The Perfect Fit (Riley O'Brien & Co. #2.5) (2 page)

“Follow me,” he ordered. “I’ll show you the sleeping quarters.”

She laughed under her breath. Sleeping quarters?
You can take the man out of the military, but you can’t take the military out of the man.

As she followed him into the hallway, she asked, “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost seven months.”

He passed a closed door. “That’s my room.” He continued on and stopped at the next doorway. Flipping on the light, he said, “This would be your bathroom. I have my own, attached to my room, so we don’t have to share.”

That was a relief, but she wished her bathroom was attached to her room, as well. She didn’t want to run into him in the hallway while wearing only a towel. She was going to have to buy a robe.

Stepping to the side, Zeke allowed her to enter the bathroom. With its granite countertops, silver mosaic tile backsplash, and charcoal-colored slate floor, it reminded her of a spa. But it didn’t have a bathtub, only a glassed-in shower.

“No bathtub?”

“No.”

“That’s disappointing. I love to take baths when I’ve had a long day.”

She loved to soak in warm, scented water while reading an engrossing romance novel and drinking a glass of wine. It was a perfect way to wash away a difficult day.

After a brief hesitation, Zeke said, “There’s one in my bathroom. You can use it whenever you want.” He disappeared from the doorway. “Turn off the light behind you.”

He obviously was used to issuing orders and having people obey them without question.

She did as he instructed and then followed him to another open door. He stopped beside it.

“This would be your room.”

She entered the room, flipped on the lighted ceiling fan, and turned in a full circle to take in the space. It was large—larger than any bedroom she’d ever had. Since it was at the back of the house, the room had windows on two sides. Wooden blinds covered the panes, slanted just enough to let in a bit of light.

She crossed the shiny hardwood floors to the door in the corner. Opening it, she discovered a walk-in closet and gasped in delight.

“A walk-in closet,” she murmured reverently.

Hearing a muffled chuckle from Zeke, she turned toward him. He had stepped into the bedroom, and they stared at each other, a few feet separating them. Although his eyes never wavered from hers, she got the feeling that he was assessing her, from her wispy ponytail to her thrift-store boots, and everything in between.

“How old are you, Margo?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five,” he echoed softly.

She wondered what he was thinking. Was he worried that she was too young or too immature to be a responsible roommate? Was he worried that she would stay up all night partying or bring home strange men for wall-banging sex?

She almost laughed at the idea. Over the past four years, the only reason she’d stayed up all night was to study for a test, and she hadn’t brought any men home, for any reason. And she’d never had wall-banging sex, either.

“Would you like to see the backyard?” he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically, and a minute later, they stood in the backyard. Roby immediately darted toward the back of the small lot to hike a leg on the Japanese maple.

A breeze shook the branches of the tree, and Margo shivered. It was a bit chilly, but if she had been in Ithaca, she’d still be wearing winter gear.

Standing beside Zeke, she was intensely aware of his height and breadth. Not for the first time, she pondered the idea of living with a former soldier. He would provide even more protection than Roby.

But what could she offer him?

“Why do you want a roommate?” she asked baldly.

“I
don’t
want one, but I can’t afford this place on my own. It’s too expensive.” He sighed. “My first roommate didn’t work out, and I need some help with the rent.”

“What happened with your first roommate?”

“He was a pig.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his obvious disgust. “As a vet, I feel compelled to tell you that pigs are actually very clean animals. In general, they prefer not to soil the areas where they sleep or eat. And they only roll in mud to cool off because they don’t have sweat glands.”

“Okay, then, my previous roommate wasn’t a pig.” He paused for a moment before asking, “What’s the dirtiest animal you can think of?”

She considered his question. Cows were pretty yucky; they constantly leaked methane gas, producing up to a half a gallon of farts per minute. But hippos were the worst.

“Hippos. They urinate on other hippos, and when they’re really mad, they kick their feces on them.”

Zeke stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. It rumbled up from deep in his chest. It sounded as if he hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time.

“My former roommate was a hippo.”

