Chapter Three
Finally,” Gabi shouted as she opened the door and jerked the groceries out of my hand in one fell swoop. “I thought you said you fifteen minutes.”
“Did I say fifteen? Could have sworn I said twenty.” And there was that one checker who needed my help, so . . .
Gabi’s eyes narrowed. “You smell like cheap perfume.”
“Gross, right? Who wears Vanilla Fields anymore? I think your grandma still buys that shit, but she’s eighty. She’s allowed to be a creature of habit.”
“You did it again, didn’t you?”
“Did what?” I played innocent while I unpacked the shopping bags. Gabi lived a few blocks away from the University of Washington campus, and I, in turn, lived a few miles away from her. It was convenient for both of us.
I made sure no idiots plagued her with their existence.
And she cooked for me.
Sometimes she even packed me little-kid lunches with smiley faces.
I’d probably starve without her. A point she liked to make on a daily basis.
Gabi rolled her green eyes and quickly pulled her long auburn hair into a low messy bun. “Sometimes I want to kill you.” She exhaled. “Wow, I feel so much better getting that off my chest.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” I winked. “Your own personal therapy.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Seriously. You smell bad, dude.”
I held up my shirt and winced. “How the hell did five minutes with Shopgirl lead to me being a walking perfume commercial?”
Gabi sighed, then pointed upstairs. “Go. Shower. I’ll put out the food. Your extra clothes are still in my room. Just”—she sneezed and wrinkled her nose—“get rid of the skank.”
“She has a name,” I teased. Not that I actually remembered it. But in my defense, while her lips were wrapped around me, her head was blocking the view of her name tag. See? Not my fault.
“One day.” Gabi shook her head. “You’re going to get smited.” She frowned. “Or is it smote?”
“Oooo.” I shivered and leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Sounds dirty. Can’t wait.”
With a hard shove, she pushed me off of her and slapped me on the ass. “Upstairs. Go, before you start attracting more.”
“Attention?”
“Girls with no future.” Gabi nodded seriously. “You know, the type you like to give quick—”
“Lex!” I interrupted her on purpose when my best friend sauntered into the kitchen. He was six foot five inches of pure muscled man-slut.
Worse than I was.
Which meant he probably deserved some sort of medal.
Or badge.
Or at least a patch with the letter W for “whore.” His own dirty scarlet letter.
Next to me, Gabi tensed.
“I’ll just go take that shower,” I said, leaving them alone. I knew full well that it was best to stay out of the way where they were concerned. I hated breaking up fights. Last time I earned a black eye and a kick to the balls trying to keep the peace.
And with all the clients I had piled up for the rest of the semester, the last thing I needed was to show up to a meeting with both my eyes swollen shut.
I took the stairs two at a time, made sure to knock on the bathroom door before I let myself in, then quickly stripped out of my clothes and jumped into the shower.
All of my essentials were where I’d left them, in the little caddy I kept in the corner.
And before you go getting all suspicious on my ass, remember, Gabi is like a sister to me—as in, the only time I even thought about kissing her was during eighth-grade skate night, and I’m pretty sure that’s because someone had spiked my Mountain Dew.
Regardless, we kissed, and it was awful. She actually puked. But we’re 99 percent sure it was the stomach flu and not my bad kissing skills that caused it.
We shook hands a few days after that.
Swore each other to secrecy.
And haven’t had any issue since.
So, no, I’m not jealous of her fascination with Lex, though if he ever pursued her, I’d probably hang him from a telephone pole and light his nuts on fire. It was cute, her obsession, and I knew it would never go anywhere. Because she was a virgin.
He wasn’t.
And guys like Lex know what girls like Gabi are worth—gold. He couldn’t afford her, not even if he sold his soiled soul.
The familiar scent of my Molton Brown body wash floated into the air, burning my nostrils but relaxing me at the same time.
I only kept Molton at Gabi’s.
Jean Paul Gaultier was for my place.
And if I was staying overnight and had to meet a client the next day, then I brought along Old Spice. It was another numbers thing. At least 30 percent of guys in college used Old Spice, meaning the girl would start to associate my scent with that of other men, pushing her boundaries, making her comfortable. Because as any dating expert knows, scent is the easiest way to establish memory as well as comfort.
You can’t make this shit up.
Which is another reason Lex is invaluable to the company: he loves his charts, data, and fun facts.
A loud knock shook the door. “I swear to the shower gods if you don’t hurry your ass up, I’m going to break the door down and flush the toilet.”
“Five minutes, Gabs.”
“You and your fake time limits!”
I quickly turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and made my way down the hall into her room.
With a sigh, I shut the door behind me, dropped the towel, and flipped on the light.
Did she get a new dresser?
Hers was brown.
This was black.
And the perfume on top was new.
Frowning, I picked up the Prada bottle and sniffed, just as the door to the room opened.
