Roomies (A Standalone Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) Read Online Free PDF

whine.
    Mike shrugs, but doesn’t
say anything.
    I don’t know what to say
either, so I settle on the obvious question: “Are you hungry?”

Chapter Four
    Tension
    Dane

 
 
    As fun as last night was
in the beginning, the feud between Breann (apparently, she’s the one I was
calling Buzzed Girl) and Yoga Chick only intensified after our exploits. Once
the enmity stopped translating itself into physical contact for me, I lost my
tolerance for it.
    Getting out was no small
feat, though, as both Breann and Yoga Chick were constantly looking to me to
resolve individual, and increasingly odd, disputes.
    “I think the ficus looks better by the sofa, but Breann thinks it looks
better by the window. She’s crazy, right?”
    I wouldn’t have gotten
out of there at all if I hadn’t directed them toward the bathroom, saying some
bullshit about how I thought the bra hanging over the shower rod was sexy. It
was about the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but it worked well enough. They
both went in there to argue over whose it originally was.
    Today’s been great,
though.
    Not only did I move into
my new place, but I nailed my friend’s secretary while my roommate was passed
out with a hangover.
    This is why I love my
job.
    Okay, so I lied to
Roommate Chick about what I do. Yeah, I play guitar and I sing, but I’ve never
played a show.
    “What the fuck happened
to this foie gras ?” I ask my sous chef.
    Yeah, I lied about my
job, but I’m sick of people asking me to get them reservations or teach them my
favorite recipes. It’s a nightmare.
    Telling a woman that
you’re an executive chef at one of the better French restaurants in the city is
great if you’re looking for a quick lay, but living with someone who knows
you’re a chef—it’s just not worth the hassle.
    That is one of the better
things about this job, though; it has been years since I’ve had to use a pickup
line to get a date. Women love chefs. Tell them about something sizzling in a
pan and you can almost feel the change in humidity.
    It worked wonders on
Secretary Chick.
    “I didn’t—”
    “You didn’t feel like
taking it off the stove before you burnt it to shit?” I interrupt.
    Yeah, Ramsay’s got
nothing on me. Well, nothing but the TV shows, cookbooks, multiple restaurants
of his own, fame and fortune.
    Still, I’m pretty sure I
get more play than he does.
    I’m calling that a
victory.
    “What are you waiting
for?” I ask. “Do it again!”
    “You’d think with tattoos
like that, the health department would be more worried about hepatitis,”
someone behind me says.
    I turn around.
    “Jim, you old fuck, get
the hell out of the kitchen before my restaurant loses a star,” I jab back.
    “You are an ungrateful
little shit, aren’t you?” he asks.
    “What’s up?”
    “I need to borrow you for
a minute. Is there someone that can take over for you?”
    “Nobody worth a damn, but
hey, it’s your restaurant. Why should I care that your customers are about to
eat burnt shit?”
    Jim and I have a strange
relationship. As the owner of l’Iris , he’s my boss.
On the other hand, he’s about the only person I’ve ever met with a filthier
mouth than mine. That’s just his way of connecting with me, though, and I can
appreciate the effort.
    I think it’s hilarious.
    “All right, sit down,
fuck face,” he tells me. “We’ve got a bit of a problem.”
    “Did Wilks jerk off in
someone’s French onion soup again?”
    “No,” Jim says. “Wait,
what?”
    “I’m just fucking with
you,” I tell him. “Calm down.”
    “It’s our covers,” he
says. “Business is down—”
    “It was Cannon,” I
interrupt.
    “What?”
    “The French onion soup
thing—I’m sorry, you were trying to tell me something.”
    “Dane, I’ve got to level
with you. We’re pretty fucked right now, and I don’t know how long I’m going to
be able to keep you on. Short of adding pussy to the menu, I’ve been trying
everything to keep people