11

CARLY

 

Coffee. Need coffee. I slept from the time I got home yesterday until my alarm this morning, other than the brief unpleasant encounter with him. And I still feel like I need more sleep. I stumble to the coffee pot.

I drop the coffee pod into the single-serve machine and hit the button, but as I’m fitting my mug underneath, I feel something staticky on the back of my neck.

“Hey.”

I hear this as I feel warm breath by my ear, from a deep husky voice, while being assaulted by a manly scent. Earthy. Manly. Musk. Woodsy.  And dark chocolate.  So utterly masculine it is literally an assault on my senses. All of them.

I freeze.

I’m standing here in my tiny lowrider baby blue sleep shorts and matching crop top racerback tank, my hair a wild and curly mess, sleep most likely crusting the corners of my eyes, with morning breath, as I just needed that first fortifying sip more than air, and now this?

He’s crowding me from behind. I see a bare muscled and corded arm reach up into the cupboard to my right for a coffee mug. His other hand is resting on the counter on my left, like… two inches from my hip.

Nope, not two inches. His thumb stretches out and grazes my exposed hip bone while the rest of his fingers continue to rest on the edge of the marble counter.

I swallow hard and fight the tingles, thinning my lips in anger as the machine finishes gurgling that nectar of the gods into my mug.

“Uh…you wanna step back?” I grind out, shoulders pulled up to my ears, my hands up in the air defensively, but ready to ball into fists.

I feel a breeze as he does. I grab my cup and turn around, ready to melt him into a pile of steaming goo with laser beams shooting from my eyes, but he’s standing there in just a white fluffy towel and it’s low, and I mean low, on his hips. Any lower and I’d see if X marks the spot where that treasure trail leads.

His hair is wet, messy, still dripping, in fact. Oh God---so is his tanned and muscled chest. There are droplets of water all over those pecs. My mouth is dry as my eyes land on his chest. I put my cup to my mouth, my left fuckoff finger and thumb pinch my nose as I move away, and I take the opportunity to rub the corners of my eyes. Yep, eye crust. Great.

I hear him chuckle as the coffee machine starts making noise again. I give him the finger behind his back. But as I do, he glances over his shoulder and spots me, then barks out laughter.

I’m outta there. Shower time. Maybe a cold one.

God, I hope he didn’t see that my nipples are hard. I glance down. Not like he could miss it.

That’s it, Carly!  No more wandering out of your room in a state of semi-undress. No more seeing me without full armor on. Dressed, hair done, makeup on. Zero weakness.

New Rule, rule #4:

Never Show Weakness to a potential enemy.

Re-cap:

1. Don’t be a doormat.
2. Forgive and Forget are now F-words.
3. Not everyone is pure of heart. Be suspicious of everybody.
4. Never show weakness to a potential enemy. (See rule 3)

 

***

 

He’s not here now that I’m armored up and ready to take on the day, so I resist the urge to stomp my feet and instead I grab some fruit and granola bars and stuff them in my bag, remembering that yesterday’s sandwich is still in the fridge at work since I went out to lunch with Mr. Carmichael.

I get downstairs to the lobby and Aiden is standing there laughing with Ally when I get off the elevator.

His head is thrown back and his shoulders are shaking, he’s laughing so hard and Ally is in her glory, smiling at him with stars in her eyes, clearly happy that she said something to get him to that state.

He’s wearing a grey suit and a frigging Christian Grey tie. Yep. It looks exactly like that tie. My eyes land on the tie and my mouth goes dry.

He smirks. Like he knows I recognize it.

Such an asshole.

“Mornin’ Car,” Ally says and hugs me like she hasn’t seen me in ages.

I hug her back.

“Your roommate is also our road mate today. Aiden lost his keys last night so he’s cabbin’ it with us. You look gorgeous today!”

I give her a tight smile. “Thanks, you too.” Today, she’s in white tights with pink polka dots and a pink tunic. She’s wearing powder blue suede high-heeled boots and her pixie pink hair looks sex-mussed with blue butterfly barrettes in it. She has purple lipstick on and her nails are painted the same blue as her shoes.