“Well, I’m not, but sometimes I leave dirty dishes in the sink or kick off my shoes by the front door. Is that going to bother you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“And Roby sheds. I groom him regularly, but he still sheds. Not a lot, though.”

“I have a vacuum.” Zeke cocked his head. “So what do you think?”

The apartment was perfect. So was the backyard. But she didn’t know what to think about Zeke.

Instinctively, she knew he would be a distraction—one she didn’t need. She had more important things to worry about. Things like establishing herself as a valued member of the veterinary practice she’d joined, building a loyal clientele of four-legged patients, and feeding her bank account so it had more than a hundred bucks in it.

She had no backup plan. She had to succeed. And a handsome roommate would undoubtedly be a temptation.

Beggars can’t be choosers
, she reminded herself. And at this point, she definitely was a beggar.

“When can I move in?”

Zeke crept from his bedroom at six o’clock the next morning. He was trying to be as quiet as possible, but he lacked the stealth that he’d possessed before losing half his leg in Iraq a little more than two years ago.

He didn’t want to wake up Margo, who was sleeping on the sofa in the living room because her furniture hadn’t arrived yet. Although he had suggested that she sleep in his bed and let him take the sofa, she’d declined his gentlemanly offer with a vehement “No!”

The idea had clearly horrified her, but he had no idea why. Maybe she was scared of him. Her behavior when they’d first met certainly indicated that might be a possibility. When he’d introduced himself, she’d just stood there silently, her blue eyes the size of saucers.

He sighed. That was the last thing he wanted—a roommate who acted like a fraidy-cat when he was around.

Maybe she had mistaken his offer as a come-on. Should he reassure her that he wasn’t interested in her? He wanted a roommate, nothing more. And even if he wanted a lover, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t pick someone like Margo.

As he crossed the threshold to the living room, he was surprised to see that Roby was the only warm body occupying the sofa. The Doberman was lying on his side, his sleekly muscular form stretching the entire length of the cushions. Apparently, Roby already considered Zeke a friend; his appearance warranted nothing more than a brief lift of the dog’s head before it flopped down again.

Glancing toward the dining area, Zeke spotted Margo. She was perched on one of the barstools at the table, her small frame swathed in a gray Cornell University sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants. He was wearing almost the same thing, but his sweatshirt was U.S. Army issue.

Her hands were wrapped around a coffee mug—his favorite mug—but he didn’t smell the enticing aroma of coffee. She must drink tea.

“Good morning,” she chirped.

He barely bit back a groan. Was she a morning person? God help him.

“Morning,” he replied.

He knew he sounded like a bear that had just emerged from hibernation. Hell, that was exactly how he felt: irritable, hungry, and itching to tear a strip off some unsuspecting human.

“How did you sleep? I slept great. Your sofa is more comfortable than my bed.”

“I need coffee before I can deal with you.”

Instead of offending her, his surly response elicited a laugh. It was surprisingly husky, not the high-pitched, shrill giggle he had expected … and dreaded.

“I’ll get you some.” She jumped down from the stool and headed for the kitchen. “How do you like it?”

If she wanted to serve him like a waitress in a diner, he wasn’t going to argue. “Black,” he answered as he settled himself on a barstool.

Moments later, she handed him a mug of steaming coffee and then hopped back on her barstool. He muttered thank you before taking a sip. It scalded his tongue, but he didn’t care. He needed the jolt of caffeine.

“I’m guessing you’re not a morning person,” she said, laughter coloring her voice.

He grunted.

“Why are you up so early?”

He took another sip of coffee before answering. “I spent a dozen years in the Army. It’s a habit.”

He was lying to her. But she didn’t need to know about the nightmares that made it difficult for him to sleep more than a few hours at a time.

He doubted she ever suffered from nightmares. She definitely didn’t look sleep-deprived. Her reddish-gold hair was in a loose bun on top of her head, and a black fabric headband held back the shiny strands around her face.

