The Grumpy Roommate Gamble (Heroes of Huckleberry Creek #1)

2. Felicity

TWO

FELICITY

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

There was a massive, bearded man in the house, and I was stark naked except for this towel.

I stumbled backward, unable to see a damned thing because he’d turned on the light and blinded me. Not that I could see clearly without my glasses, anyway. Was there anything at all I could use as a weapon? Was he coming toward me? Could I get to my room and actually barricade the door? Big as he was, he could probably burst through, even if I could muscle the dresser in front of it.

Oh my God, I’m gonna die.

“Felicity?”

Wait, the terrifying home invader knew my name?

Somehow that interrupted the panic spiral. I froze where I was, blinking as my eyes finally started to adjust. I squinted, peering more closely at the man who’d stopped just past the head of the stairs. Though his outline was hazy—damn my myopia—I could tell he wore Army fatigues and a frown. Something about that frown was familiar. As recognition dawned, relief almost melted me to the floor on the spot.

Not a deranged rapist.

Gabriel Bishop.

Who had every right to be here, because it was his house.

“Gabe?”

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” He seemed more baffled than angry, which I took as a good sign.

“I will be more than happy to explain, but… um, can I please go get dressed first?” Now that I wasn’t blinded by fear, I was aware of the lack of coverage from this towel for whole other reasons. Towel manufacturers didn’t think about girls like me when they picked their dimensions. If I moved even an inch the wrong way, I was going to be flashing the promised land.

Gabe blinked at me, his gaze tracking from the messy bun on top of my head, all the way to my purple-painted toes, and back up again in a way that made every single inch of my skin heat. Then he shook himself and turned away, as if in afterthought. “Yeah, of course.”

Right. Clothes. Clothes would help.

I turned toward my room and promptly walked into the doorframe because I’d misjudged the distance.

“You okay?”

Likely to expire from sheer mortification… “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

I made it into my room and shut the door behind me with rather more of a slam than I’d intended. Then I bit my fist to hold in a scream because my nose and shoulder were stinging from where they’d banged into the door jamb. And also because Gabe Bishop, the guy I’d had a raging crush on since he’d moved to Huckleberry Creek back in high school, had just seen almost every ample inch of me in a towel.

Had he liked what he saw? I wasn’t the best judge of such things, even when I could see. But it had seemed like maybe his gaze had lingered just a little …

I shook off that errant thought as I heard his footsteps go down the hall toward his room, presumably to dump his stuff.

So not the point. Because right now, so far as he knew, I was a squatter in his house.

Dropping the towel, I dragged on underwear and yoga pants and the nearest oversized sweatshirt. I felt the need to cover everything. Maybe in a year or so, I wouldn’t feel so naked. I glanced at myself in the mirror, noting the slightly wild green eyes behind my large-framed glasses. The sweatshirt read I’m a Florist. I’m used to dealing with pricks.

Perhaps not the best choice, but I didn’t have time to dig through my entire wardrobe to find something potentially less offensive, because he’d already headed back downstairs.

Maybe he’d think it was funny. I did.

I took another minute to calm myself. I had no idea he was supposed to be back yet from his deployment. Had Dorothy known and just forgotten to tell me?

Blowing out a breath, I went downstairs.

He stood in the kitchen, staring at the bromeliad I’d placed in the center of the table in the breakfast nook. With my glasses on and my eyes adjusted, I finally got a good look at him. Exhaustion seemed carved into the lines of his body. How long had he traveled to get here?

“Can I make you something to eat?” It was perhaps a foolish thing to say. It was his house. I was hardly the real hostess. But I found myself wanting to take care of him and lessen the imposition.

Gabe turned toward me, shaking his head. “No, I just want to know what you’re doing here.”

I saw him read the sweatshirt, but there wasn’t even a flicker of a smile.

“A pipe burst in my house, and your grandmother moved me in here while it’s being repaired. I gather she didn’t tell you?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “No. No, she did not.”

Crap. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have accepted this if I’d known that you weren’t aware.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About six weeks.”

His frown deepened. “How bad was the pipe?”

“Bad. There was an issue getting the water turned off at all, and then she’s had a lot of trouble with getting anyone to deal with the aftermath.”

Those thick, dark brows drew together into a scowl that would’ve had me running for the next county if it had been directed at me. Clearly, this was something else Dorothy hadn’t told him.

Heaving a world-weary sigh, Gabe scrubbed a hand down his face. His stubble rasped like sandpaper against his palm, and for one ridiculous moment, I wondered what it would feel like against my skin.

“I’ll get up with Nana tomorrow and get this sorted. I’m too fucking tired to think about it tonight.”

I tried to ignore the disappointment. Getting it sorted would no doubt mean getting rid of me. I had no idea where I’d go, but he had every right to evict me. This was his house.

As he moved toward the stairs, I called out after him. “Gabe?”

Without a word, he looked back at me, a question in his gray eyes.

“I’m glad you made it home safe.”

Something flickered over his face at that, but he nodded and headed on upstairs.

Then I was left alone in the quiet house that no longer felt spacious and comfortable because his presence filled up every nook and cranny. I needed to find some way to chill out enough to actually sleep, knowing he’d be just down the hall.

Falling back on the chamomile tea that always reminded me of my mom, I carried a mug upstairs, drinking it down as I tried to lose myself in the latest dystopian romance I’d picked up from Plot Twist.

But I couldn’t focus on the story. Not when I felt my own hope withering. Everything was going to change tomorrow, and I had to brace myself for yet more upheaval in my life. I wished that got easier with practice, but the reality was that each time was a little bit harder.

How many homes was I going to lose?