She looks at me quizzically.

I look to Aiden and he’s standing there still smirking.

Smirking. Not apologetic about waking me the night before, about being inappropriate with me. No. He was also inappropriate with me this morning, and now he’s absolutely trying to toy with me with that smirk.

“That color does great things for you,” Ally says, and we all look toward the door, seeing the taxi pull up. Yep, same guy as the last two morning cabs.

I’m wearing black with a touch of coral.  I now own a whole lot of this color. Today it’s a black and coral wrap dress with just a bit of a ruffle and I’m wearing nude pumps. My hair is up in a bun with tendrils framing my face, and I have a shimmery wet peach lip gloss that I just bought. I think makes my lips look great.  I don’t have a big ego, but when Layla the stylist put it on me, she made this big o-face and told me it was my magic lip-gloss.

“Wear this, girl, and you can conquer the free world. Trust what Layla is tellin’ you. She won’t steer you wrong.”

Layla spoke of her self in third person a lot. But, she is fantastic for my self-confidence. I wished I could’ve brought her to San Diego with me.

I half-regretted all the money I spent upgrading my wardrobe for the big move after my sister maxed out my credit card, but I suddenly feel like it was a very worthwhile investment to have to live hand-to-mouth when I see Aiden’s eyes land on my mouth as we make our way to the revolving door.

Wait. I shouldn’t be thinking this way. I shouldn’t be thinking it’s good that he’s objectifying me.  I’m here to further my career. Re-boot what was a mess of a life. That’s it, for the moment. And even if I was interested in pursuing a guy, it wouldn’t be this alphahole jerk I wanted to impress.

Then again, if I throw him off his game, maybe he won’t make me feel like I’m inferior due to his apparent charisma and Texas-sized ego.

Ally gets into the carousel first, and instead of getting the next one to myself, Aiden gets in the same one with me, crowding me. By the time we get outside, I feel goosebumps on the back of my neck and all up and down my arms, despite the fact that my face is heating with anger.   He moves faster than me to open the back door for Ally, who climbs in. His thumb grazes my upper arm, making me startle. He’s felt those goosebumps and intentionally pointed them out. Rat bastard.

And now he’s still holding the door, still crowding me, and I have to climb into the back seat of the cab in a dress.

I bend to do so and yikes… my ass brushes him. I’m not sure where on him, but I can guess.

I scoot in beside Ally and her face is alight with amusement. I shoot her a glare and she busts up laughing. Her eyes bounce between me and Aiden, who is now shutting the door, a weird look on his face.

I glare at him.

He swallows, eyes on my lips, then gives his head a shake. “What’s your name, cabbie?”  He directs the question forward, but his eyes are still on me.

“I am Ash,” our usual driver replies in an accent I can’t place. “You work with these girls?”

“Mornin’ Ash. I do. I’m Aiden, and since you already know Carly and Ally, here, I’m guessin’ you know where to take us?”

“Yes, sir. I do know.”

“Then, take us to work, if you please.” He waves his hand.

The cab pulls away.

I try to scoot over, closer to Ally, but this is one of those small hybrid cars and there’s not really enough room for the three of us to be comfortable in the back, especially with him being so tall. Aiden puts his arm around the back of the seat, likely for space, but it puts his chest at almost my cheek and his body is plastered to the side of me.

His cologne or bodywash or aftershave (or combination of the three) is heady.

“Wow, Bossman. Hope this isn’t an HR violation, but your cologne is bomb,” Ally says, eyes big and on him. “It smells like… like…” she gives her head a shake at a loss for words.

Sex potion is what comes to my mind, but no way am I saying that aloud.

“Good. It smells good. Sex and chocolate. Good-God-good.”  Ally chuckles.

Aiden laughs with her and then it melts away and his face scrunches up. “But not everything smells good. What’s that smell in here?”

The cab smells terrible. It wasn’t as bad as the day I’d arrived from the airport, but now that the Aiden Sex Potion aroma has settled, there’s also that thick onion, garlic, and body odor combination. And there’s another nuance to it, too. Like rotting meat.

