by Emma Hart
The hot water of the shower was more enjoyable than it should have been. I felt like shit. I wanted to forget that I’d ever jerked off to the thought of Ava. How the fuck I was going to face her this morning was another question.
I had no emotional feelings for her.
It was purely sexual.
She drove me fucking insane. Her mouth was so smart that, if she were ever kidnapped, it’d either save her life or murder her. It’d get her murdered because she was too damn smart.
On the other hand, that damn mouth of hers would save her life because the kidnappers would get tired of her shit.
I rinsed the soap from my hair and my body. After a moment of savoring the feeling of the water on my skin, I turned off the shower and stepped out.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and unlocked the bathroom door to walk into the hallway. The apartment was silent, and I hesitated in the hall.
Coffee wouldn’t be amiss right now.
I didn’t know where Ava was, but despite this morning’s antics in my bedroom, we had to get used to living together. That meant there was every chance we’d see each other post-shower in nothing but a towel and water droplets.
I preferred that she’d see me like this.
If I saw her in nothing but a towel and water droplets, I’d need a shower of my own.
A fucking freezing one.
A sled to the Arctic would work, too.
I double-checked the towel around my waist was secure and left the bathroom, walking toward the silent kitchen. Cracking my neck as I went, I also stretched out my arms, freezing when I saw Ava sitting at the small island in the middle of the open-plan living area.
“Morning,” I said, clutching the towel knot at my hip.
Ava jerked around, and her phone slipped from her right hand. She bolted from the stool, and the phone bounced out of her grip three times before she finally managed to get hold of it. Adjusting her bright yellow glasses with one hand, she clutched the phone tightly to her with the other. “Morning.”
“You’re jumpy. Or rather, your phone is.”
“Shut up.” She put the phone on the counter. “Are you not wearing clothes today?”
“Nope.” I turned on the coffee machine. “I start work at twelve, and I just got out of the shower. I didn’t know that I had to wear clothes to make coffee.”
“It would be appreciated.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
“Is that some kind of sex game you’re into?”
She reached over and slapped my arm. “You’re still wet.”
I chuckled. “That’s usually my line.”
Ava rolled her eyes and leaned against the island. “No. I don’t want a coffee, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” I turned my back to her so I didn’t have to look at her anymore.
She was unfairly fucking beautiful.
Don’t get me wrong; right now, she was a fucking disaster, but she was a beautiful one.
Her black hair was tied into a bun on top of her head, but that bun looked as if a cat had compiled it and Wolverine himself had twisted the hair tie to hold it in place. Behind her glasses, her eyes were bloodshot, and the shadows under them would frighten away a mass murderer, and there was a huge stain on the front of her shirt.
I was doing my best to ignore the fact she was braless. Her nipples were way too distracting, and after what I’d just done in my room, it wasn’t exactly how I wanted to get the rest of my day underway.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. She’d taken last night hard, as anyone would, and despite what she’d tell you, I did care about her feelings.
“Fine,” she replied shortly, telling me that she was most definitely not fine.
Thank God I wasn’t stupid enough to question her use of the word ‘fine.’
“You’re talkative this morning.” Apparently, I was a little stupid.
“Do you want me to junk punch you?” she snapped.
I turned, eyebrows raised. “Jesus, can’t I make conversation?”
She pursed her lips.
Living together was going to be impossible.
“Look, we need to talk.” She put her cup down and rested her hip against the side of the island. She reached up and tucked some of her dark hair behind her ear, then sighed. “This is a bad i—”
Her phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting her. She snatched it up and groaned when she saw the screen, but she answered it anyway.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s up?...Yeah, he’s here.”
Ava quickly tapped the screen and put the phone on speaker because Reagan’s voice filled the kitchen.
“Hey,” Reagan said. “Noah just called me from work. He spoke to one of the nurses at the hospital.”
“About that woman from last night?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. “It was an accidental drug overdose. They gave her some Narcan in the ambulance and saved her life.”
“Was the nurse allowed to say that?”
“No. He flirted it out of her, and yes, I am going to have his balls for that.”
Ava snorted. “You’ve had them since the day you met.”
