Cuffed to my Roomies Read online

  Cuffed to my Roomies

  Natasha Black

  Copyright © 2018 by Natasha Black

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  If you have any questions please email her at [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Introduction

  My heroes wear blue… or nothing at all.

  My first night in the city, everything goes wrong--no place to stay and my car breaks down.

  Two gorgeous cops came to my rescue:

  Derek the sexy flirt.

  Brett the quiet, intense one.

  Next thing I know, I’ve got the two hottest roommates ever.

  They’re my best friends, until the night we go out to a club, get drunk and sparks fly. A steamy night in bed with my two guys ruined me for anything less.

  I crave them all the time, and they want me just as much.

  Until my dad comes to town..

  the old-fashioned father who raised me—and I don’t know what to do.

  Do I lie to my dad and hurt the men I love?

  Or do I tell the truth about our threesome and let my father hate me?

  1

  “I see,” I said.

  I said it because that was what my dad taught me to say instead of ‘what the hell’. Manners were important, even with people who were screwing you over.

  I sat in my car in the dark parking lot, listening to the caller. Driving at night on an unfamiliar road wasn’t a problem, but I didn’t live dangerously enough to talk on the phone while I was looking for the next place to turn. So there I was, in the dark lot of a shuttered Mexican restaurant, listening to my plan dissolve.

  “I guess I didn’t get your message,” she said, her tone the equivalent of a shrug, “so I rented the room to someone else. She’s really great—she’s a drummer.”

  “I see,” I said again, rubbing my forehead.

  “I’m sure you can find another place in the city. There’s always people looking for roommates.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and hung up.

  There went my destination, the address I’d programmed into my phone when I started the GPS guidance. My new home. The apartment where I would be renting a room during my internship. And, no, there were not loads of people looking to rent a room to a stranger who was so broke she was probably going to have to steal toilet paper from the magazine office where she’d won the unpaid internship. I rolled my eyes at myself. It would be fine. I’d have to get a motel room, which wasn’t in the budget I planned, but I could find someplace cheap until I found a rental.

  I swung back out onto the highway and drove on and blasted the a/c even though it was chilly out, to make sure I didn’t get sleepy. I cranked up my workout playlist, some classic Britney Spears, and sang along. I made three turns in quick succession, squinted at an oncoming truck with its bright lights blinding me, and was glad when it passed by. I turned off the music when I was within a half hour of the city. With no one on the road, I switched on voice search and said ‘motels near me’ in hopes of finding someplace to crash. The phone didn’t respond. I cut my eyes to it and tapped the screen experimentally. It didn’t light up. I’d never bothered to buy a car charger, so I’d have to wait until I checked in at a motel to plug the phone in and let my dad know I’d arrived safely. Oh well, people had stayed in roadside motels for decades before cell phones were invented and found them just fine by following the signs. I could do the same.

  I kept driving, fighting the yawns that started coming, and rubbed my eyes even though I knew it smeared my mascara. The lights on my dashboard flared and went out. I flicked the interior lights, which didn’t come on, and a slow grinding sound filled my car. I managed to steer it onto the shoulder of the road before it died.

  “Well, crap,” I said to myself.

  My phone was dead. My car was dead. I wasn’t about to try and walk ten miles of highway into the city alone in the dark. So it looked like one problem solved, I thought wryly, I knew where I was sleeping for the night—in my car. I locked the doors, fished a bottle of water out of my purse and took a drink. In the morning I’d walk a little ways and flag down a car, get someone to call a tow truck for me. It was annoying, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

  I got out my notebook and started to write down a list of observations, some funny, some bitchy, about my road trip to the big city, about starting life after college on my own—things that excited me and things that scared me. This was all raw material I could use for the magazine if I ever got a chance to do a feature article or even a sidebar. It was too dark to see, and my handwriting was never the best. Yawning, I put the notebook aside and started to take off my shoes when I saw the flare of red and blue lights track across the dashboard from behind me.

  2

  Good news: the cops had come to my rescue. Bad news: they probably thought I was pulled over trying to sell drugs out of the trunk or something. I dug out my license and put my hands on top of the wheel. I couldn’t roll down the power windows because the car was dead, so I opened the door and stepped out once the officer showed his badge.

  “My car broke down,” I said.

  “I see. Miss Weaver, I’m Officer Derek Jennings. My partner, Officer Harding, is in the squad car. We clocked out after a shift and saw your car. Thought you might be in distress.”

  “No, I’m good,” I said, “I’d appreciate it if you could call me a towing service though, give them my location.”

  “You’re good?” he said, a half smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

  I squared my shoulders, wanting to seem like a capable woman, not a recent grad down on her luck and starting to feel noticeably less spunky in the face of adversity. I gave him my brightest smile, the ‘can I get you anything else?’ waitress smile I’d used when working my way through college.