“Open the front windows, will ya, Ash, my man?” Aiden calls out after he and Ally both open their windows.

“Feel free to bury your faces right here, ladies; let me mask that smell for ya,” he offers.

“Damn, you’re too far away,” Ally grumbles, flirtily. “Guess I’ll have to bury my face in Carly.” She leans in teasingly and rubs her cheek, like a cat, along my arm.

“Ooh, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Aiden’s face lights up.

I’m staring straight ahead, jaw tight, beyond annoyed.

“This feels like an HR skit in an anti-workplace-harassment video,” I mumble.

“Isn’t it great?” Ally retorts, eyes dancing with mirth.

Ugh. Just get us to work already.

He opens the doors for us, closing after us, then stands too close in the elevator, and walks too close to me all the way to my cubicle. I get so flustered that I almost trip on a floor mat just as we’re rounding the corner near Ally’s cube. He catches me, by the hips and steadies me.

By. The. Hips.

He then fits himself against the back of me.

“Fallin’ for me?”

I glare over my shoulder, red-faced. He’s wearing a stupid smirk.

I growl at him and he chuckles like he thinks my roar is cute. His eyes are on my mouth.

Five seconds after I’ve hung my bag over my hook, Ally’s head is popping up.

“What on earth is happening with you two?”

I shake my head and wave my hand nonchalantly.

Aiden’s in his office, on the phone, but he’s got a perfect view of us. 

She’s standing there, waiting for me to answer.

“Not now,” I mumble, and she stares for a second and then I turn around and open the lid to my laptop.

“Lunch. My treat. You’re gonna spill.”

No, I’m not. I don’t say this though, I let out a little nervous laugh.

“Can’t do lunch today. Maybe tomorrow.”

 

***

 

It has been a great day. A productive day. I managed to avoid him all day long as well as avoid lunch with Ally. It was easy with him, since he seemed to be in a boardroom all day rather than his office with a view of me.  Not so easy with Ally, who wasn’t easy to convince that I needed to work through my lunch.

I’ve gotten well acquainted with all the areas of my new job, I think. I’m ready to start wowing these people with my skills.

At 5:00, Ally informs me the cab is here and Aiden is coming, too. And I’m thinking, grrrr.

I’ve had my nose to the grindstone all day, ate lunch at my desk, and worked my patootie off.  And I am in no mood for him. I want a long hot soak in that big soaker tub and to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine.

We’re in a different cab going home and it’s a nice, big pine-scented minivan so there’s room for us to spread out and breathe easy. Ally climbs into the middle row in the bucket seat behind the driver. I climb into the back bench seat. Aiden sits right beside me in the back.

Not the passenger seat up front. Not the separate bucket seat beside Ally. Not even the passenger side of bench I’m on. He’s in the middle seat in the center, his thigh plastered to mine.

I glare at him. He acts oblivious as Ally tells the cabbie our building address.

My phone rings and I pull it out of my bag.

Jon Calling

I reject the call.

“Who’s Jon?” Aiden asks.

“You’re rude.” I glare at him.

He smiles, eyes on my mouth.

I stuff my phone back into my bag and try (and fail) to ignore him.

It’s a long ten-minute drive with his thigh right against mine, his eyes on me, his scent irritating me. He still smells good. No, great.

Jerk.

I’m reminded of him behind me that morning in the kitchen. He and Ally talk about work, about an upcoming tech show in New York and he remarks that we’ll be there. She talks about some campaign she did a few years back for a similar show in Baltimore and he tells her to send him examples.

The whole time he’s talking to her, he’s leaning in close to me, as if he’s seeking maximum physical contact.  It’s unnerving.

 

Aiden’s blazer starts to ring, so he digs into an inside pocket to fetch his phone. We have no choice but to eavesdrop.

“Aiden here… What? Not likely. No. After the weekend, are you kidding? Not a fuckin’ chance. After all that you send me headless nudes last night? You must think I’m a real stupid fuck, don’t you? Of course I’m serious. Oh yeah? Nope. Not interested in riding your crazy train again, bitch… Fuck off or a certain video will get circulated around the country club your parents go to.  No? Try me, bitch… Yep, fuck you right back, babe.”

