Desperately Seeking Landlord

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  Besides, nothing says at my age I need to be married and settled with five kids by the time I’m thirty.

  This is my life and I can do whatever the damn well I please.

  “Earth to Miranda.” Lou snaps her fingers in front of my face, trying to get me to refocus.

  “What?” I blink owlishly at her. There’s no point in trying to pretend I heard her because I obviously didn’t.

  “I said, Abel wants to know if you want to go to the movies with us. He’s getting the tickets now.”

  I crinkle my nose. “I’m always the third wheel. I feel pathetic.”

  “You’re not a third wheel or pathetic. Now come on, you should go.”

  I frown. “Fine.” While my agreement is reluctant, I also do want to go. Mostly because I don’t want to sit around my place sulking about Jamie. Invariably that’ll lead to dirty thoughts about him and me, spread eagle on my bed, going to pound town with my vibrator. “What time does the movie start?” I pick at my nails, pretending I’m really not all that interested in the answer.

  She looks back down at her phone, fingers flying. “Seven, tonight.”

  I exhale a breath. She might say I’m not a third wheel but anything scheduled after five pm with your boyfriend is definitely a date, and I’m about to be tagalong Suzy because they feel sorry for me.

  Honestly, I’m not unhappy on my own. It’s nice. I think every person should have a time in their life when they’re single and living by themselves. It gives you a chance to grow and learn who you are.

  “Abel got you a ticket, so you better go,” she warns, setting her phone down and replacing her empty hand with her plastic cup. Eco-Friendly Sasha at the table beside us glares, her own reusable cup sitting pretty beside her.

  I give a thumbs up and forced smile. “I’ll be there.”

  Reason number one why I’m single: I third wheel to the movies with my bestie and her boyfriend.

  * * *

  “Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Oh, ma’am, I apologize.” I pick up her purse from the floor where I knocked it from her lap with my giant caboose. I have a lot of junk in the trunk, what can I say. Blessedly, I finally make it to the empty seat beside Lou. I drop unceremoniously into the seat and she looks over at me.

  “You bring chaos wherever you go.”

  I look back toward the pathway I had to take to reach our seats in the middle of the last row—aka the best seats in every movie theater—and sure enough, everyone is having to readjust from the stampede that is me and my badonkadonk.

  “Oh, well.” I shrug, wiggling around as I get settled.

  “You could’ve climbed through.” Lou points to the opening in front of all the seats, a walkway where servers can drop off food on top of the slender bar in front of us.

  “I don’t crawl on floors.”

  She snorts. “Likely story.”

  She has a point.

  “I don’t crawl on dirty movie theater floors covered in God knows what,” I correct.

  She smirks. “Okay, okay. But honestly, you’ve probably knelt on worse.”

  She’s not wrong.

  Abel passes me the menu he was perusing. “You want popcorn, Miranda?”

  “Only if it’s the herb parmesan one.”

  He chuckles. “Always, it’s Lou’s favorite too, and you’ve both turned me into a believer.”

  “It’s way better than regular popcorn.” I nod emphatically, flipping open the menu. I don’t know why I ever bother to look. I always order the same thing. I grab the piece of paper and pencil provided and scribble my order on it beneath theirs.

  Pizza with basil, feta, red peppers, and spinach. I know it’s an upcharge for more than three toppings. Bite me.

  I folded it up and stick it in the holder so they can grab it.

  Digging in my purse, I toss twenty-five dollars across Lou to Abel. It falls in his lap and he leans forward glaring at me.

  “What’s this for?”

  We do this same song and dance every time. Lou’s boyfriend is chivalrous, that’s undeniable, but I always refuse to let him pay for me too.

  “Don’t argue with me, Farquad, take the money.”

  “Farquad? Like from Shrek?”

  “Exactly.” I snap my fingers. “Not that you bear any resemblance, it just sort of rolled out in the moment. Go with it.”

  He shakes his head and folds the money up, trying to pass it back to me.

  “I don’t mind, Miranda, seriously.”

  “Nope.” I push his hand away, Lou caught between us.

  The back and forth continues for a solid thirty seconds before Lou snatches the money, stuffs it in her bra, and doesn’t look or say a word to either of us.

  Abel and I make eye contact and look at her slowly. She blinks straight ahead at the screen.

  The previews start, and I sit back, determined to enjoy myself.

  The movie isn’t bad, the food is delicious, and at the end I say goodbye to Abel and Lou before driving to the opposite side of town where my apartment is.

  Opening the door I flick on the lights and sigh as the door closes behind me.

  I’m happy on my own. I don’t need a man to complete me. I’m a bad bitch.

  So why do I feel so lonely?

  3

  Miranda

  Stalking into the local Michaels I’m on a mission for paint supplies. I’m running too low and I have commissions to finish, with not enough time to order what I need from my favorite online vendor. There used to be a specialty art store on the west side of town, but apparently not enough people want decent art supplies, so alas I’m stuck dealing with the bane of my existence. Michaels is a mockery of my artistry.

  Dramatic? Yes. A lie? No.

  They call themselves an arts and crafts store, but the arts part is sorely lacking.