“Holy Garfield and lasagna!” a tall brunette with an exorbitant amount of long wavy hair said. She covered her face with her hands and stumbled backward. The door had already halfway shut behind her, so the doorknob gave her butt a nice high five. With a wince, she stumbled forward, reaching for the hamper next to where I was standing.
It was plastic.
Not steel.
So naturally, the minute she put weight on it, it broke. Laundry scattered all over the floor, and she fell to her knees, her ugly black basketball shorts hiking up to reveal muscular thighs.
Grinning, I leaned down, still naked, and pointed to a pink thong. “Kinda had you pegged for a boy-shorts girl.”
The girl’s brown hair was covering her face like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family. Slowly, she pushed her hair out of her eyes.
“What are you doing in my room?” Her voice was accusatory low, and kind of sexy—if I closed my eyes and thought of it belonging to a different body.
“You mean Gabi’s room?”
“No.” Her nostrils flared. “My room.”
“And you are?” I held out my hand, because I was a gentleman first, a certifiable man-whore second, and because my grandma used to swat my ass every time I introduced myself without a firm handshake.
Her eyes widened as she stared at my naked body.
“Fine,” I said with a half shrug. “But I literally only have three minutes before Gabi hands me my ass. You want the bed or the floor, since you’re already there?”
And Gabi said I wasn’t charitable enough? Damn, look at me, just ready to hand out orgasms for free.
“What?” New girl’s wide roaming eyes finally lifted to meet mine. Hell, some people charge for that kind of staring. “What are you talking about?”
“Okay, now we’re down to about two and a half minutes. I’m not gonna say it won’t be difficult, but I could probably do something that would at least conjure up a little panting. Maybe a scream or two.”
“Scream?” she said, her eyebrows drawing together. “What are you talking about? And why are you naked?”
“I was looking for clothes before you barged in on me.”
“In my room.”
“Look.” I glanced at my watch. “Now we’re really getting into dangerous territory. I’ve been nicknamed Superman in bed, but I’m not actually sure I can do a repeat of 2014, though I’d love to add another instance to the record books. So if we’re going to do this, you need to hurry up and take at least your shirt off.”
“Are you”—her cheeks reddened—“a stripper for the party?”
Hmm. The idea had merit. I could do a free show, which would make me a saint, considering what I typically charge each client.
“No.” I held out my hand. When she didn’t take it, I took it upon myself to lift her from the floor and onto her feet.
She kicked. She even tried to bite me.
“There we go. A little enthusiasm!”
“Put me down!” She jerked away from me.
I set her away from me and crossed my arms. “Sorry, time’s up. You have ten seconds left, and even I can’t perform a miracle of this”—I pointed at her baggy shirt, baggy shorts, and, holy shit, was she wearing tube socks?—“caliber.” I swallowed. “Just a guess, but were you homeschooled?”
Her face reddened with either embarrassment or anger. “No! And I live here. This is my room!”
“But it’s Gabi’s room.”
“We switched this morning!” She stomped her foot. The girl was wearing old-school Adidas flip-flops.
They still made those? Huh. It was like seeing a real live T. rex.
“Why are you staring at my feet?”
“They have to be worth a mint by now.” I tapped my chin and continued staring at the ugly rubber flip-flops. “Impressive. Really impressive.”
“Are you even listening to me?” she shrieked. “Put some clothes on and get out of my room. Or don’t put clothes on and just get out of my room. Whichever.”
“Exactly.” I nodded seriously. “I was just about to do that when you tumbled in. Now,” I said slowly, “you say you switched rooms?”
She nodded.
“Which makes Gabi’s room . . . ?”
She pointed down the hall. I had a brief moment of recollection in which Gabi had mentioned something about switching to the smaller room because the two new roommates were going to share.
“Ah, you must be Serena.”
“Blake,” she growled. “Serena’s blonde.”
I’d have bet she was hot too. Serena was a hot-girl name. Blake? It was what you named a girl that you thought was going to be a boy and therefore projected all your boyhood dreams onto her. Ten bucks that her dad had made her play every sport in the book and she was either the product of divorce or single parenting.
“Why are you still standing here . . . naked?” This time she looked away, covering her face with her hands.
“What’s wrong with being naked? You do know you were born that way, right?”
“Just”—she didn’t look again, but pointed at the door—“go.”
“Your loss.” I laughed. “Could have rocked your world.”
“My world doesn’t need rocking.”
I paused midway through the door and turned back, moving in close, making sure my breath would blow across her neck as I whispered, “Now that’s where you’re wrong, Blake. Every girl needs to allow her world to be rocked, at least once. Or if said rocking is coming from me? Twice.”
Her stance was rigid, and the only clue I had to her emotions was the fact that her breathing picked up along with her pulse. I leaned forward and licked a spot on her neck that was taunting me. Then I stepped back. “Nice meeting you.”
The door slammed behind me, nearly slapping my ass in farewell.
Can’t win them all. Not that I would want to win anything with Adidas Girl. I had too much on my plate already. The last thing I needed was some sexually repressed tomboy who wore sweats because they were comfortable.