“SLEEP WELL LAST NIGHT?” I’m brushing my teeth in our shared bathroom with the door open when I hear the shuffle of heavy feet in the hallway.

A moment later, a shirtless Sutter with mussed hair stands in the doorway, resting his palm against the jamb.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” I play dumb, eyes narrowing as I meet his in the mirror’s reflection. “Not sure what you’re referring to?”

“Meegan,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “You cock-blocked me.”

“Ohhh,” I say. “That.”

Sutter presses his back against the doorway before folding his arms. His face is etched in a hard scowl, and I wonder if he went to bed that way.

Probably.

“Sucks when you have plans and someone else sabotages them.” I dab my mouth on a towel and place my toothbrush back in the cup. Squeezing between Sutter and the doorway, I turn to face him when I reach the hall. “I told you, don’t mess with me, Sutter.”

“I wasn’t messing with you. I was saving you from making a huge mistake.”

“You must really think I’m dense,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not falling for that. You didn’t do it out of the kindness of your heart because I’m not entirely convinced you have one. You didn’t save me. You were trying to be a dick because apparently you get off on it or something.”

He stares at me, not saying a word. I don’t know if I’ve pissed him off or if he’s letting my words sink in and not responding because he knows I’m right.

Either way, I couldn’t care less.

Turning, I head to my room, only as soon as I twist the doorknob, Sutter clears his throat.

“You really think sucking wrinkled dicks is what’s going to launch your career?” he asks.

Facing him, I say, “I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t just say that.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Truth hurts.”

“The truth?” I release an incredulous laugh. “The truth is that I had a date and you sent him away because … I don’t know … because maybe you want to sleep with me? And you’re jealous that someone twice your age has more game than you do?”

A slow smile paints his mouth.

It’s a beautiful, perfect, arrogant little smirk, one that makes me momentarily forget how much I can’t stand him … before swiftly remembering.

“This isn’t about game,” he says. “This is about the principle of the situation. Do you honestly think some sixty-year-old man wants to date you for any reason that isn’t related to sex? Do you honestly think his intentions are noble? Or do you think he just wants some pretty little thing to show off to his friends? Some hot new starlet to take under his wing until he’s bored and ready for a new one?”

“He’s a well-respected man in the industry,” I say. “He’s got a great reputation, and he’s always been nothing but courteous and respectful anytime I’ve been around him.”

It doesn’t hit me until this very moment that Sutter just implied that I’m pretty. But does he mean it in a general way? Or does he mean that he thinks I’m pretty? And does it matter? And why do I care?

No. No, it doesn’t matter.

And I don’t care … or at least I shouldn’t care.

Sutter slow claps. “Sounds like a real stand-up guy. I take back everything I said. It’s totally normal for guys like him to bag girls like you.”

“What the hell do you mean girls like me?” I ask.

“Do I really have to explain that?” His palm slashes through the air.

I nod, waiting in silence, arms crossed.

“You know, girls like … girls that look like sex on legs,” he says.

“Sex on legs?” I echo his words. I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that. “What does that even mean?”

His careful gaze skims above my head, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts, trying to find the right words to say to get him out of this corner he’s backed himself into.

“You think I’m sexy,” I say the words for him, since he appears to be struggling. Our eyes lock. “Unfortunately for you, I’d take a wrinkled dick over whatever you’re selling any day of the week.”

His jaw slacks before curling into a simper, and he drags his hand along his lower lip before saying, “Dollface, you’d be so lucky.”

I roll my eyes. “Do me a favor and don’t call me that ever again.”

Sutter’s lips twist. He likes getting under my skin.

“Anyway. Rejection is a jagged little pill,” I tell him, “but just a little nugget of wisdom for you: it goes down a lot easier when you try to convince yourself you never wanted it in the first place. You can quote me on that.”

I leave him in the hall, slamming my bedroom door and twisting the lock, checking the knob to ensure that this one isn’t broken and he’s not going to be “accidentally” busting in here three point five seconds from now.

Taking a second to compose myself and wrap my head around that little fiery exchange, I locate my phone on the dresser and fire off a text to Nick with trembling hands.

ME: You owe me.

NICK: ???

ME: Your roommate.

NICK: ???

NICK: Everything ok?

ME: Nope.

NICK: Mel … what’s going on?

ME: He’s obnoxious. Arrogant. Rude. Defiant. Disrespectful. Presumptive. Need me to go on because I can. I can keep this going.

NICK: Sutter?

ME: Yes! Who else?!

NICK: That doesn’t sound like him …

Nick’s not one to play dumb, and I don’t want to believe he’d have put me in this position had he known it’d turn out this way, but now I’m stuck.

NICK: Want me to talk to him?

Exhaling, I fire back an answer.

ME: No. I’m sorry. I just needed to vent. I’ll figure something out.

I promised Nick I’d do this for him. I need to find a way to make this work.

NICK: Did he hurt you?? Did something happen??

ME: No.

Sitting my phone aside, I bury my face in my hands, wondering if I overreacted, if I’m PMSing or extra irritable because of all these auditions that never seem to call me back lately, if I somehow brought this entire thing upon myself by instigating this little war … but I don’t know.

NICK: Maybe you two should hang out and get to know each other? It hasn’t even been a week. He’s a really good guy, Mel. I promise. I don’t know where this is coming from. Give him another chance. If it gets worse, let me know, okay?

ME: <3

I dock my phone on its charger before peeling out of my pajamas and into some leggings and a tank top so I can go for a run and clear my head.

Maybe later I’ll see if Aerin wants to meet me for a drink so I can vent about Sutter. And about Nick. I’m not sure what planet Nick is living on these days, but the last thing I’d call Sutter is “a really good guy.”

Insufferable bastard? Yes.

Unbearable asshole? Hell yes.

Really good guy? Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.