  I wrinkle my nose at the ridiculous watermelon pool float hanging from the ceiling. Why are they selling pool floats?

  I let out a disgruntled breath and narrow my focus until I reach the back.

  Their paint choices are cheap brands, with jacked up prices, which makes me even angrier. I don’t have a problem dropping a lot of money on paint and art supplies when I know it’s the best quality. But this is probably better compared to Crayola grade.

  However, I don’t have a choice.

  I gather the paints I need and hold them against my chest. I should’ve grabbed a cart, but I was too mad to think logically. Turning around, I nearly drop the bottles of colors, because Jamie is standing at the end of the aisle.

  Why the hell is Jamie Jack-Ass Miller in Michaels of all places?

  “Jamie,” I blurt. “Hi.”

  Hi—the one word seems so idiotic coming out of my mouth, but I suppose it’s a better greeting than punching him in the face.

  “How do you know my dad?”

  Down, down, down my eyes go the length of Jamie, connecting with the kid beside him.

  Holy fuck, it’s a mini-Jamie.

  Jamie’s hand on the boy’s shoulder looks stiff and when my eyes dart from the child to him, he looks panicked.

  “Uh…” Now I’m the panicked one. I can’t exactly tell the kid I’m well acquainted with his father’s dick.

  “We’re friends,” Jamie tells him.

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Jamie glares at me and I press my lips together.

  “I didn’t know you had friends.”

  Ah, kids, so blessedly honest and blunt.

  Jamie’s jaw tightens, his hazel eyes full of an emotion that looks like fear.

  Oh my God.

  Suddenly, I’m connecting the dots.

  He’s married.

  Oh, fuck.

  Jamie is married.

  I’ve fucked another woman’s husband.

  Holy shit.

  I’m a homewrecker. That’s what I am.

  Unintentionally, of course, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

&
nbsp; The paints drop from my arms and I run my ass away from them, straight out the store, to my car. I make one stop on the way home, because this news … well, it definitely requires alcohol.

  4

  Jamie

  The last place I should be is standing outside Miranda’s door, pacing incessantly. I’ve been debating for the last ten minutes whether I should knock or not. Normally, I wouldn’t care. I would demand entry. But this is different.

  I saw the look of horror on her face before she fled. I know exactly what she’s thinking and she’s wrong. I might be an asshole, it’s better not to get attached to people when they always leave, but I’m not a big enough prick to do that.

  Finally, I knock on the door and wait. It’s late, and chances are she won’t come to the door.

  Surprisingly, it swings open. “You’re not the delivery boy,” she growls, starting to close the door.

  “Wait!” My hand shoots out, keeping her from closing the door.

  She glares at me, trying in vain to close it anyway.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re married. You have a kid and you’re married.” She keeps emphasizing that damn word and it’s making me see red.

  “Miranda,” I growl her name pleadingly, “let me explain.”

  “No, get out.” She kicks blindly at me, but fails to make contact.

  “I’m not married.”

  She stops. “You’re not?”

  “People can have kids and not be married,” I remind her. “Now, please, let me in so I can explain.”

  I’m more than a little surprised when she acquiesces and stops fighting me, stepping aside to let me enter her tiny apartment. It might be small, but it’s cozy. I would know; I’ve spent a lot of time with her here.

  She closes the door behind me and turns to face me, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. She’s wearing a t-shirt with her university’s mascot, but it’s faded and worn with small holes around the collar. Her pair of sleep shorts hug her thighs and I greedily lick my lips, my thoughts straying to a dangerous place.

  I never did get my fill of her, and that was the problem. I’m not sure anything can quench my thirst for this woman.

  “Stop undressing me with your eyes and speak. So, you’re not married then? Because if you are I’ll murder you. I’ve watched enough shows to get away with it too.”

  I stifle a smile. God, she amuses me and she has no idea how much. I’ve gotten good over the years at hiding my emotions. It’s best that way.

  “Not married.”

  She exhales an annoyed breath, her arms falling to her sides. “Divorced? Widowed? A random hook up? Excuse me for being irritated Jamie, I know we never talked all that much about serious things, but we did talk some, and never, not once, did you mention having a son. Does Lou even know?”

  I shake my head. “No one knows. I mean, people know—but I choose who I tell.” She flinches and I realize I’ve hurt her, because this means she’s someone I specifically chose not to tell. “My son … he’s the most important person to me.” I know it’s probably surprising, and sucky explanation, but it’s the truth. “I was married,” I finally force the words out of my throat. Sometimes I still feel the phantom touch of the platinum band I wore. “Things … didn’t work out.”

  It’s the truth, but not the whole truth. She’s getting more from me than any woman has since Shannon left me.

  “So…” She hedges. “You share custody, then?”

  “Tobias is mine.” She winces when my tone comes out sharp and cutting, but if she knew the hell I’d went through to keep my son she’d understand. Softening my tone, I hold out the bag that’s been clasped in my hand since the moment I got out of my car in the parking lot. “Here, I got these for you.”

  She takes the bag, brows wrinkled in puzzlement. She holds it open, peering inside at the items she dropped when she ran from us.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re … you’re welcome.”