He hangs up and dials a number, angrily and then barks, “That errand I texted you about three days ago?  Bella? When am I gonna have news? Yep. Meet me for a drink tonight and talk me off this ledge or I might pull the trigger.”

He ends the call.

The tension could be cut with a knife.  I don’t know if Ally feels it as much as me, but I doubt it. The day I arrived, he was arguing with that girl in the apartment about a sex video on his phone.

I glance at him as he puts his phone back into his pocket and the ruthless look on his face makes my blood chill. He catches me looking and winks at me.

I’m relieved when I see our apartment building.

I ignore Seth who strangely doesn’t speak to us. In fact, he gives us a professional nod when the three of us move through the lobby.

I’m not relieved when Ally gets off the elevator and it’s just us two for the last few floors up. I feel tension in the elevator in the form of him watching me. I ignore him and stare at the progression of the button lights above the doors. I’m out the door first and as I’m fumbling for my keys in my bag, I hear a jingle and he’s got his keys in his hand and he’s unlocking the door.

I follow him in and then my footsteps stutter. Where did those keys come from?

“I thought you lost those,” I say.

“She speaks,” he observes.

My eyes meet his and I’m frowning.

He winks and strolls down the hall to his bedroom and goes inside.

“I spoke when I told you that you were rude!” I call out.

Did he just get them back? Or, did he only pretend to lose them?

Whatever. Who cares?

I head to my room and flop onto my bed, trying to make sense of that even though it doesn’t matter. My phone is ringing from my bag.

Stephanie calling.

Decline.

Maybe I should change my number to a San Diego one and only give it to my mother.

Two minutes later, she makes my voicemail ding.

I glance at the screen and see I missed a call from Caitlin, too.  Seven voicemail messages now wait for me.

I hear a sound that I’m pretty sure is the apartment door closing. Maybe he’s gone out. Good.

I head across the hall with a change of clothes and my train case. I peel my clothes off and pour lots of my orange blossom bath foam in. I get into the awesome soaker tub and soak. And soak. When I’m done, I dry off, lotion up, re-tie my hair into a bun, and get into a grey sweatshirt dress with big pockets that I love to wear when I’m doing nothing. I bring my work clothes and toiletries back to my room. I’m not leaving anything out since it’s not technically just my bathroom.

Since I’m pretty sure he’s not here, I head to the kitchen to find something cold to drink.

As soon as I step over the threshold of the hallway into the great room, I get a whiff of food cooking.  He looks over his naked shoulder at me from the stove and his eyes heat up.

Oh shit. He’s in just a pair of sweatpants.

Shit. SHIT. I’m not wearing armor. No make-up, not even any shoes on my feet. I’m in casual around-the-house sweats that show off my naked legs. In fact, as much as it’s a sweatshirt dress, it’s a little bit sexy. It only comes to mid-thigh and it has slits on the side and enough cleavage to draw attention.

Well, might as well approach. To avoid him after he saw me would show some weakness, I guess.

“I thought you went out,” I mumble.

“I just went down to the gym.” He’s got eyes on me. On my legs.

“There’s a gym in the building?” I ask.

His eyes move back up. “Level P1.”

“Can I use it?” I ask.

“Yep,” he replies, eyes on my legs.

I get to the counter and we are a matching pair. He’s in grey sweatpants and bare-chested, barefoot.  Wet hair. By his scent I can tell he’s showered and bathed himself in tha sexual chocolate man soap.

SHIT. Grey sweatpants. Don’t look for the dick print, Carly. Don’t look!

I look. Oh shit. It’s there. It’s definitely there.

My eyes zoom to the stove. Vegetables in a pan. Another pan simmering with chicken. And a giant pot of bubbling water.

Wait. My addled-by-dick-print brain plays catch-up.

This is my food. My food.  Again.

I had the makings of a stir fry in the fridge, all prepped. He’s cooking my vegetables. He’s cooked my chicken. He’s got the package of noodles and all the sauces on lined up on the countertop!

