The only man I ever lived with was my ex. For one year it felt like I was living in the House of a Thousand Corpses.

Rage. Violence. And sorrow.

Nervousness covers me like a blanket, and I don’t know what to expect from living with Gunner. What if he’s a neat freak who likes everything in order? Or worse, a slob who leaves stained underwear in the middle of the bathroom floor? What if he brings home a woman, and they traumatize my ears by making me listen to them screwing like rabbits? Yeah, no one wants to hear that.

“Can I make a request?”

He tilts his head to the side. “You can make any request you want.”

“Please don’t bring any of your sluts home while I’m staying here. I don’t want to see or hear you humping another person.”

“Duly noted.” He rolls his eyes.

“You’re not going to ask me not to do the same thing?”

Shaking his head, he says, “You’re not fucking anyone.”

“How do you know?” I arch my eyebrow.

“Oh, I know, believe me.”

“I have a boyfriend, Gunner.”

As he takes long strides closer to me, I walk backward until my back brushes against the cold wall. Gunner plants both hands above my head, caging me in like a wild animal. His eyes stare down at me with pools of anger. My heart pounds loud in my ears, deafening my thoughts.

We hate Gunner, I say inwardly to my heart.

We don’t want to have anything to do with him.

Please, don’t fail me like you did nine years ago.

Remember how I had to resuscitate you from heartbreak?

Well, don’t fall for him.

“Where is he? I’d like to bash his skull for allowing his woman to go homeless.” His tone scares me because it’s as calm as the ocean on a sunny day, and his breath tickles my forehead.

I swallow hard and my stomach clenches at his words. “I’m joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” He taps his fingers on my nose.

Not only does he put the W in whore, but he also puts the C in crazy and all capital letters.

The door dings open, and he steps out of the elevator, taking away his body heat and replacing it with the cold draft. The way he went protective caveman ignites a passion inside me. The same passion I locked away with a key and tossed it to the side. No, this is not happening. Unfortunately, my girly parts don’t agree. My nipples pebble against the cheap fabric of my shirt, and my sex is wet as a fire hydrant.

Traitors.

Screw Gunner for making me feel things and screw him for caring about me.