Sutter

“You, uh, need some help with that?” I slam the door to my work truck and approach the blonde chick balancing a couple of tote bags on top of two giant Louis Vuitton suitcases. She tries to roll them all up the cracked walkway to my bungalow, stopping every few steps to rebalance everything. “You could just make two trips, you know.”

She turns, following my voice, her hooded eyes narrowing in my direction.

First impression? Hot as fuck.

Second impression? High maintenance as fuck.

“Is Melrose your real name?” I ask, grabbing one of her bags. The scent of expensive perfume fills my lungs and I hope to God she’s not as extra as she looks. “Or is it some stage name you made up to make yourself stand out?”

Her head tilts. “Sutter Alcott sounds like the name of an old, rich, white guy.”

Fair enough.

I smirk, twirling my keys on my finger before finding the right one and shoving it in the lock on the front door. She stands behind me, waiting, and I’m sure I smell like ass. I’ve been running wires all day on some new build in Encino and today was hotter than hell.

All in a day’s work.

We head inside, and I place her bag to the left of the foyer. This is where my assistance ends because I’ve got three priorities right now and three priorities only: a hot shower, a cold beer, and a juicy steak.

“You know where you’re going?” I ask. “Did Nick show you your room?”

“He said it was upstairs. The bedroom on the left.”

I chuckle. “Nick’s a moron. My room is on the left. His—yours—is on the right.”

Melrose rolls her eyes. “He’s always been directionally challenged.”

It’s odd imagining the two of them as friends, let alone best friends. He’ll wear the same t-shirt three times before washing it and she’s got on a pair of those red-bottomed heels I always see the women on Robertson wearing.

“You always dress up on moving day?” I ask, noting the curls in her shiny blonde hair and the coat of dark pink lipstick on her full mouth.

“I’m not dressed up.” She peers down at her pointed heels before meeting my gaze. “This isn’t dressed up.”

I chuff. “You’re obviously trying to impress someone with all of this and I have to assume that someone is me.”

I’m messing with her.

Mostly.

Melrose’s full mouth shapes into a circle. “For your information, I had an audition today. Came straight here after.”

“No shit? I was kidding about the stage name thing. Nick didn’t mention you were an actress.” All he told me about her was he’d known her since they were kids and that her grandma was Gloria Claiborne which meant fuck-all to me. The only thing I cared about was not getting stuck with Nick’s half of the rent and utilities. Living here isn’t cheap. “Haven’t seen you in anything.”

I’d remember a face like that.

I’d remember tits like that too.

Her eyes squeezing, she squares her shoulders with mine and places her hand out. “Can you please go longer than thirty seconds without underhandedly insulting me?”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” I wrestle a smirk.

Life’s way too fucking short to take seriously all the time. Work hard, play harder, and try to have a good time at all costs.

“Nick said you were cool,” she says. “He didn’t tell me you have the same sense of humor as a C-list eighties comedian.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now that’s an insult.” I place my palm across my heart, pretending to be offended. “And can you blame the guy for overselling me? He’s cheaper than dirt. He’d do anything to save a buck. I’m just glad I can finally get that fucking Old Milwaukee shit out of my fridge.”

“Nick wouldn’t lie to me.”

I almost choke on my spit. “We’re talking about the same guy, right?”

She releases the handle on her suitcase and folds her arms across her chest. “I’ve known him for almost two decades. He’s never lied to me once.”

“That you know of …”

“What are you trying to do here?” Her brows meet. “Are you testing me? Trying to feel me out? Test my limits? I think I did the same thing once … when I was a toddler.”

“Ouch.” I head to the stairs, feigning an emotional wound. “You done now? Can I go take my shower?”

“Don’t mess with me, Sutter,” she says. “Just because I’m nice, doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’m an expert at reading between the lines. I’d highly recommend that you not underestimate me.”

I’m at a rare loss for words. And I’ll admit—I completely underestimated her. I figured she’d be some typical Brentwood Basic Bitch with zero personality, sky high ambition, and dungeon-level self-esteem.

But … nope.

“So …” Her manicured brows rise and she steps toward me, squaring her body with mine. “How about we start over?”

“What?”

Extending her right hand, a smile claims her pretty face. “I’m Melrose. And I’m your new roommate. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

She’s being fake. Acting. Something. I don’t know if she’s trolling me or if she genuinely wants to start over, but I don’t think that’s how this works.

But two can play that game.

“Melrose, so lovely to meet you. Nicholas thinks the world of you. I’m sure I’ll adore you just the same,” I say in an over-the-top, saccharin sweet voice as I meet her hand with mine.

“Much better.” She winks.

Something tells me she might be the first girl to ever beat me at my own game.

But I’ve never been good at losing so … challenge accepted.