Before I blow my top, I yank open the fridge to confirm my stuff isn’t still sitting on the bottom shelf. Yep, nothing other than a carton of milk, some eggs, a bottle of wine, and some fruit.

He hasn’t gone shopping. He hasn’t miraculously purchased identical ingredients to what I’d had in there, what I’d planned to make for dinner tonight with leftovers enough to either feed me dinner tomorrow or feed me lunch at work for the following two days. I’m on a drumskin-tight budget until payday a week and a half away and I can’t afford to keep feeding this guy.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“Making dinner for us.”

“For…” I fail to get anything else out.

“Yeah. I’m starved. You hungry?”

His eyes are on me and they’re hungry, all right. They’re hungrily raking up my body from my bare feet, up my naked legs. Then they go lazy for the upper-body part of their peruse, landing on my face, which I know is beet red.

“I am. But, Aiden, those are my groceries.”

He gives me a confused look. He puts the wooden spoon down and folds his arms over his chest. And then he flexes his biceps. And my eyes don’t know whether to look at his biceps, his pecs, his dick print, or to burn lasers through him for what he’s done.

“My eyes are up here,” he teases. But, he’s right. My eyes are darting to and fro, from his chest to his crotch, and now I’m just lost for words.

He turns, lifts the spoon, and continues stirring.

Oh shit, his ass is eating his sweatpants. They’re bunched in the back. God, why is his ass so perfect?

“You keep eating my food. This is my food.” I gesture to myself, though he can’t see as he’s facing the stove, and my eyes are still on his absolutely picture-perfect bubble butt.

“Not yours. You buy your food, I’ll buy mine, Aiden.”

He laughs and keeps stirring the colorful vegetable concoction in the pan. It smells great. My stomach rumbles, painfully with hunger.

“I wasn’t joking,” I tell him.

He turns, tilts his head and furrows his brows. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious! I’ve separated my food from… from where you’d put your food if you had any.” I open the fridge door and gesture to the empty shelves.  “If you buy something, you put it on another shelf. That’s my shelf, my stuff. You buy stuff, I won’t touch it. I buy stuff, you don’t touch it.”

He twists his lips in confusion.

Has he never had roommates? Has he gotten away with this behavior in the past?

“Roommate rules. You don’t eat your roommate’s food, you don’t leave a mess for your roommate. You clean up after your own mess.”

“Hmpf,” he grunts and appears to consider what I’ve said. This is a brief pondering as he then goes back to stirring the stuff on the stove. “You like it hot, Carly?” he eyes me.

“Huh?” I ask.

“You bought the hot cock sauce. Guessin’ you like it hot.”

He gestures to the bottle of sauce and my eyes move to the Huy Fong Sriracha sauce on the counter.  There’s a rooster on the front of the jar. Oh. Hot. Cock. Duh.

My face flushes red at the way he’s said, “Hot cock”. Not like a thirteen-year-old boy trying to be crude. Nope. With sexuality.

“Yeah,” I try to deadpan, try to pretend my face isn’t the color of the sauce. “I like it hot.”

I allow my eyes to rove over every inch of muscle on his upper body and then my eyes take in his lower body. In those grey sweatpants, for fuck sakes. That’s one seriously prominent dick print. I want to take a picture of it and make a meme with it. No, I don’t. Focus, Carly. I shake my head.

“How hot?” He lifts the sauce and squirts it into the pan. Instantly, I feel it in the air, the hot sauce attacking my sinuses.

I stare him down.

He glugs more into the pan. I fight the wince and reach into the fridge for the bottle of white wine I’d left in there and pull it out. 

“Pour me one, too, peaches,” he says and turns back to the pan, stirring vegetables some more. He drops the noodles into the boiling water and starts separating them with tongs. I glare at his back, but move to the kitchen cabinet and fetch two wineglasses.

He reaches into the drawer and pulls out a corkscrew, but I uncap the bottle of wine with a swift twist of the cap. He makes a face. A snob face. Yeah, buddy. I drink my wine out of a twist-off bottle. I drink my wine out of a box, too. Elitist food-stealing jerk.

