Alpha Fighter Read Free

She extends her hand formally in greeting. I look at it—I'm a little amused to be honest—and then take it. I'm expecting a wimpy little flop, but she's got a good grip and gives me a firm handshake. It's unexpected from someone that size, with such a delicate little hand, but she holds her own.
    "This is the living room." I wave at the couch, television and coffee table off to our right.
    "Nice view, maaaaan." The pothead has loped over to the window and is staring down at my view of a dumpster in an alleyway in pure rapture. I raise my eyebrows.
    "And this is the kitchen," I say, leading them in to the small kitchen. P-p-peter leans over the sink, like he's examining the drainage or something.
    "What's the b-b-biggest thing you can p-put down there?" he asks, in his pedophile-sounding voice, "I-i-in the garbage d-d-d-disposal?"
    "What's the—?" I give him a look. "Look, I'm not a neat freak but I'm not going to live in a sty, either. I'm not home that much and I'm looking for the same in a roommate. No weird stuff. Pay your rent on time. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."
    "Sounds good," says Savannah, coming back over from checking the stove. A girl who looks like that and knows how to cook? Mmmmm.

Chapter Four
    Savannah
    T he newspaper description didn't paint an unfair description of the place. It's really a bit of a dump, nothing at all like home. Forget about a ten-range stove with electric power and a self-cleaning oven. Forget about a twelve-man couch and floor-to-ceiling platinum TV screens, augmented by in-wall surround-sound stereo speaker systems. Forget about granite counter tops and crystal chandeliers. But seriously, if you are going to have kitchen appliances from the seventies, would it really hurt to de-grit the burners now and then? This is clearly such a bachelor pad.
    The first thing I do when I move in is going to have to be a thorough cleaning of this place. I may not have money anymore, but give me some Lysol and a Brillo pad and I can still make the place shine like a poor man's treasure.
    I'm surprised to feel a little excitement at the thought. Then again, it is exciting. I'm finally on my own and sure, I have to fend for myself. But I'm a big girl and I'd rather do my own dirty work than sit in a crystal prison for the rest of my life, as I would be if I married that cheating scumbag, Nate.
    I also can't deny that the eye candy roommate isn't a little exciting. He's tall and muscular and it took me a second to recover when he opened the door and I was suddenly presented with his chiseled, bare chest and low-slung shorts, drawing attention to the muscular V-line framing his eight-pack. His strong arms, the kind that could do justice to even the toughest pickle jar, not to mention cause some serious damage on the streets, are covered in a flawless set of full sleeves. I skip a breath and have to catch myself in order not to let it show.
    Now that's a man.
    But there is no point in thinking about it, because there is no way that anything is happening here. There is no way that anything is happening with him, or any other guy for that matter, when the stakes are so high. Getting involved with me isn't like getting involved with another pretty eighteen-year-old. Runaway or not, I'm still the engaged daughter of Flint Santos and the blood price on the head of whoever dared to stain my purity, unwitting or not, would be astronomical. There is no way anyone, even this physically flawless Adonis, could escape the consequences.
    No, I'm just here for a room. Besides, Cooper is already involved with someone. Or more likely, given her revealing last night's clothing and overdone makeup that screamed ‘trying too hard’, he is a charmer who beds women for the game of it and has notches on his bedpost that number in the triple digits.
    Even if I wasn't forbidden to love anyone but Nate, who's a self-absorbed jerk that there's no way in hell that I can love, Cooper is not relationship