Wandering the streets of New York with two grand in my purse made me feel like I was trying to make it through Sherwood Forest without running into the Merry Men. I swore everyone who passed me could read on my face how much money I had on me. On the subway, I clung to my purse like the mothers clinging to their toddler’s hands.
After stopping at a cell phone store, I made a quick stop at a pizza take-out place. Exchanging money for something felt so good. It was the first thing I’d been able to pay for with my own money as an official resident of the city.
By the time I reached the fourth floor of our building, I could smell the scent of cleaners. It became stronger with every stair I took, until I realized where it was coming from. Juggling the giant pizza box in one hand, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The smell inside was intense. A combo of fake lemon, Windex, and vinegar. Still, it was better than eau de dirty underwear.
“Soren?”
I heard him talking, but I didn’t realize he was actually singing until I moved a few steps far enough inside to peek into the kitchen. With a pair of headphones covering his ears, he was humming along to some song and moving his body in ways that had me close to blushing. In one hand he held a bottle of cleaner. In the other was what looked like an old shirt he’d turned into a rag.
The sink was spilling over with suds and dishes soaking, and the old food and boxes had been tossed into the garbage. He was scrubbing the stove right now as he started to belt out some lyrics. At the same time, he moved against the stove like it was a dance partner who liked to get freaky.
So my roommate knew how to move his body. So he knew how to dance. Why was I feeling that fluttery stomach sensation from watching him grinding against an outdated appliance? I didn’t really want to answer that question, so I dropped the pizza on the table and stepped into the kitchen to help. He was singing again, twirling his shirt-rag in the air.
When he finally noticed me, he didn’t jolt or seem surprised to see me.
“Nice dancing,” I said, loud enough I thought I was speaking over his headphones. “And singing.”
Soren slid his headphones behind his neck, continuing to dance. “I’m a double threat.”
“Not a triple?” I asked doubtfully.
His head shook once. “I can’t act for shit.”
“Really?”
“Do I seem like the type of guy who’s good at pretending?”
Moving toward the sink, I pushed up my sleeves. “Double threat it is.”
He chuckled and got back to scrubbing a crusty spot in one of the burners. When he saw me dip my hands into the sink to start washing, he moved up beside me and tried to hip-check me out of the way.
“I got this,” he said, bumping his hip against mine again when I refused to budge. “You were right last night. This mess is all on me. Pretty sure this is the first time you’ve stepped foot in the kitchen.”
“No, you were right actually. You cooked your food for me. The least I could do in return is clean the kitchen after.” I started scrubbing the first dish my fingers touched.
When he accepted I wasn’t going anywhere, he stationed himself as the rinse-and-dry guy. “I’m not going to tell my mom you just said that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just spent two hours this afternoon being lectured by her on things a guy can and can’t say to a girl, and according to her, I committed one of the great offenses of all time last night when I suggested it was your responsibility to clean the kitchen.” He winced like he was remembering the conversation. “Apparently it’s very not okay for a guy to suggest it’s a woman’s job to clean a kitchen. Even if he didn’t mean it in any antiquated, gender-profiling way.”
I smiled into the sink as I handed him a clean dish. “But you didn’t say it was my job to clean it. You merely suggested I might be willing to do it since you’d cooked the meal. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“According to my mom, there’s everything wrong with that.” He dried the dish and tucked it away in the cabinet. “And I’m also supposed to tell you that it won’t happen again. She said that was important. Oh, and to apologize. Which I think I already did, right?” He paused, his forehead creasing. “Just in case, I’m sorry for being a prehistoric asshole last night, Hayden. It won’t happen again.” His head shook as he rinsed the next dish. “Actually, I can’t guarantee that one hundred percent because I’m not the actor type. I say what I think. I express how I feel. I’m not good at playing a role or pretending. So if I fall into that asshole mode again, just throw one of those heels of yours at my face or something.”
When he nudged me, his arm running down mine, my hands stopped scrubbing the pan I was working at. I’d brushed up or passed thousands of people in my life, but this was the one instance where I felt an odd, buzzing warmth exchanging between us. I slid just enough aside so our arms weren’t touching.
“You weren’t the only asshole last night. I was too. Let’s just file it away as roommate growing pains and move on.” I finally managed to get the last of the crust off the pan, then I handed it to him. “Tonight, I made dinner and guess what? No dishes to fight over who should do them.” When I glanced at the dining table, Soren noticed the pizza box.
“How did you know I was craving pizza?”