And he should not be calling me peaches. Or baby. He’s my boss. Correction: my boss’s boss.

I’m pretty sure he can read what I’m thinking even though I’m saying nothing as I pour the wine. He snickers and works at separating the noodles some more.

I open the cupboard and pull out two plates and get us set up at the bar. And then I go to my room and go about making a list.

When I come back out with the list, he drains the noodles and then tosses them into the pan with the vegetables and chicken and adds another glug of hot sauce.

I raise my eyebrows at him.

Truthfully, I make food non-spicy and then I draw a teeny tiny happy face of sriracha into my dish of hoisin sauce and then stir it all really well before I eat any. Sometimes that’s even got too much of a bite for my delicate palate. This is the extent of my taste for spicy food. The hot sauce is a necessity, but it’s a teeny tiny amount that I am very careful about, otherwise whatever I’ve put it on will be deemed inedible.

He’s put almost a quarter of the large bottle into the pan and it’s gonna burn going down.

He’s used my groceries and ruined my dinner and I allowed him to ruin it by not speaking up about not liking it spicy.

Damn it, Carly.

He sets the plates on the bar and it looks phenomenal. The whole set-up? It would be phenomenal. A hot guy cooking. A hot guy cooking, while bare-chested with all those muscles on display.

I shouldn’t be standing here at the bar looking at food he cooked. My food. My food that won’t even be edible because it has almost a quarter bottle of hot sauce in it when I can barely handle a half a teaspoon of hot sauce.

He sits down, inviting. “Dig in.” He’s inviting me to eat my food that he’s stolen, cooked, and ruined.

I sit, jaw tight, shoulders tight, ready to spit poison darts, but starving and stubbornly ready to prove a point.

He twirls noodles around the fork and waits. I’m beside him, looking at him. 

He’s waiting. Waiting for me to taste it first. Shit. I don’t wanna eat this. I feel my eyes watering from just the vapors of this stuff.

We’re both procrastinating, it seems.

He jerks his chin up. The noodles would normally be a brownish color from the teriyaki sauce. They’re pink.

I jerk my chin up in return and eye his forkful of noodles.

His eyes gleam with mischief and it’s decided that he’s taking the first bite.

Damn. Does that mean he wins this round? I take a small bite, too, at almost the exact same time.  Very small. We chew in silence.

I feel the burn, as it crawls up into my sinuses, as it snakes down my throat.  The heat is making my eyes water. The tang is strong. All I can taste is hot. Not any of the other spices or sauces he used.

I try for nonchalance when I reach for my wine, everything in my mouth tingling, and not in a nice way.

He reaches for his and before the glass is at my lips, I can’t… I’m coughing, choking, sputtering. My nonchalance is a big fat fail. My wine is spilling out of my glass I’m shaking so hard with the coughing.

And he starts, too.

And then after a solid twenty or so seconds of both of us coughing and me waving both hands on either side of my face, as if fanning my face will cool it, he starts to laugh.  And I start to laugh. While we’re both choking.

We’re laughing and choking at the same time when I run for the fridge, for the milk, and drink straight out of the carton.

It’s helping.

I pull it away from my lips and gasp for breath, but he grabs it out of my hand and he’s chugging the milk back, too. His mouth being where my mouth just was? I feel a twinge of something odd.

He resumes laughing as the milk gets put down on the counter. He’s wiping his milk mustache off with the back of his hand. I’m breathing hard, still feeling the tingle in my mouth.

“Well, I royally fucked that up, didn’t I?” He laughs. “I like it hot, but not that hot.”

I laugh, too, still breathing hard, and he gives me a soft look and then wipes my upper lip with the ridge of his thumb.

I feel my heart stutter and I take a step back.

“I don’t like it hot. Not really. I usually make a tiny smiley face of hot sauce. That’s it.”

He barks out more laughter. “I’ll order pizza,” he says and reaches for his iPhone, which is sitting on the bar.