Her blue eyes were so bright they seemed to sparkle. And her skin… God, her skin… It reminded him of a cultured pearl—luminous and creamy with tints of peach. Not a single wrinkle or blemish marred it.

Had he ever been so fresh-faced? So eager to welcome a new day?

He didn’t need a mirror to know that he looked older than thirty-six. It wasn’t just the strands of gray in his hair or the patches of silver in his stubble. It wasn’t just the wrinkles from the harsh Iraqi sun or the puffy skin under his eyes.

It was the way he felt … the things he had seen … the things he had done.

Once the caffeine had worked its magic, he asked her, “Why are
you
up so early?”

“I’m still on East Coast time. It’s nine o’clock in Ithaca.” Her mouth curved in a small smile. “And I’m a morning person.”

This time he didn’t bother holding back the groan. She laughed again, a light, happy sound—one that made him want to smile.

“I’m starving,” she announced. “I peeked into your fridge, and it looks like you have everything I need to make breakfast. If you’re willing to share your food, I’ll do all the work.”

“I’m not a two-year-old. I know how to share.”

“I plan to go grocery shopping later today,” she added.

He wondered if she had enough money for groceries. She’d been upfront about her current financial situation, admitting that she was “poorer than a church mouse” until she started her new job.

That was why she’d opted to move into the apartment immediately. She had told him that she couldn’t afford to waste any more money on a hotel.

“I’ll help with breakfast,” he said.

He stood slowly, worried that he would go down when he put pressure on his prosthetic limb. That hadn’t happened in months, not since he’d moved to San Francisco, but it was something he always feared.

By the time he’d reached the kitchen, Margo had already pulled the eggs and bacon out of the fridge. “I’m in the mood for an omelet. Sound good to you?”

“Yeah.”

He kept his fridge well-stocked, and he grabbed a block of cheddar cheese, a tomato, and a bag of spinach and placed them on the island. She must have conducted a thorough investigation of his kitchen before he’d woken up, because she easily found the grater. She passed it to him, and he got to work shredding the cheese.

“Do you have a baking sheet? I couldn’t find it.”

“No. Why do you need one?”

“For the bacon.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to add a baking sheet to my shopping list. I can’t go for very long without freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.”

“If you’ll share your cookies, I’ll buy the baking sheet.”

She looked at him, a mischievous smile on her face. “I’m not a two-year-old,” she pointed out, mimicking his earlier comment. “I know how to share.”

To his surprise, they successfully accomplished the task of making breakfast with very little talking. They worked remarkably well together, especially since they had known each other for less than twenty-four hours. In his experience, it took a while before people developed the kind of teamwork he and Margo seemed to instinctively have.

He handled the prep work, and she cooked. Roby helped, too, hoovering the pieces of food they accidently dropped on the floor.

After plating both omelets, she added a couple of strips of bacon and passed him a plate and fork. He started for the dining room, but stopped when she picked up her plate and fork, leaned back against the countertop, and dug into her omelet.

For a moment, he was nonplused, recalling innumerable times when his mother chastised him for eating while standing in the kitchen. With a shrug, he propped his ass on the edge of the counter and lifted a piece of bacon to his mouth.

“I got an email notification that the movers will be here tomorrow morning between ten and noon,” she told him.

“Do I need to move some things around so your stuff will fit?”

She glanced at him, surprise etched on her face. “You don’t have to do that. This is
your
apartment.”

“It’s
our
apartment now.”

He didn’t mind making room for Margo’s belongings. Although he’d told her that he didn’t want a roommate, that wasn’t entirely true. Because of his time in the military, he was used to sharing his space.

He had never lived alone, and the past two months without a roommate had been kind of lonely. While he’d made a few friends at work, he didn’t have any close friends nearby. His best friends were halfway around the world, wearing fatigues and driving Humvees, and the majority of his family lived in North Carolina.

Margo shook her head slowly. “I left most of my stuff in Ithaca. My furniture was old and cheap, and I thought it would be smarter to just replace it than ship it across the country. I only shipped my mattress, bedroom furniture, clothes, and a few boxes. I donated the rest.”