“In my room.”

“Look.” I glanced at my watch. “Now we’re really getting into dangerous territory. I’ve been nicknamed Superman in bed, but I’m not actually sure I can do a repeat of 2014, though I’d love to add another instance to the record books. So if we’re going to do this, you need to hurry up and take at least your shirt off.”

“Are you”—her cheeks reddened—“a stripper for the party?”

Hmm. The idea had merit. I could do a free show, which would make me a saint, considering what I typically charge each client.

“No.” I held out my hand. When she didn’t take it, I took it upon myself to lift her from the floor and onto her feet.

She kicked. She even tried to bite me.

“There we go. A little enthusiasm!”

“Put me down!” She jerked away from me.

I set her away from me and crossed my arms. “Sorry, time’s up. You have ten seconds left, and even I can’t perform a miracle of this”—I pointed at her baggy shirt, baggy shorts, and, holy shit, was she wearing tube socks?—“caliber.” I swallowed. “Just a guess, but were you homeschooled?”

Her face reddened with either embarrassment or anger. “No! And I live here. This is my room!”

“But it’s Gabi’s room.”

“We switched this morning!” She stomped her foot. The girl was wearing old-school Adidas flip-flops.

They still made those? Huh. It was like seeing a real live T. rex.

“Why are you staring at my feet?”

“They have to be worth a mint by now.” I tapped my chin and continued staring at the ugly rubber flip-flops. “Impressive. Really impressive.”

“Are you even listening to me?” she shrieked. “Put some clothes on and get out of my room. Or don’t put clothes on and just get out of my room. Whichever.”

“Exactly.” I nodded seriously. “I was just about to do that when you tumbled in. Now,” I said slowly, “you say you switched rooms?”

She nodded.

“Which makes Gabi’s room . . . ?”

She pointed down the hall. I had a brief moment of recollection in which Gabi had mentioned something about switching to the smaller room because the two new roommates were going to share.

“Ah, you must be Serena.”

“Blake,” she growled. “Serena’s blonde.”

I’d have bet she was hot too. Serena was a hot-girl name. Blake? It was what you named a girl that you thought was going to be a boy and therefore projected all your boyhood dreams onto her. Ten bucks that her dad had made her play every sport in the book and she was either the product of divorce or single parenting.

“Why are you still standing here . . . naked?” This time she looked away, covering her face with her hands.

“What’s wrong with being naked? You do know you were born that way, right?”

“Just”—she didn’t look again, but pointed at the door—“go.”

“Your loss.” I laughed. “Could have rocked your world.”

“My world doesn’t need rocking.”

I paused midway through the door and turned back, moving in close, making sure my breath would blow across her neck as I whispered, “Now that’s where you’re wrong, Blake. Every girl needs to allow her world to be rocked, at least once. Or if said rocking is coming from me? Twice.”

Her stance was rigid, and the only clue I had to her emotions was the fact that her breathing picked up along with her pulse. I leaned forward and licked a spot on her neck that was taunting me. Then I stepped back. “Nice meeting you.”

The door slammed behind me, nearly slapping my ass in farewell.

Can’t win them all. Not that I would want to win anything with Adidas Girl. I had too much on my plate already. The last thing I needed was some sexually repressed tomboy who wore sweats because they were comfortable.

CHAPTER FOUR

I was still shaking my head after I got dressed and made my way back down the stairs and into the small living room. I mean, Adidas flip-flops?

Lex was busy chatting up the chick I guessed to be Serena, who had blonde hair, big doe eyes, and a cute little body that would probably be under his lazy ass in a few hours. Or better yet, she’d be on top doing all the work while the bastard placed his arms behind his head, yawned, and said, A little to the right.

He was bossy in bed and out of bed; he probably handed his girls manuals they had to memorize before getting the honor of doing him.

Blake wasn’t downstairs yet.

And Game of Thrones was playing on the TV. Season three, just where Gabi and I had left off. I wasn’t above faking an illness during the next episode so that everyone would go to bed and I could watch it without interruption. I’m a giver like that.

“Ian,” Gabi growled. “It’s been ten minutes. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t.” I winked at Lex and grabbed a beer from the counter, then started piling my plate high with chips.

Gabi pinched me in the side and twisted.

“Shit!” The chips nearly fell off my plate. “What was that for? I showered, I no longer smell like baby prostitute, you’re welcome!”

Gabi released my skin and shoved me in the chest. “Where’s Blake?”

“Is she on the basketball team?”

“No.” Gabi rolled her eyes, then gave me a familiar and suspicious look. “Where is she?”