Page 13 of Tate: Gemini King
I don’t know if I respect that. I want my tongue in this woman’s pussy. I don’t like the idea of her second guessing that…
Natasha drops her gaze again. What is wrong with her? It’s like my good looks and shrimp alfredo have no effect on her.
She’s going to make this very difficult. It’s not like I don’t think Natasha has a point. I swear I’ve said the same thing to Duke Callahan and my cousin Terran several times. I’m done screwing around. I want something real.
But at this point, it’s been too long since I’ve met anyone who even gave me hope that there could be something real out there. And Natasha is distractingly beautiful. I don’t even care that she hates my guts. Whenever I wake up from my deep, long sleep, I feel better that she’s there.
I’ve never felt that way about a roommate before. There’s something different about her. I can feel it. I hope that Terrorist can convince her to stay if I can’t.
“What?” she says, challenging me because that’s the type of thing that excites this woman. “You think life is better when women let men use them for sex and then throw them out when they’re done?”
“I never said that.”
“But it’s what you think,” Natasha says confidently. It pisses me off that she’s so cocky about it.
“It’s not what I think,” I respond, my voice getting sharp with her for the first time. “Respectfully, Natasha, you don’t know me at all.”
“I know plenty. I live with you, remember?”
“Right. Then you know that I haven’t slept with anyone since you moved in here.”
“I don’t know that for a fact. You could have fucked in your truck. At the gym. At a Flying J gas station.”
“What’s a Flying J?”
“Never mind,” Natasha says, scrunching up her face in a funny little way. “The point is, I don’t keep track of your sexual habits.”
“Then it might be a good idea not to speak about them,” I say to her.
Our eyes flicker angrily to each other. The anger and tension between us is so fucking strong. I don’t know what the hell I’ve done to piss this woman off so badly. Am I really that terrible of a roommate? I don’t think so.
“I’m not crazy for guessing that a sexy, muscular, 6’8” white guy spends all his free time getting laid.”
I smile.
“Did you just call me sexy?”
Natasha looks horrified. Then she makes a life-changing decision. She finishes the rest of her wine. We are officially done with the bottle and I barely had any. I don’t know if I should be impressed over how well Natasha handled her liquor or concerned that it might affect her the wrong way and get her to start fighting me.
Again, I have other plans.
“I didn’t,” she says. “I would never call you sexy.”
“I heard you,” I say to Natasha, almost ready to drag her out of that damn chair and haul her ass off to the bedroom. “I think you said I was a sexy, muscular, 6’8” white guy.”
“None of those words describe you,” Natasha says with the confidence that only a very drunk woman could pull off.
“Are you sure? I think I’m a white guy.”
“Yeah well, whatever. You’re not even that hot. Who cares about big biceps or an eight pack or a nice ass? Nobody. Get a personality.”
Her voice slurs a little bit. And she sounds so goddamn fine.
“A nice ass? Should I get out a tape recorder?”
Natasha glares at me. “You are an asshole.”
I would let her call me names all goddamn night as long as she never took her eyes off me. I grin because I don’t see the point in arguing with her particular claim either. You don’t need to be a nice guy to be a firefighter. You need to be big and strong, willing to risk your life for others and have the strength to work the worst hours in the worst conditions.