by Emma Hart
I liked it. I didn’t have to use much brain power and I got a nice chunk of money in my bank account every two months.
I sent her the book with my usual message that I loved the story and was looking forward to the next one, sent it, and scanned the rest of my emails. After responding to one asking about my pricing, I clicked the one from a local paper I’d written for before.
They wanted me to do research into a supposed haunted hotel in the middle of the next town over and write up its history. They’d pay me, plus my gas to drive there, and it sounded like fun. I confirmed with them I could do it and cleared the junk emails out.
The front door opened. I glanced at the clock; Jay had the early shift today opening the gym, and holy shit—was it past lunch already?
Ugh. Apparently, Jay wasn’t the only one who needed an adult.
The door shut a second later. I paused, raising my eyebrows, then shrugged and grabbed my basket full of dirty laundry.
Yes, I needed to eat, but I also needed clean panties.
I paused only to grab the detergent and fabric softener from the cupboard under the sink and made sure I had my keys to get back in. The elevator was on the floor above, so it was quick to get me and take me down to the ground floor, where I stepped out with the basket on my hip, turned a corner, and took to the small flight of stairs that led to the basement.
The shiny, tiled floor of the small hallway leading to the laundry room was slippery thanks to my slippers, and I almost ended up on my ass before I hit the door.
Then, I froze in the doorway.
Jay was standing on the other side of the room in front of an empty washing machine. His hair was sticking up as if he’d just run his fingers through it and—yep, there it was, he was running his fingers through his hair. His tank top hugged his muscular torso, showing off his strong shoulders and unfairly lickable biceps.
Roving my eyes farther down his body, I lingered over the gray sweat shorts that hung low on his hips, just giving a tiny peek at the waistband of his Calvins.
“How can this be so fucking hard?” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I can drive a car with a stick, but not operate a fucking washer.”
Eyeing the basket full of clothes on the machine next to him, I let my lips curl into a smirk. “Well, it helps if you put the clothes in the machine.”
He jerked, turning to look at me. “Fucking hell, Shelby, you scared the shit out of me.”
I grinned and joined him at the back of the small room. “What’s up? Can’t find the power button?”
Jay rolled his shoulders. “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah? Is getting detergent also complicated?” I shook the box from my basket.
“Didn’t think of that,” he muttered, this time cricking his neck.
Aw. He was embarrassed.
“Careful,” I said, leaning over and hitting the power button for him. “You’re gonna blush in a minute.”
“God, I hate you.”
“All right. You figure it out by yourself.” With a shrug, I took the only other empty machine in the room, two down from him, and went through the motions on autopilot.
He watched me tossing everything in and pushing all the buttons until I was finally done, put down the lid, and set it to start.
Then, I smiled at him, propped my basket back on my hip, and made my way out of the room.
“Shelby!” His pained voice carried into the hall.
“Yes?” I said sweetly, taking a few steps back to look at him through the door.
He turned his bright green eyes my way. “Will you please help me figure out the machine?”
My tongue darted out over my lower lip. “That killed you, didn’t it?”
He ground his teeth together, but that was his only answer.
I laughed and walked back in, setting my basket down by the door, but grabbing the detergent and softener. “Look. It’s simple. You have to turn it on here,” I pointed to the light, “to open the lid.”
He opened the lid.
“Now put your clo—whoa, whoa, hold up. You can’t put those socks in with the red shirt.”
He held a pristine pair of white socks in his right hand and the red shirt in the left. “Why not?”
“They’ll go pink.”
He eyed them. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sorry. Are you teaching me how to use the washer, or…?”
With a sigh, Jay put the socks back into the basket. “Okay. Fair point. Don’t put whites with colors.”
“Or darks. You should do three loads a week.”
“Three loads?”
“Or you can toss them in together and get pink socks. Your choice.”
“Three loads it is.” There was a slight grumble in his tone, and by God, he would be a terrible househusband.
“Now measure the detergent and softener and put them in, too.” I handed him the box and the bottle. “Use the cap on the bottle for that, and you’ll find a little scoop in the box before you ask.”
I took a step back and watched as he side-eyed me before he did it. He added the detergent and softener with more hesitance than a grown man should before putting them off to the side.
“Now set the temperature setting three and make sure the other dial is pointing toward cotton, shut the lid, and press the little button under the power one.”
I fought laughter as I watched him. Honestly, I wished I had my phone to record this and send it to his mom to use in a video compilation somewhere. It was great entertainment.
Jay finally put down the lid and pressed the button. He actually jerked as the machine clicked to life, and I dipped my chin, almost suffocating myself as I held in my laughter.
“Congratulations,” I said, my voice wavering with amusement. “You’ve made it twenty-six years and finally done your own laundry!”
He turned around, glaring at me. “I’m annoyed it was that simple.”
This time, I didn’t fight my laugh as I grabbed the laundry things and put them back in my basket. “What? Did you think you needed to offer the blood of your firstborn, sacrifice a goat, and dance naked on the roof to get it to work?”