“I didn’t. I just knew I was and figured you wouldn’t argue if I shared.”
As he dried the pan, his brows came together. “How did you manage to pay for the pizza?”
“By the exchange of money for goods,” I answered, giving him a funny look.
His eyebrows lifted. “Where did you get the money? You couldn’t have enough left over from the twenty I left you to have paid for an extra-large from Fultano’s.”
“I paid with my own money.”
Soren glanced at me. I could still hear whatever music he’d been rocking out to buzzing in the headphones draped around his neck. “Your own money ran out before you made it to the front door of my apartment. Nice try.”
My scrubbing became more vigorous thanks to him calling me out and also being right. “How do you know that?”
“Why are you trying to hide it?”
There were only a few more dishes in the sink, so I took my time washing them. “Because it’s humiliating.”
“Why’s it humiliating? We all know what it’s like to have empty pockets. Well, most of us do. Those silver-spooners who’ve never had to worry about money a day in their lives don’t come out nearly as well-adjusted as the rest of us. It’s the hard times that make us who we are. The rough stuff that shapes us.” He nudged me and took the cup that had been clean twenty swipes ago.
“I got an advance on my first paycheck from the modeling agency. So now I’ll be able to afford food, subway tickets, and rent.”
“That’s a sweet deal. I wish I could get the restaurant to pay me an advance on my checks.”
“I don’t think they normally do it, but my agent must have made a special exception when he realized I was so broke I didn’t have a cell phone. I don’t know what he would have said if I’d told him I didn’t even have a few dollars to pay for a subway ticket.”
Soren stopped drying the last glass. “He? Your agent’s a dude?”
Pulling the drain, I glanced at him. “I mean, I didn’t do any anatomy checks to confirm it, but yeah, pretty sure he’s a he.”
“And this ‘he’ gave you an advance on your paycheck?”
“Yeah,” I said, drawing it out a few moments longer than necessary.
“Was this a cash type of advance?” He tucked the glass away then turned toward me, crossing his arms.
“Considering I don’t have a bank account here to cash a check at yet, yeah, it was cash.” Why did I sound so defensive?
Soren’s brow cocked. “Did this cash advance come directly out of his wallet?”
“No,” I answered immediately. When his brow only went higher, I groaned. “It came out of his money clip. Not his wallet.”
He made a noise. One of those that didn’t suggest much, but made me feel like he was suggesting everything. He continued to stand there, leaning into the counter like he was waiting for an explanation or something.
He was my roommate. He wasn’t my dad, my brother, my boyfriend, or my spiritual leader. I didn’t have anything to explain to him. There was nothing to explain anyway. I needed money. I was going to be making money soon. My agent stepped in to help.
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting,” I stated, crossing my arms the way he was.
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
My finger tapped his elevated brow. “This is.”
“What do you think I’m suggesting then?”
“That he gave me money in exchange for sex.”
My bluntness seemed to take him by surprise. For all of one and a half seconds.
“That’s the way the modeling industry is, right?” I continued. “No one made it to the top without putting in the time on their back first?”
I’d taken him by surprise again. This time for two and a half seconds.
“Why would some guy you just met give a woman a couple hundred dollars, Hayden?” Soren followed me out of the kitchen. “You might be innocent, but you’re not naive.”
“Who said I was innocent?”
“That stamp you have stuck to your forehead.” When Soren’s finger came around to tap my temple, I pushed it away.
“It wasn’t a couple hundred dollars, by the way. It was a couple thousand.”
Then only my footsteps continued toward the table.
“Two grand? That guy fronted you two grand out of his own bankroll?” He let out a low whistle. “Please don’t tell me you took it.”
When I motioned at the pizza, I guess that answered his question.
“You really are that naïve.”
“It’s fine, Soren. Let’s eat.” I pried open the pizza box.
“Not fine. He wants something from you.”
“Yeah, he’s my agent. He wants me to book jobs.”
“Something else.”
“Please.”
“No, you’ll thank me later when the creep proves me right.”
“So any guy who offers a girl he just met money has some expectation for sex in return?” I paused just long enough, giving him an accusatory look. “It’s not like I’m standing five feet away from someone like that.”
Soren shifted, jabbing his thumb into his chest. “I’m your roommate.”
My arms flew out at my sides. I was not eager to get into an argument over dinner again tonight. “And he’s my agent.”
