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“Have you read all of these?” She runs a finger down the shelf, reciting the titles as she goes. “The Great Gatsby,A Moveable Feast,How to Win Friends and Influence People. That’s some pretty heavy stuff.”

That’s right, part of me wants to scream.Brains and brawn, baby. The perfect package.

But the other part—the smart part—says it’s time to stop screwing around and get down to business. The business being growing a pair and telling Brie she has to go.

“Why me?” I ask. “You’ve never lacked for friends. You must have someone else you can crash with.”

“All my friends are struggling actors, like me. Which means they’ve already got a roommate or two. Or if not, their apartments are the size of postage stamps, and I’d be sleeping on an uncomfortable pull-out couch.” Her gaze flits around my cavernous condo. “Seems kind of silly when you’ve got—what, two extra bedrooms?”

“Three,” I mumble. Seems excessive, I know. I bought this place with the idea of settling down some day. Wife. Two point five kids. A couple of cats—I don’t care what anyone says, they’re way less maintenance than dogs. The whole deal, save the picket fence. I know some people think bringing up kids in the Big Apple is a recipe for disaster. But I can’t think of any better place than Manhattan to raise a family. Great schools. Plenty of parks to run and play. Top-notch entertainment and a wide variety of cultural activities.

I’ve already got the cats—Mirri and Ajani, after characters in the role-playing game Jake and I were obsessed with as kids. Two of the laziest felines on the planet, but they’re good company most of the time.

And I thought I’d found the first part of the equation—a wife—in Giselle. We dated for almost two years before she moved in with me. That lasted all of two months. Turns out no matter how long you’ve been in a relationship with someone, it doesn’t always prepare you to share living space with them.

Even if that living space has three spare bedrooms and just as many baths.

Brie’s talking again, and I realize that thanks to my mental sojourn, I have no idea what she’s saying. From the death glare she gives me, I can tell she realizes it, too. I swear, this girl could wilt a cactus with that look.

“You haven’t heard one word I’ve said, have you?”

I flop down onto the couch, prop my feet up on the coffee table—something I never do—and grab my phone from the cushion next to me and start scrolling, feigning indifference to her. “I assume you were doing your best to convince me to let you stay. Which isn’t happening.”

She shoots me another death glare, and I can almost feel my balls shrinking. “You’re seriously going to toss me out on the street?”

I shrug and keep scrolling. “You can always go back to your brother.”

“That’s a big hell to the no.” She shudders and sits sideways in one of my overstuffed chairs, her long legs, in skin tight jeans, dangling seductively over the arm. She hesitates a moment, running a hand through her dark curls, and when she starts speaking again, her tone is different. Desperate. “Please, Connor. You’re my only hope. Don’t make me go back there.”

“Points for theStar Warsreference. But it can’t be that bad at Jake’s.”

“It’s worse. You’ve been around them. You know what they’re like. All sickly sweet. And all over each other. It’s nausea inducing. Now imagine that 24/7. And when I say 24/7, I’m talking day and night. Emphasis on the night, if you know what I mean.”

I do. And okay, she’s got a point. Jake and Ainsley are pretty sickening sometimes. Make that most of the time. I sympathize with her situation. But that doesn’t change the fact that she can’t stay here. Not if I want to keep my hands off her. And my friendship with Jake.

“I promise, you’ll barely know I’m here.” She’s flat out begging now, her hands pressed together like she’s praying. “I start shooting a new Netflix series next week. My schedule’s going to be crazy. I’ll basically be using this place as a crash pad to shower and sleep.”

Great. Now I’m picturing her in the shower. And damn, it’s a pretty picture. She’s naked, naturally, eyes closed, her head thrown back as the water cascades over her perfect breasts and down to—

Nope. Not going there. I will myself to focus on something else. Like her Netflix deal. That’s safe territory.

“Jake told me you booked a series. Based on the Mortal Misfits comics, right? That’s huge. Congrats.”

“It’s a recurring role with the potential to become a series regular in season two if we get picked up,” she says, excitement lightening her hazel eyes from reddish brown to golden amber. “So it’s important that I be at the top of my game. Which I won’t be if my brother and his fiancée are keeping me up all night. Or if I’m sleeping one someone’s sofa.”

She swings her legs over the arm of the chair and sits up, fixing those amber eyes on me. “Please, Connor. This job could be my big break. And it’s only until I find a place of my own. Or a half-way acceptable roommate.”

Shit.How am I supposed to say no to that? This is her career she’s talking about. The one she’s wanted since she was Little Red Riding Hood in the third grade class play. I’d have to be a first-rate asshole to let her walk out that door and risk messing that up.

And I’m not. So I guess I’m going to have a new roomie for a few weeks.

But she doesn’t know that yet. She takes my silence for indecision and launches back into her pitch, ticking off the reasons I should say yes to her proposal on her fingers as she goes. “Not only will I hardly be here, when I am I’ll be quiet as those Blue Man Group guys. I don’t mind cleaning, and I’m a pretty decent cook. I promise not to cramp your style if you want to, uh, entertain at night, if you get my drift. And it’s not like I expect to stay here for free. I’ll pay you—”

I toss my phone back on the cushion next to me and stand. I doubt I’ll be having any nighttime visitors anytime in the near future. Especially not ones of the female persuasion. Not when the female I really want—but absolutely cannot have—in my bed is sleeping just down the hall.

Besides, Giselle’s barely moved out. In fact, she texted me this morning about picking up some stuff she left behind. Seeing her name on the screen left me feeling a little raw. The last thing I need is to get involved with someone else right now. “We can work out the details later.”

A broad smile breaks across her face and she jumps up from her chair. I try not to notice the way the sudden movement makes her breasts jiggle in her tight T-shirt. Is she even wearing a bra? “Does that mean I can stay?”