“No, but if that will shut you up, I might just do it.”
I reached back and punched him in the arm. “Nobody wants to see you naked on the roof. Or anywhere else for that matter,” I added as the elevator doors dinged open.
“You say that, but it wasn’t my personality that made the new girl give me her number today.” He grinned, reaching over me to hit the button for our floor.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the annoying little pang of jealousy that hit me. It had no business here, thank you very much. “You can’t date employees. Remember the last time Keegan hit on a new employee? He didn’t think through the hitting-and-quitting thing.”
“Yeah, but Keegan isn’t a gentleman like me.”
I snorted and stepped out of the elevator. “You? A gentleman? When was the last time you did anything remotely gentleman-like for anyone?”
He held up one finger, darted in front of me, and put his key in the door before opening it for me. Then, he held it, sweeping his arm out for me to go in first.
I shot him a withering look and walked into the apartment, shaking my head.
“Just then,” Jay added, following me inside.
“Doesn’t count,” I sang, putting the basket down and going into the kitchen. “You did that to make a backward point. You’re not a gentleman.”
“How do you know that?” He leaned on the island, resting on his forearms. “Are you the gentleman police?”
“No. I’m a woman with eyes,” I said dryly. “Also, the basic understanding of what a gentleman is.”
“Yeah, well, you’re no lady. I’ve seen you eat pizza and scratch your ass at the same time.”
“Aha.” I pointed my teaspoon in his direction. “I, however, never claimed to be a lady. If I was, I would have washed my hair at some point in the past five days, and my s
weatshirt wouldn’t be two days old.”
Jay paused, then slowly grimaced and nodded his head. “Right. I have to do my own laundry, and you can’t even wash yourself.”
“I wash myself. I shower every morning. I just don’t wash my hair. Buns were created for lazy bitches.”
“I’ll never understand women.”
“And that’s why you’re single and live with your best friend.”
“Shelby, you are the reason I don’t understand women.”
“More fool you if you’re using me as the benchmark.” I shrugged and pulled last night’s leftover pizza from the fridge, grabbed a slice, and tore a big bite off to prove my point.
Jay glanced at the box. “Your diet sucks.”
“You ate more pizza than I did last night,” I reminded him, turning the box around. It held four pepperoni slices and two of his vegetable pizza. “Who the fuck puts vegetables on pizza? If I wanted to eat healthily, I wouldn’t be eating pizza.”
“I hate it when you use logic on me.” He leaned over and grabbed one of his cold slices. “Makes it hard to live with you.”
“You chose to move in.” I shoved the last bite of pizza in my mouth.
He paused to look at me for a second before shaking his head.
Again: I never claimed to be a lady.
I grinned, grabbing for my coffee. “How was work? Apart from being hit on. I know that was probably the best part of your day.”
“Nah. She’s not my type.”
“Why? She blonde?”
“And taller than me. It’s a double-whammy.”
I choked on my drink. “You’re the size of a tree! How can she be taller than you?”
Jay shrugged, snagging the second piece of his pizza. “I don’t know, but she is. She’s gotta be like six-four or something.”
“You’re six-foot-three. Is an inch really that much of a problem?”
Slowly, he pulled his lips to the side. “You’re the woman. You tell me.”
I choked on the bite of pizza I’d just taken, spitting it out into my hand. My throat was sore, and I knew my cheeks were the brightest red they’d probably ever been.
“No,” I finally eked out, throwing what was in my hand into the trash. “The only people who have problems with inches are men and hair stylists.”
“Whatever you say, Shelbs. For the record, no, I don’t have an issue with one inch, but by the time she wears heels? Ouch.” He shook his head. “Nah. It’s far better to date short girls like you.”
“Is it now?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t matter how high your heels are; you’ll still be small enough to throw over my shoulder.” He winked at me, pushing off the counter.
“You lift a short girl over your shoulder and see what happens!” I called after him. “Our legs are just short enough to kick you in the dick!”
He stopped and backed up a little, smirking at me. “If a girl is over my shoulder, she’s not gonna be kicking my dick. She’s gonna be—”
“La la la!” I yelled, dropping my pizza to cover my ears. “La la la la la!”
He grinned at me until I let my hands fall away and quickly said, “Fucking it.”
I clenched my jaw. “Not in this apartment!”
CHAPTER SIX – SHELBY
Lock. The. Bathroom. Door.
“So he signed it?”
I nodded at Brie, pulling my cocktail toward me. It was the weekly official girls’ night, and two hours ago, Jay had officially signed The Roommate Agreement.
“And he didn’t freak out?” Her dark eyebrows raised into perfectly-plucked arches. “Didn’t go crazy?”
“Nope. We negotiated some points”—like me having to put my name on the Oreo packets—“and he signed it plus the tenancy agreement earlier. He always paid the rent to me anyway, but still.”
“You like everything in its place.” She grinned, her bright red lipstick making her blue eyes seem brighter. “What about dating? Is that in there?”
