Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story
Read Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story Online
Authors: Kelly Washington
Collide Into You
A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story
KELLY WASHINGTON
Kelly Washington Books
WASHINGTON DC USA
Copyright © 2014 by KA Shire
.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the mailing and/or the e-mail address below.
Kelly Washington Books
P.O. Box 650092
Sterling, Virginia 20165-0092
http://smallfiction.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design © 2014 G.S. Prendergast (coveryourdreams.net)
Edited by Susan Helene Gottfried (www.westofmars.com)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9906758-0-8 (Kelly Washington)
Collide Into You, Kelly Washington. -- 1st ed.
Also by Kelly Washington
Falling For Him
(The Complete Series)
Falling For You
(Vol 1)
Hungry For You
(Vol 2)
Ready For You
(Vol 3)
Short Stories
“Smolder”
“Captive”
“Ignite Me”
“A Sinful Wife”
“Homecoming”
“Prism of the Crab Gods”
Writing as Jean 8. Aeglothecca
“The Christmas Journey”
Writing as Della Roth
The Pale Waters
The Queen of Scarred Heart
The Daughter of Lava
The Priestess of Reclaimed Souls
For my son, who is my very own piece of magic.
Keira
“W
OW
,”
A
MASCULINE
VOICE
SAYS
from across the living room. Not
to
me.
At
me. And he says the word “wow” in two syllables.
Wow-wa
. It is my roommate, Dillan. Or, rather, I’m
his
new roommate.
Did he always have to talk so sarcastically?
I wait for his next comment. “Keira, whatever the opposite of amazing is,
that’s
how you look today.”
I look down at what I’m wearing, which is my Army Combat Uniform, or ACUs for short. My hair is pulled up in a low bun and, in the interest of time, I’m wearing pretty much zero makeup. I look exactly like what a twenty-seven-year-old staff sergeant in the Army is supposed to look like: like every other female staff sergeant in the Army.
I’m fairly close to being late for my first day at the Pentagon, and the last thing I need is for the man-slut I’m rooming with to harass me. I don’t care that he’s my brother’s best friend, or that I’ve always had a secret
love-hate
crush on him, or that his abs are totally to die for and that looking at him is like looking directly at the sun. I’m rooming with him only because I need a place to crash before I find my own place.
Look away, Keira!
Those abs will totally blind you.
My older brother, Jon, who’s in the Navy and deployed to Bahrain, asked Dillan to let me stay here after the Army reassigned me to Washington, DC.
Dillan, shirtless and drying his hair, stands just outside his bedroom door. His wide-open bedroom door. Beyond him, I can see a naked female form sleeping on his bed. She’s blond, leggy, and those are totally fake breasts.
Secret
love-hate
crush aside, in truth, after living here for only two days, I’ve come to the realization that I sort of don’t like him. I’m glad that the living room separates our two bedrooms. Seriously, I don’t want to hear sounds coming from his room at night. Not after what I heard yesterday.
I’m tired of trying to
not
look at Dillan, so I glance out the window. I still cannot believe that I’m living in a high-rise apartment with an amazing view of the Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial. Too bad it came with a man-slut.
I try to figure out what Dillan’s talking about when his lips curve in a victorious manner. I’ve been silent too long after the insult.
“What?” I ask, tilting my head. “Are you not used to women being clothed in front of you? Perhaps you’re not exactly sure how buttons and all those crazy little fastening thingies work? Listen, can we insult each other later? I’ve got to catch the Metro.”
He grins as he reaches for a shirt of his own, a blue, collared shirt, and purposefully buttons it up slowly, as if to illustrate that, yes, he knows how to dress himself.
What an accomplishment
, I think.
Whatever will he do next? Use his finger to pick his nose?
I smile at the juvenile thought.
Dillan crosses the distance between us as he tucks the shirt into tailored trousers. He cleans up nicely. I know he isn’t some bum. He works at a prestigious firm as some bigwig’s senior executive assistant. Let me clarify: That bigwig boss is a woman. And if I’ve learned anything about Dillan Pope in the two days that I’ve been his roommate
and
from all the stories Jon has told me over the last few years, it’s that he can charm anyone.
Myself excluded, of course. I find something unattractive about overly attractive men. Sort of.
My roommate clears his throat as if he has some big announcement. I roll my eyes and look at my watch.
Hint, hint
,
buddy
.
“I was just going to say that you looked much better this morning after you came in from your run,” he says in a low voice. I study his chiseled jaw, his light green eyes, and his dark hair. Not that I was smelling him or anything, but he smells like sandalwood.
My run?
That was two hours ago. “Can you please make sense,
Devon
?”
He chuckles. “It’s Dillan, but you already knew that. Don’t act like I don’t affect you. I mean—” he shrugs “—I really don’t care one way or the other. You’re not my type.” He slips on his shoes and folds his suit jacket over his arm and turns to go. “But, for the record,
Sergeant
Holtslander
,” he says with a smirk, “I certainly like the little running outfit a whole hell of a lot better than whatever that—” he motions up and down “—shapeless uniform is called.”
He winks as he leaves the apartment.
I stare at the closed door and wonder, not for the first time in the last thirty-six hours,
what have I gotten myself into?
Dillan
I
LEAVE
THE
APARTMENT
WITH
a little pep in my step and walk to one of my favorite places, Ellen’s Corner Bakery, and wait in the usual long line. While not technically on a
corner
, Ellen’s bakery feels like your grandmother’s home. Your grandmother’s home on steroids.
Mismatched, cushy chairs push up next to kitschy, antique tables. The walls are covered with famous faces, old newspaper clippings, artistic findings from all over the world, and, near the register, an older-looking wedding photo of a soldier and a young bride is on display. I love the place. So does everyone else, as evidenced by the long line.
While I wait my turn, I can’t help but think about Jon’s little sister.
Keira is cute, adorable, and, well, okay, she’s freaking hot. I remember her little running outfit from this morning, which consisted of not much more than an orange sports bra and tiny—and I mean tiny—lime green running shorts. The outfit was bright enough to land planes. It certainly landed
my
attention.
At six a.m., Keira returned from her workout. The lights were out. She didn’t notice me at the fridge, drinking milk straight from the carton. But I sure as hell noticed her. God, those tan legs, her slim waist, and her dewy, sweaty skin. I wanted to bathe her right then and there. With my tongue.
And when she bent over and began to stretch out…I nearly choked on the milk.
“You’re deep in thought this morning, Dillan,” the cashier-slash-baker-slash-owner, Ellen, says. She is a young fifty-year-old lady who I have seen every morning since moving to Washington, DC, seven years ago.
I add up the math… I’ve seen Ellen at least 2,555 times. Sometimes I am here
twice
a day. That’s a lot of coffee. And muffins. And innocent flirting.
“You know I can’t start my day without seeing you, Ellen,” I tell her, grinning, and order the usual: a large black coffee. I can’t help but flirt with her. “If I were thirty years older, sweetie, I’d romance you like it was no one’s business.”
“Careful what you wish for,” she says in her sweet-as-pie voice. She stares at me in a manner that seems way too intense. “And I’m fairly certain that the thoughts running through that handsome head of yours would make Lucifer blush.” I get the feeling that in some other life, she might have been a witch. She gives off that vibe.
“Lucifer, yeah, but not you, Ellen.”
“True,” she says with a laugh as she makes coffee for another customer. Ellen points to a sign above her head that announces her bakery’s thirtieth anniversary party next Tuesday. “Did you get the invite?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She smiles brightly. “And how’s the new roommate? Jon’s sister is renting your second bedroom, right?”
I wonder if Keira drank coffee.
Did it matter?