That’s when the landline rings. I look at it and then look at him. He shrugs. “I haven’t given out that number. Don’t even know it. No idea.”

“Maybe it’s a telemarketer,” I say and reach for it, my throat still recovering from that burn.

I lift the phone.

“Hello?”

“Carly?”

Shit. Jon.

I immediately slam it down, feeling my face go red and hot. Like my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and the back of my throat.

Not today, jerk face. I’d rather eat more hot cock sauce.

I’m staring at it a good ten seconds while he’s talking into his phone, giving out the address. “What do you like on your pizza, Carly?” he asks.

I look up. He’s got an assessing look on his face, as he’s obviously just seen me slam that phone down and glare at it.

“Lots of vegetables. Lots of meat. Lots of cheese. Everything.” I say.

He smiles. “Load it up with the works. Triple cheese. Yeah.”

“No hot peppers,” I add.

He smiles a big and beautiful smile.  I crack one, too.

The phone starts to ring again. I glare at it.

He finishes up with whatever pizza place he’s called and looks at the ringing house phone.

“What’s that all about?” He’s obviously picked up on my anxiety, on the way I hung up. Not like he could’ve missed all that, standing right beside me.

I shake my head. “Ignore it.” It keeps ringing a fifth and sixth time so evidently there’s no voicemail. I unplug it half way through the seventh ring.

He makes a face of interest.

“Jon?” he asks.

I shake my head, hoping he’ll get the message that I don’t wanna discuss it.

He moves to the bar and lifts the paper. “What’s this?”

“It’s a list of all the stuff of mine you’ve used. Tomorrow, please purchase all of those things and put them on my shelf in the fridge.  And then, consider filling your shelf with your own groceries.”

He looks at me like I’m an alien lifeform and drops the paper on the counter.

“You wrote that in your room just now?”

I stare at him, waiting for his point.

“Which means you memorized every single thing? It was naggin’ at you that much that you’ve been stewing on every egg, every banana?”

I say nothing, arms folded over my chest.

“I didn’t put down the ¾ of a lasagna you ate or the food for tonight. Though I should’ve.”

He looks at me for a beat like I’m beneath his feet, and that has the effect of making me angrier.

He heads to his room and comes back with three one hundred dollar bills and drops them on the counter. “There. Fill the place with groceries for both of us. We’ll share.”

I shake my head.  “Nnoooo. You’ve used about forty dollars of my groceries. You can simply buy those things on that list.” I point to the list.

“I’ll buy all the groceries. Don’t give a fuck.”

“You’re not hearing me.”

“What’s your problem?” He stalks toward me and my back hits wall. I realize that I’m letting him intimidate me, letting him dominate this situation.

“I have no problem if you stop using my stuff. You’ve been a terrible roommate. If we’re stuck here with one another, establishing some ground rules is necessary. I don’t like to live in a pigsty. It’s not fair of you to expect me to either live with your mess or to clean it up. If I have four bananas and a dozen eggs, I expect to find four bananas and a dozen eggs. Not eleven eggs, certainly not five eggs! If you run out of food and want to use something of mine, ask me.”

“You’re serious?”

“Duh!” I throw my hand up in the air.

He folds his arms across his chest.

“That’s pretty fuckin’ petty.”

How dare he!

“How dare you? Your behavior led to this. I’m a caring, generous person, usually. But, when someone takes advantage of me, I don’t stand for it. I’m not a doormat.”

I’m lying through my teeth. I’ve always just dealt with it. But, not anymore.

I continue. “We’re sharing this apartment, but we’re also colleagues so that also means that you need to respect my personal space, stop making a mess, stop stealing my food, and refrain from calling me baby or peaches or Curly Sue or any other demeaning names.”

“We’re not colleagues. I’m your boss.” His arms are folded across his chest again.

“Oh. Right,” I say snarkily, looking him directly in the eye. ” My mistake.”

“Which means I get to boss you around.” He moves in closer and puts both hands on the wall on either side of my face. He gazes into my eyes. Deep. He moistens those lips and my eyes move to them.

