Book IV- His Wild Blue Rose

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Alyssa isn’t completely honest when she answers the ad for a roommate online. True, she needs a place to live, true she’s getting a divorce, true; he’s a cheating jerk. There’s just a little bit more to it than that. So when the ad comes across her screen Indigo City beat cop looking to rent out a fully furnished room… she jumps on it, because what could be safer than living with a cop?

Golden isn’t too keen on living with a chick, but after posting online looking for a roommate, he’s found the pickings are slim. The softly spoken brunette doesn’t seem like she’s much trouble, plus she’s got the cash up front, so what the hell? She’ll just have to get over his bringing home badge bunnies from the 10-13. He’s got a stressful job, and the best way to blow off steam, in his estimation, is hot sex.

It’s a pressure cooker waiting to blow and it turns out the new roomie has moxie, which gets Golden to thinking, which leads to him feeling. This is either going to be a really good or a really bad idea.

He cleared his throat behind me and I jumped. I don’t know why I jumped. I knew he was home. I’d seen him walk past the mouth of the alley, had heard him come in the front door. Still, I jumped, and then I closed my eyes and felt my shoulders droop in defeat.

“Hey,” he said, haltingly, and I opened my eyes again to watch the rain lash the window and trickle down the pane.

“Hey,” I intoned back.

“I see you found my good whiskey.”

I snorted a derisive laugh and said back, “Yeah, well, I figured you owed me a stiff drink.” I picked up the glass at my hip and took a sip. The bite of the alcohol was strong, the flavor very oaky, but pleasant as the warmth trickled across my tongue and down my throat.

“That’s fair enough,” he said and I sighed, lifting my head from the wood window frame and turning it slowly.

He stood in my doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of a pair of jeans, the button undone but the fly mercifully up. He was shirtless and comfortable, and looked entirely too delicious.  And I really couldn’t believe my brain was even going there right now. Then again, if I drank enough, I might become attractive to him, too. That’s the way he seemed to like them. Drunk and horny, not a lot of class.

I swallowed my bitterness and turned to face back out the window. He sighed and I heard him pad barefoot across the carpet in here. He came into view, leaning a hip against the dresser near my feet.

“You know,” he said softly, “You’re doing this all wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” I challenged him.  “How’s that?”

“The kind of pain you’re trying to drink away? It’s the straight-from-the-bottle kind. No need for a glass.”

He picked up the bottle by the neck and took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He held the bottle out to me. I took it, and the peace offering that it stood for, and took a swig myself. He picked up my glass and gave me a nod.

“There you go.”



Text Copyright © 2018 A.J. Downey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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