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Preview from chapter one
My Sexy Basement Roommate: A Slow Burn
The basement was one long rectangle. Two bedrooms at opposite ends, a narrow bathroom in the middle, and the kitchen open to the living space. Concrete walls, low ceiling, one high window that let in a strip of afternoon light. Cheap, private, and ours.
Meera moved in with two suitcases and a yoga mat she never used. Brown skin, quiet voice, the kind of body that looked strong even when she was just standing at the counter in an oversized T-shirt. She worked from home most days. So did I. We learned each other’s rhythms fast.
It started with the small things.
She’d walk past me in the morning wearing only a thin tank top and shorts, hair still messy from sleep, the soft curve of her stomach and the line of her hips visible every time she reached for a mug. She’d stand at the stove making chai, bare feet on the cool floor, and the smell of cardamom would fill the whole basement. I’d sit at the small table with my laptop and watch the way the shirt rode up when she stretched for the higher shelf.
She never rushed to cover herself.
Some evenings she’d come out of the bathroom after a shower with just a towel wrapped around her, skin still damp, and walk the short distance to her room. The towel never quite stayed closed. I’d catch the flash of brown thigh, the edge of her breast, and then the door would close. She’d leave it cracked open sometimes. Just enough.
The kitchen became the worst of it.
One night she was chopping onions for dinner, standing at the counter in a sports bra and loose pants, the light over the stove making her skin look warmer. I came up behind her to grab a glass and my chest brushed her back. She didn’t move away. Just kept chopping, a little slower. I stayed longer than I needed to, reaching past her, my arm almost around her waist. When I finally stepped back she glanced over her shoulder and said, “You could help, you know.”
I stayed.
We cooked side by side after that. Her hip would bump mine when she turned. My hand would rest on the counter beside hers. Once, when she reached across me for the salt, her breast pressed lightly against my arm and neither of us pretended it didn’t happen. She just looked up at me for a second, eyes dark, then went back to stirring.