“I’m the boss of you, Carly…”

I look up at him and my mouth goes dry as he skims his bottom lip with those teeth again. 

Wait. Hold the fuck up.

“Outside the office? Wrong. Back off.”

He’s so close, I feel the heat of his breath on me.

“Back off. I’m warning you this one last time.”

Mr. Charming melts away and now he’s glaring, with challenge in his eyes. He backs off.

“I’ll buy groceries, peaches. I’m not stingy.” He then mutters barely under his breath, “Not like some…”

My face goes redder.

“I’m actually a very sharing person. When I like people. When people treat me like a human being!”

He snickers.

“And I am eating some of your pizza, because you owe me dinner after ruining the rest of my food tonight.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “I owe you dinner? Fine, this weekend, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“No. I meant the pizza. The pizza will suffice. I’m going to take half of it and eat it in my room, so I don’t have to look at you and your…” I gesture to his dick print.

He looks down and then that brow shoots up again.

“Wearing underpants is a good idea,” I remark.

“Thought you didn’t like when I walked around here in my underpants… thought I was bein’ a better roommate…”

“No…not what I…”

He’s fighting off laughter. He totally knows what I mean.

“Grrr!” I’m doing a terrible job of hiding my frustration. I storm to the bar, grab the two plates and scrape them into the trash and begin cleaning up the mess.

“You wearin’ underwear? If you want me in them, all right, but you don’t have to follow the same rule,” he says this directly into my ear, and his mouth actually connects, though briefly, and then he moves to the fridge with the hot sauce and the bottle of teriyaki sauce.

I’m ready to tell him to fuck right off.

I stop myself. No. I need to keep this professional. Or, try to get it back to professional somehow.

“How about this? We go back to professional. Professional colleagues who have to share an apartment. We’re both fully dressed outside our bedrooms, we both buy our own food, clean our own mess, and treat one another respectfully. How’s that?”

He smiles. There’s deviousness there.

“What?” I demand.

“Nothin’. You want this to be purely professional, you got it, peaches. I’ll remember to boss you around extra at the office.”

What a jerk.

How much would it cost me to get my own apartment? I get paid next week. Could I swing it?

“Let me know when my half of that pizza is here.”

I storm to my room and slam the door.

 

***

 

No more than a half hour goes by when I hear knocking. Loud knocking.

I’ve been Googling apartment rental prices. I can’t afford my own apartment right now. Not with deposits and all that jazz. There’s always a roommate but I haven’t had the best luck with roommates. Neither at home nor here.

I open my door. It’s the front door. Is it the pizza?

More knocking.

“Aiden?” I call out. No answer.

I head to the door and look out the peephole. Pizza.

I open the door.

Pizza guy smiles and looks down at the receipt taped to the box. “$42.50, please.”

“Uh, one sec,” I say and call out, “Aiden?”

No answer.

“One sec,” I repeat and run through the apartment calling him. He doesn’t answer.

I rap on his door. Nothing.

I open it. He’s not here. I look out the window to the terrace. Nobody.

“$42.50,” the pizza guy calls out. “I gotta go, miss.”

I glance at the counter to see if those three hundred-dollar bills are still, by some chance, sitting there.

The counter top is empty.

Of course.  FML. That jerk bloody well stuck me with the pizza bill!

I rush to my room and zip back out with my bag. I pull out three twenties, tip him five dollars and fifty cents, and then after I close the door, I seethe.

Sonofabitch!

I’m pretty-well broke now. Forty-three bucks and a maxed-out credit card to my name.  Well, I’ve got forty-three bucks, an extra-large pizza, five eggs, some granola and apples and two boxes of crackers to last me a week and a half.

Sonofabitch.

I need friends. I need to rant. I need to stuff my face. And get drunk. And dance. And rant.

And maybe all of the above.

I grab my phone and text Ally.

“Had dinner yet?”

She replies immediately.

“What’cha got?”

“Pizza.”

“I can do second dinner.”

“Be right down.”

I slip on my flipflops and tuck my phone and keys into the pocket of my sweatshirt dress and then head out to the hallway with the pizza and take the stairs.