nearby. My dad’s just outside of San Francisco. And he’s family. He has to help. Right?

“Smells good.”

I startle at the voice, turning to see Jude standing near the island. His hair is damp and slightly disheveled, his body clad in dark jeans and a charcoal gray t-shirt with the logo of the Wicked Hop.

“Want some?” I add the diced potatoes to a pot of boiling water. “It should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“I have to get to the taproom. We open soon.”

“Right. Of course,” I laugh nervously, a bit flustered by his presence.

“I picked up a few things for you earlier.” He places a shopping bag on the kitchen island. “I wasn’t sure what you might need, but I grabbed some clothes, a pair of sneakers, and a charger.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“What were you going to wear? Your wedding dress again?”

I shrug. The truth is, I hadn’t thought about that, apart from finding a thrift store and selling it.

“I could’ve just worn this.” I gesture to his enormous t-shirt covering my body.

He arches a brow, his gaze briefly dropping to my bare legs. “Most places require pants.”

He’d given me shorts, but they were more hassle than they were worth since they kept falling off.

“Well, thanks for all that. I’ll be out of your hair soon. Now that I have a charger, I can call my dad and get him to send me some money so I can pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves me off, then grabs a small pad from the counter. “Here’s the wi-fi password in case you need it.” He hands me the paper containing the network name and password. “You’ll be okay?”

I force a smile. “Of course.”

Our eyes meet briefly and I can sense there’s something more he wants to say. Something meaningful. But he doesn’t. Instead, he simply says, “Good luck.”

“See ya,” I reply softly as I watch him disappear out of the house with a wave goodbye.