  “Yes, I’m good,” I said again, brightly.

  “You wouldn’t, say, like a ride into town? I’m sure you have someplace to stay that’s more comfortable than that old Nissan.”

  “Actually, I don’t. My rental plans fell through right before my phone battery died. And then, the car. It’s been sort of a rough night, now that I think about it,” I said with a laugh to show it didn’t bother me all that much.

  “Listen, I’ve got my phone right here,” he held out his cell phone, “use it to call whoever you want to come get you. I don’t feel right leaving a stranded female at a remote roadside.”

  “You said you’re off duty. I don’t want to trouble you. I promise I’m fine,” I said.

  Fact was, Officer Jennings was hot. I didn’t like to give in to the damsel in distress stereotype, but there might be something to it after all—given the fact that the cop who stopped me wasn’t some fat chauvinist who didn’t think women shouldn’t be allowed to drive at night, but a guy w
ho, frankly, could have played a stripper with a cop uniform in the Magic Mike movies. Brown hair, dark eyes, the kind of square jaw that plays well on movie posters and cologne ads.

  “Is there someone you can call?”

  “No,” I said, “Okay? I just graduated college a couple months ago. It’s my first time moving out on my own. I’m working without a net here.”

  “And you don’t want to call home and admit you need help? Miss Weaver, everyone needs help sometimes.”

  “Home is six hours south of here. It’s not like my dad is going to miss work tomorrow to come up here and tell me my car needs to be towed and I should’ve made sure I had a place to stay before I took off. I got the internship at Envy. I worked so hard for it, and never dreamed I’d be chosen, and I got it. So here I am, trying to make it on my own,” I said, throwing my hands up in frustration, “I can’t afford a motel for more than one night and even that’s going to be a pain. If I had any friends nearby, I’d call them. I can’t call the HR lady from Envy at midnight two days before I start and beg for help. I’ll just handle this my way. Sleep in the car, get you to call me a tow truck in the morning. It’s the best way.”

  “Ma’am, I can’t allow you to do that. It’s unsafe. Your vehicle could be struck by a passing car because it’s barely on the shoulder. It’s also possible that someone might come upon you alone and prey on you.”

  “Like werewolves?” I said wryly.

  “No. If you’re smart enough to score an internship at Envy, I’m sure you’re smart enough to know that your plan is shitty. I didn’t become a cop to leave stubborn people stranded by the side of the road in the middle of the night. We’re going to help you.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that,” I said.

  “And I’m not comfortable leaving you here. Do you want me to go get Brett out of the car? He insisted on staying there because he said two of us coming to your door would be intimidating. But he’s pretty big on keeping women safe, so I’ll wave him over and let him give you the stats on violence against women in this state.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend. And since most violence against women is committed by an intimate partner, I’m safe,” I said, growing more frustrated by the minute. I didn’t want to be treated like a helpless little kid.

  “I wouldn’t try the smart mouth with him. He doesn’t have a sense of humor like I do,” Derek Jennings said, showing no trace of playfulness.

  In fact, he looked stern. I was ashamed to admit to myself that I found that attractive, his stone-cold sober demand that I let them keep me safe. I knew I’d describe him tomorrow to my friend Ainsley by saying ‘he was so alpha’. I scolded myself for thinking like a horny teenager when I was supposed to be an independent woman with my first job in journalism.

  I leaned against my car, crossed my arms to try and look casual. When Cop #2 got out of the squad car, taller and bulkier than Officer Jennings, I felt my cheeks flush. I’d always had a wild imagination, gotten in trouble for daydreaming, but this was insane. I blinked back a good cop-bad cop fantasy that threatened to scoop up all my attention. I’d file that away, think about it on my own time once I was settled in to my new life.

  I extended my hand to greet the second gorgeous officer. His uniform was unbuttoned to reveal a black tee beneath.

  “Brett Harding, ma’am,” he said, ducking his head a little. He was hulking and handsome, his skin caramel in color if the flashing red and blue lights did it justice, black hair, and a dimple when he smiled. He had shoulders that looked like he could bench press my Nissan effortlessly.

  “Lynette Weaver,” I said, “I’ve had some car trouble. I told your partner here that I’d appreciate if you’d call a tow truck for me and then you guys can go home and rest. I know you’re officially off duty.”

  “We’re not leaving you here. We will wait with you until someone comes to pick you up,” he said.

  “You acted like he was going to throw me over his shoulder and carry me kicking and screaming to your car,” I said to Officer Derek.

  “I never said he was a caveman. I said he’s the protective type. Most cops are. It’s against our training and our judgment to leave you out here. It’s not happening,” he said.