His mouth opened to say something else, but he managed to catch himself before it came out. Swallowing, he cleared his throat and moved closer. “So what does it mean if some girl I just met brings me home free pizza?”
I fought a smile as I pulled him out a slice. “That she’s so expecting sex in exchange for all of this cheesy goodness.”
He took it and tore off a healthy-sized bite. “You get two grand, I get a few slices of pizza. Damn, I’m one cheap lay.”
We were both laughing, but the topic we were circling made me uncomfortable. Not sex by itself, but sex as it related to Soren. Because now I was thinking about it. Picturing him moving under a sheet, imagining the sounds he made, visualizing myself as the one he was with.
“You’re blushing.” Soren pointed his half-eaten pizza slice at my face.
“I’m hot.”
“It’s an icebox in here.”
Yeah, it was. Instead of confirming or denying that, I grabbed a piece of pizza to distract me.
“So, honey, how was your day?” Soren nudged me as he came around the table to sit in what must have been his favorite chair. It was the same one he always sat in, the one he’d been sleeping in this morning.
“Great, actually. I booked every single one of the clients I met with except for one.” I scooted into the chair across from him, the one that I guessed was becoming my favorite. “And I got my very own phone.”
“And two thousand dollars from some dude you just met,” he muttered between bites.
“A two thousand dollar advance on future earnings.”
Soren gave me that same look that suggested the money was given in exchange for something else. I ignored it.
“How was your day?” When he circled his hand, waiting, I tacked on, “Honey?”
He grinned when I said it—even though I’d paired it with an eye roll. “Fantastic, thank you for asking.” He dug another slice from the box. “I killed it at practice today. I’m surprised the pros aren’t already knocking on my door.”
“I’m sure they’re on their way.” When I tore off a chunk of crust, I knew New York style pizza and I were going to be good friends. That processed five-dollar junk back home was an offense to actual pizza.
Soren checked his wrist as if he were wearing a watch. “Any minute now.”
When I laughed, he beamed his massive grin at me before sawing off another bite of pizza. My stomach did the flutter thing again. Why was it doing that so much lately? Why was it only happening around Soren? If I could just focus on his personality instead of his physical features, that would help. His personality that was . . . generous, fun, considerate, the kind that apologized, and still talked to his mom. Damn, he was as attractive in the personality department as he was on the outside.
Pizza, I thought. Focus on the redefining pizza. Not on what’s sitting across the table from you, grinning like he was game for anything and everything.
“Look at us.” Soren waved his finger between us. “Just a couple of big dreamers in the big city.”
“Just like everyone else our age.”
“Yeah, but unlike everyone else our age, we’re going to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling. “Dominate the shit out of our dreams.”
I lifted my half-eaten slice of pizza. “To dominating the shit out of our dreams.”
He lifted his. “I’ll eat to that.”
Then we both took a ceremonious bite, which made me laugh again.
“Okay, so I’m going to work on the clean thing. I promise. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll make an effort. I’ve got twenty years of slobbery I’m fighting to overcome.” He rested his forearms on the table and leaned into it. “Fair enough?”
“More than fair. And I promise to work on being more chill about that kind of stuff and not trying to control everything. I’ve got years of controlling and supervising to overcome.”
Soren slid his headphones off his neck and punched the music off on his phone. “Oldest child?”
I nodded, kicking my sneakers off to get comfortable. “Yeah, and Mom had to work multiple jobs to support us, so that left me in charge of my younger sisters.”
He was quiet a minute, his face serious for one short-lived moment. “So I’m like the annoying little brother you never had?”
“Pretty much.”
My response was met with a feigned wounded expression. “My mom always used to say she pitied the women her sons would one day marry. She said they’d all have their work cut out for them, training us to clean up after ourselves and adopting some manner of decorum.”
I fought my smile—he’d been chewing with his mouth open and his elbows on the table ever since sitting down. “Your poor mother.”
Soren nodded. “She’s a saint. And she said you’ll earn your saint status by the time you and I are done.”
“Logic behind that?”
“Because you’re like that future wife she’s been pitying all this time.” Soren moved in for his next slice. “Except now she pities you too.”
I shifted in my chair. “How am I anything like that future wife?”
He was looking at me like he was wondering why he had to answer that. Finally, he pointed his fresh slice of pizza at me. “You’re going to be the one who whips me into shape.”
“Soren. I yelled at you once about cleaning up.”
“Yeah. And look around.” I felt him smirking as I glanced around the mostly tidy apartment. “I cleaned up.”