I wake up to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and spend a solid thirty seconds trying to figure out where I am.
Right. New apartment. New room. New life.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. Seven-fifteen. Perfect. Enough time to shower and get ready for work.
My body is still sore from yesterday's move, muscles protesting as I sit up. Apparently carrying boxes up three flights of stairs uses muscles I forgot existed.
I gather my shower stuff—shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face cleanser and pad down the hallway in my sleep shorts and tank top. The apartment is quiet. Kai's door is closed, no light showing underneath.
The bathroom is small but clean, and I turn on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. Steam starts filling the space and I strip down, stepping under the hot spray.
Heaven.
I take my time, letting the water work out the soreness in my shoulders, shampooing my hair twice because it feels amazing, just enjoying the fact that I have a decent shower in an apartment I can actually afford.
This is good. This is progress. This is—
I step out and reach for my towel.
Which is not there.
Because I forgot to bring a towel.
Perfect. Excellent start to day one of cohabitation.
I look around the bathroom frantically. There's a hand towel hanging on the rack, the kind that's barely big enough to dry your hands, let alone anything else.
I grab it anyway and wrap it around myself. It covers almost nothing. Like, strategically covers the absolute essentials and that's it.
Okay. No problem. My room is literally ten feet away. I can make it without running into anyone.
I crack open the bathroom door and peek into the hallway.
Empty.
I step out quickly, clutching the pathetically small towel, moving as fast as I can without actually running.
I'm halfway to my room when Kai's door opens.
We both freeze.
He's standing in his doorway wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips.
And there's a lot of chest.
Like, an unreasonable amount of chest. Broad shoulders that taper to a defined waist, muscles that suggest he does significantly more than just run occasionally, and abs that are frankly offensive in how visible they are.
His amber eyes go wide when he sees me.
I'm suddenly extremely aware that I'm clutching a hand towel that barely covers anything important, my hair is dripping water down my shoulders, and I'm essentially naked in front of my new roommate.
"I forgot my towel," I blurt out, because apparently when I'm mortified my brain defaults to stating the obvious.
"I can see that." His voice is rougher than usual, deeper, like he just woke up.
Neither of us moves.
I should move. I should definitely move. But my brain has apparently short-circuited because all I can process is the fact that Kai is standing three feet away wearing almost nothing and he's even more attractive than I thought, which seems fundamentally unfair to everyone involved.
There's a tattoo on his left shoulder. Some kind of symbol I can't quite make out from this angle. His arms are ridiculous, the kind of arms that suggest he could probably pick me up without even trying.
Stop looking at his arms, Emma.
His eyes are doing this thing where they're very carefully staying on my face, very deliberately not looking anywhere else, which somehow makes this worse because it means he's actively trying not to look and that means there's something to look at and oh my God I need to stop thinking.
"I should—" I gesture weakly toward my room.
"Yeah. Good idea." He clears his throat but doesn't move.
Neither do I.
This is absurd. We're adults. Adults who can handle seeing each other in towels without making it weird.
Except it's definitely weird.
Because Kai is built like some kind of Greek statue and water is still clinging to his shoulders and I can see the muscles in his arms flex slightly as he shifts his weight and I'm having thoughts that are extremely inappropriate for seven-thirty in the morning.
"Emma." His voice is strained.
"Right. Yes. Moving now."
I hurry past him, very aware of how close I have to get to actually pass in the narrow hallway, very aware of the heat radiating off his skin, very aware that he smells like rain and something else, something I can't identify but that makes my brain go fuzzy.
I make it to my room and shut the door, leaning against it with my heart pounding.
What the hell was that?
I can hear him moving in the hallway, the bathroom door closing, the shower turning on again.
I drop the useless hand towel and grab a real towel from my suitcase, burying my face in it.
This is fine. Totally normal. Roommates see each other in various states of undress all the time. It doesn't mean anything.
Except I can still see him perfectly in my head. The way that towel sat on his hips. The muscles in his stomach that had actual definition.
And the way he looked at me. Or rather, the way he very deliberately didn't look at me, which somehow felt more intense than if he had.
Stop it, Emma. He's your roommate. This is a professional living arrangement. You are not going to develop a thing for your roommate just because he's objectively attractive and apparently has the body of a superhero.
I get dressed quickly, pulling on work clothes and trying very hard to think about anything other than what just happened.
Professional pants. Blouse. Minimal makeup because I'm running late now and my hands are slightly shaky for absolutely no reason.
When I finally emerge from my room, fully clothed and marginally more composed, I can hear the shower still running.
Good. At least we don't have to immediately face each other.
I head to the kitchen and start making coffee, needing caffeine more than I need oxygen right now.
The coffee maker is nice, much better than the one Jessica had. I'm measuring out grounds when I hear the shower shut off.
I focus very hard on the coffee maker.
A few minutes later, Kai appears in the kitchen doorway.
He's dressed now, thank God. Jeans and a navy t-shirt, hair still damp but combed back. He looks infuriatingly put together for someone who was half-naked in a hallway five minutes ago.
"Coffee?" I offer, trying to sound completely normal and not at all like I was just mentally cataloging his muscle groups.
"Please."
I pour two mugs and slide one across the counter to him, very careful not to let our fingers touch.
He takes it with a small nod of thanks.
We both drink in silence.
This is fine. We're both adults. We can handle a little awkwardness.
Except the silence feels loaded, heavy with everything we're not saying, and I can't stop noticing things like the way his hands wrap around the mug or the fact that his t-shirt fits really well across his shoulders.
Stop. It.
"So," he says finally, his voice carefully neutral. "About earlier."
"We don't have to talk about it."
"I was going to say i didn't expect you to be up this early."
"I have work. I leave by eight most days."
"Good to know." He takes another sip of coffee. "I'll make sure I'm dressed before I leave my room in the mornings from now on."
"That would be appreciated. And I'll remember to bring a towel."
"That would also be appreciated."
"Look," I say, setting down my mug with more force than necessary. "This is weird. The whole roommate thing. We're both going to see each other at weird times in weird states of dress. But we're adults. We can handle a little awkwardness, right?"
Something flickers across his expression. Amusement, maybe. "Right."
"So let's just pretend the hallway thing didn't happen and move on with our lives like mature, responsible adults."
"Consider it forgotten."
I finish my coffee in three large gulps that definitely burn my throat.
"I should head to work," I announce, rinsing my mug in the sink.
"Yeah. I've got some calls this morning anyway."
Work is the usual chaos. Emails, meetings, a client presentation that runs twenty minutes over. I barely have time to think about anything except deadlines and deliverables.
But during my lunch break, sitting in the break room with a sad desk salad, my mind wanders.
Back to the apartment. To Kai. To this morning's hallway incident.
There's something about him I can't quite figure out. The way he moves, graceful but powerful. The way his eyes sometimes catch the light and look almost gold. The fact that he carried all my boxes without breaking a sweat.
And that body.
I stab a cherry tomato with unnecessary force.
This is ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous. So my roommate is attractive and happens to have muscles and abs and arms that could probably bench press a car. So what?
I take another bite of salad and force myself to think about work. Deadlines. Client presentations.
This is going to be fine.
Completely, totally fine.
I just need to stop noticing things. Like his arms. And his shoulders. And the way his voice gets deeper in the morning.
Easy.