  “I thought you were supposed to be the good cop and he was the bad cop. Is this just bad cop-bad cop?” I said, trying to make light of it. I just wanted them to go. I was embarrassed enough to find myself stranded with no money and no plan without attractive men fussing over my safety, acting like I was helpless.

  “We have a room,” Brett said.

  “What?”

  “She won’t get in the squad car with us. She’s not gonna go for staying the night,” Derek replied.

  “Uh, noo, I’m not,” I said. “How do you guys even know I’m not some psycho chick trying to set up a mark?”

  Both officers smiled at me as if that was the funniest thing they’d heard in a long time.

  “All I’m saying is, Derek let me bunk at his apartment when I needed someplace to stay. I moved in, paid my rent, and it all worked out. We could lend you a hand, let you bunk at our loft for the rest of the night. We’ve got an extra room.”

  “Uh, no. Thanks,” I said. There was no way I was going home with two strangers and spending the night at their place, cops or no cops.

  “Here,” Derek said, “Look us up on my phone, find the address, check to make sure we’re both on the force.”

  I tapped the screen and searched for their employment information—both were active duty police officers with over five years’ experience. Brett had even won a commendation from the mayor for rescuing a kid from a hostage situation. I located the address and went so far as to send it to Ainsley with a message saying, This is Lyn. Car trouble, stranded, going with two cops Jennings and Harding to this address. Call u tomorrow. Then I passed him the phone.

  “There’s a lock on the inside of the bedroom door,” Brett said, “We’ll give you the key. Neither one of us is looking to do you any harm. In fact, we want to prevent you getting hurt. Come with us, get a few hours of sleep and things’ll look better in the morning.”

  “She has an internship at Envy,” Derek said.

  “Fancy,” Brett replied, “Now will you get in the car?”

  “I’m not crazy about it, I won’t lie,” I said, “This was not the plan. All the electronics turned on me at once—the battery crapped out on my phone right before the dashboard lights faded out and the car died. I’m glad you stopped, and that the police in the area are vigilant and all that, I just don’t like needing help. That probably sounds childish.”

  “Not at all. It’s much harder to accept help than it is to offer it,” Derek said.

  “Is there anything I can load into the trunk for you? Suitcase?”

  “I have a backpack with the essentials. I’ll lock up my suitcase and my boxes in the car until tomorrow, when hopefully I’ll find a place to rent so I can unload it all. And get my car repaired really cheaply,” I said.

  I could tell it was killing Brett that I carried my own backpack, “I got it,” I said when he reached for it. He put his hands in his pockets, trailed after me to the squad car and opened the back door. Derek popped the hood on my car and peered in with his flashlight.

  “Does he know anything about cars?” I asked Brett.

  “He can drive one,” Brett said, “as far as I know, that’s about all.”

  “Great,” I said, “Well, he looks pretty official with the Maglite and the look of concentration on his face.”

  “Five bucks says he doesn’t know where the battery is,” Brett said, “I’ll go get him before he decides to try and repair something.”

  I settled into the backseat of the police car, gave the cage separating me from the front seat an experimental rattle. I fastened my seat belt, reminding myself how lucky I was that the cops had stopped to help me and insisted on taking me somewhere safe. The officers returned, shut off the flashing lights, and we were on our way.


  Derek drove, talking almost nonstop about can’t-miss things to do in the city. Brett was mostly quiet, attentive. He asked if I was warm enough, if I needed to stop anywhere to pick something up. He was considerate, while Derek was more outgoing. They joked around with each other like brothers or best friends, and the atmosphere inside the car was relaxed. I was comfortable with them after a few minutes, the way Derek tried to include me in the conversation and the way that Brett was concerned that I was hungry.

  They drove through for burgers, insisted on getting me something. I dug some ones out of my purse and paid my own way despite their protests. Soon I was chowing down on a bacon cheeseburger and sipping a Diet Coke in the back of a squad car.

  “Do you always take the perps for a burger before they go to a holding cell?” I said.

  “No,” Brett said, while Derek replied, “Only the misdemeanors. Felonies get tacos.”

  I laughed, stuffed some fries in my mouth. I felt better, warm and fed, and knew that these were the good guys. When Derek parked the squad car by an old brick fire station, I shouldered my backpack and got out.

  “We’re on the third floor,” Brett said, “It’s a walk up.”

  I followed them up the stairs and into a huge loft. The floors were painted concrete, the walls exposed brick. The kitchen was open to the living and dining area—stainless steel countertops and appliances, a huge TV with leather recliners facing it. A large canvas smeared with green and blue paint covered most of one wall, reminding me of the ocean. Derek dropped his bag and led me to a door.

  “We keep our workout stuff in here. Try not to trip over the weights. Brett’s a slob with the kettlebells. Here’s the key.”