  I’m surprised, but thankful, she doesn’t ask why. Frankly, I don’t know what possessed me to buy her fallen items in the first place. It just felt like the right thing, and I’m not accustomed to doing the right thing, at least when it comes to anything that isn’t related to Tobias.

  “Where is your son? How do you have so much time to…?” She flicks a finger between us, and my thoughts drift to memories of her soft skin rubbing against me, the sound of our bodies joining.

  “My mom. She lives with us.”

  My mom is one of the best people I know—scratch that, the best. When everything was going on with my ex, she was there, my rock and support system as I fought tooth and nail for the little boy who owned my heart.

  “I thought your parents were dead?” She blurts.

  Honestly, it’s sad how little we truly know about each other, especially considering she’s the longest … relationship, if you can call it that, I’ve had since Shannon left us. Everything else has always been one-night stands, and contrary to popular belief, few and far between. With Tobias, it doesn’t leave all that much time for sex, and I refuse to bring women back to my home. But it’s easier to have people think I’m an asshole womanizer. I don’t want people to know the real me. I shared my vulnerabilities with someone once, I won’t make that mistake twice considering it blew up in my face.

  “My father died when I was young, so I was raised by mom, but my dad’s parents were heavily involved in my life.”

  “Hmm,” she hums.

  As things are settling between us, I’m starting to feel the familiar zing of fire between us. It’s palpable. Thickening the air. My whole body becomes hyperaware of her proximity. The way her lips are so full and kissable. How fucking amazing her breasts look in her t-shirt. She’s not wearing a bra and her nipples peek through the cotton.

  I wait for a snarky remark from her. She’s queen of them and I love trading barbs with her, but when I look in her dark eyes—so brown they’re nearly black—I see the same thing I’m sure is reflected in mine.

  Lust.

  Desire.

  Heat.

  I want to move and close the distance between us, press my mouth to hers. It’s a selfish thought, especially considering how I ended things—and by ended I mean ghosted and then rubbed another woman in her face.

  A woman I didn’t even take home and fuck, even though I wanted to. God, did I want to, because I wanted to erase the memory of Miranda from my skin, but I couldn’t do it. I haven’t been able to do it since. It’s like my dick’s grown a conscience all of a sudden.

  Miranda inhales a shaky breath and lets it out slowly.

  Before I can blink we’re both moving, closing the distance between our bodies.

  My fingers tangle in the hair at the back of her head, holding her to me. This isn’t a picture perfect kiss, but it’s still fucking amazing. It’s rough, and raw, desperate on both our ends.

  I nip at her full bottom lip, angling her head back.

  Maybe this is why I can’t seem to quit her. We’re fucking explosive. I came over here to explain myself, that was all, I didn’t want to get wrapped up in whatever this insane chemistry is with us, but it can’t seem to be controlled.

  We stumble down the hall to her bedroom and I lower her to the mattress.

  I don’t know what I’m doing or even thinking. All rational thought goes out the window.

  I’m good at playing the part of the skeevy asshole. I know what to do to piss people off, keep them at arm’s length. I like to keep my life as simple and uncomplicated as possible. The less people involved, the better.

  But with Miranda I keep coming back.

  I move the cotton of her shorts aside and grin against the skin of her neck when I feel that she’s not wearing panties and she’s already wet.

  “Jamie,” she moans my name low and slow. It’s music to my ears. I slide two fingers into her, curling them, and her back bows off the bed.

  I h
old back the words I want to say. That she’s fucking gorgeous. That I love hearing her moan my name.

  I kiss her lips again and her fingers rub against the stubble on my cheeks. She raises her head, kissing me deeply as I continue to pump my fingers in and out of her. I swallow her mewling sounds as her orgasm builds. When she reaches her climax there’s a loud knock on the door. My fingers still inside her and her body freezes. It makes it all the more noticeable the way her pussy squeezes mine like a vice.

  I slip my fingers from her body. Licking them clean.

  “Someone’s at the door,” I say unnecessarily, my tone sharp.

  “T-That … that’ll be my Chinese food.” Her skin glows with a slight sheen of sweat and her hair is a bit wild. She definitely looks like she just orgasmed and it makes me selfishly pleased that she’ll have to answer the door like this.

  “You better get that then.”

  She nods woodenly but doesn’t move, not until there’s another sharp knock. She scoots off the bed, righting her shorts, and runs from her bedroom.

  I adjust myself and sigh, looking at the rumpled bed.

  This shouldn’t have happened and I definitely shouldn’t feel forlorn at the fact that I didn’t get to fuck her properly.

  But it did and I am.

  I stroll out of her bedroom just as she closes the front door with her hip. Her arms are wrapped around a paper bag full of food. The smell of spices permeates the air.

  “I would ask you to stay, but…” She pauses. We both know she wouldn’t ask me to stay. She never has in the past. It was always fucking and done with us. Tonight isn’t any different.

  “I have to go.”

  I really do. I always do. I have responsibilities. Ones that Miranda is now privy too.

  I open her door and pause. I feel her eyes on me, watching inquisitively.

  Shaking my head I step past the threshold and close the door behind me.

  I lean back against it, exhaling a breath.

  A second later I hear the lock click into place.