I sipped my drink. “Yep. Neither of us will bring one-night stands or casual sex partners back to the apartment. If either of us dates someone long enough to have them stay over, we’ll handle that then.”
“Is that because you’d want to cut a bitch or because you respect each other?”
“I would not want to cut anyone who slept with him,” I said tersely. “I simply have no desire to hear it happening in the next room.”
“Yeah, and you don’t think about having a dance with his disco stick, do you?”
“Don’t ever refer to a penis as a disco stick again.”
“Oh, so Lady Gaga can do it, but I can’t?”
That sounded about right. “Yes. And I don’t want to do anything with his penis.”
Brie snorted, taking a long sip from her glass. “Right. I’m sure you don’t. How is that little crush of yours, by the way? Still going strong, or has it crawled back under the rock it came from yet?”
Two best friends were too much. I was going to have to cut them loose.
“Okay, we’re not talking about this.” I sighed and finished my drink, motioning to the server for another round. “The rules in the agreement are there for a reason. No more shirtless wandering around, he has to wear pants, and if he wants to stroll around the apartment in a towel after a shower, he has to make sure I’m either working or not at home.”
“Really? All those rules and he still doesn’t know you make googly eyes at him?”
“I do not make googly eyes.”
“The lady doth protest too much.”
“The lady doth talk too much,” I shot back.
She met my gaze and held it for a second, then filled the air around our table with her loud laughter. “The lady doth talk too much, but it only bothers you when I’m telling the truth.”
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s not the truth. I’m fine. It’s fine. I don’t have a crush.”
“Have a crush on who?” A shadow fell over our table, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned my face.
Blue eyes. Dark-blonde hair. Muscular build.
“Sean. Jesus.” Brie put her hand on her chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Sorry, babe.” He leaned forward and kissed her before taking the empty chair at our table. “Who has a crush on who?”
“I have a crush on Nick Jonas,” I said quickly. “Uh, what are you doing here?”
He motioned to our drinks. “We’re getting a drink.”
“We?” Brie leaned to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you know this is girls’ night? What the hell are you doing here with one of your minions?”
“Minions? I take offense at that.”
I groaned at the new voice, slowly turning my head to the side. “What,” I said, “Are you doing here?”
Jay grinned, motioning for me to move over so he could take my seat. “’Sup, bestie?”
I stared at him. “No.”
“Aw, come on, Shelbs. We wanted a beer and some food.”
“No.”
He sighed and walked around to the empty chair on the other side of me. His knee nudged mine beneath the table at the same time his elbow did above it. “I thought we’d come to celebrate the fact I officially live with you.”
“Really? I was here commiserating about it,” I muttered, making Brie snort her drink up her nose.
Our drinks were brought over, and the guys ordered theirs while the server was here.
“One night a week,” Brie said. “That’s all we want. Three measly hours.”
“Two weeks ago, you both rolled in the door at two a.m.”
I held up a finger. “Not our fault. We got wrangled into a bachelor party, and they wouldn’t let us go. We explained this.”
“If your parents didn’t own this place, I’d be terrified of that,” Sean drawled, looking at me.
All right, yes. We came to the bar my parents owned. We did that because, uh, hello? Free cocktails in exchange for covering a few shifts?
&
nbsp; No. Freaking. Brainer.
“Excuse me?” Brie leaned back and gave him a look that said he better have a damn good reason for saying that.
She was sass personified. I didn’t know how Sean coped with it, to be honest.
Mind you, I wasn’t exactly Miss Polite.
“Drunk people can be crazy,” Sean started. “And men at a bachelor party? They can get a little out of control because they expect strippers.”
He was reaching now.
“Are you calling me a stripper?” Brie’s tone was quickly getting dark. “It’s that, or you don’t trust me.”
“I’m not—fucking hell, how did this happen?”
I leaned into Jay. “This is why you don’t come to girls’ night. We’re here to complain about you, not to you.”
He turned his head so his lips were close to my ear—a little too close. “I said it was a bad idea. He wouldn’t listen. I think they had a fight.”
My eyebrows shot up as Sean leaned into her and said something into her ear.
Brie looked at me, her nostrils flaring. “I need some air. Can you order my usual for me?”
“You want me to come with you?”
“No.” She shot a look at Sean and slid off her chair, heading for the door. Her flat ankle boots squeaked against the floor, and Sean buried his face in his hands.
I looked at him. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume it was him?” Jay asked.
Their beers were brought over, and we all ordered our food, including me ordering for Brie.
“Because he’s a man and I’m a woman, so I’ll naturally assume he fucked up,” I explained. “Now, Sean, spill it.”
He blew out a long breath and met my eyes. “We had a fight. Stupid shit. We’re still adjusting to living together. Little things all piled up, and I thought being here would be helpful.”
I pushed my empty drink to the side and finally pulled my full one toward me. “Bad idea,” I said simply. “She needs time. Trust me. I know how hard it is to move in with someone.”
“Don’t look at me like that!” Jay slammed his bottle onto the table. “I’m not that fucking bad!”