“Not the point. I’m not happy.”
“I don’t imagine the almost-dead woman is happy either,” I said before they got too carried away. “Thanks for letting us know.”
“Don’t mention it. Hey, Ava, I’m slammed at the store this morning, and nobody can help me except Aunt Bethel. Can you come down for an hour and watch the register?”
Ava sighed. “Are you going to pay me?”
“I’ll give you ten bucks and buy you lunch.”
“Twenty, and I want real food, not a sandwich in a Tupperware box like last time.”
“Ugh. Fine. You’ve got a deal. Only because I don’t want any more doctor appointments in the book.” The line crackled. “Bye, Ethan.”
“Bye, Reagan.”
“I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Ava.” Reagan hung up.
Ava sighed and put her phone down on the island. “So much for my day off.”
I smirked. “What did you want to talk about?”
She waved her hand. “It’ll have to wait. I need a shower, and you need some clothes.”
“I don’t need clothes!” I called after her.
“Yes, you do! Before I throw up!”
Just for that, I didn’t go back into my room as I’d planned. Instead, I went over to the sofa and lay back, grabbing the remote to turn on the television. I watched twenty-five minutes of sports news before Ava came back out from her room.
Her black hair was now in a braid that hung over one shoulder, still wet, and she had her phone clutched in her hand. “You should know that I’m now the proud owner of a picture of your ballsac.”
I jerked, immediately covering myself. “What?”
She shrugged. “Leverage.”
“Leverage for fucking what?”
“The hedgehog.” She smirked. “Let the hedgehog run free, and I’ll do some freeing of my own.”
“There are laws against that kind of stuff, Ava.”
“Not if my friends happen to accidentally see it and then tell people you severely lack in that department. That’s not revenge porn.”
I glared at her. “You wanna play this game? All right, let’s play. Just because the hedgehog will stay in its cage, doesn’t mean I can’t mess with you in other ways.”
She pursed her lips. “We’ll see.”
With that, she spun around and stalked out of the apartment, kicking the door shut behind her.
And I grinned.
Messing with her was going to be fun.
CHAPTER FIVE – AVA
Passive Aggressive Bullshit
My candles were in the wrong places.
I dropped my purse on the sofa and stormed over to the window. Yep. I was right. One of the candles had been moved an inch to the right, and another had been nudge
d backward.
Fucking Ethan.
I was going to kill him.
All right, so I’d started this with the whole picture of his balls—which didn’t exist—but this was just downright mean.
Passive. Aggressive. Bullshit.
If that was how he wanted to do this… as he said, we’d play. I grew up with a brother. I was used to doing things to piss the other off. If he wanted to move my candles, I’d get back at him in my own way.
I knew exactly where to start, too, but I didn’t have much time. My ‘hour’ at The Wright Bouquet had turned into four when Preston’s car broke down and he couldn’t do the deliveries so Reagan had to.
I marched into the kitchen and grabbed hold of the sugar canister. The lid made a popping sound as I pulled it off to look inside. There wasn’t a whole lot of sugar in there, so with a nod, I carried it over to the trashcan and tipped every last granule into it.
I set it on the counter and pulled the tub of salt down from the cupboard. It was fairly new, and I tipped it into the sugar canister until it was a third full like it’d been before.
I didn’t take sugar in my coffee unless I was hungover and needed a kick. Since I had no plans to drink tonight, I knew it’d ruin Ethan’s morning tomorrow.
I was all about that.
I mean, I could ask him to move out, or I could just ruin his life.
Since he seemed hell-bent on ruining mine, it’d be rude not to return the favor.
I put the lid back on the canister and put it in place between the coffee one and the tea one that was actually full of cookies.
Talking of cookies…
I pulled three from the jar and replaced the lid. I needed a sugar hit after the day I’d had, and I also needed to decide what to make for dinner.
Did I have to cook for Ethan, too? Or were we each responsible for our own food?
I cooked too much food all the time. A bit like the people who cooked pasta for two but made enough to feed an entire classroom. I was like that but with everything.
It didn’t really explain why I made six enchiladas for myself every time, but whatever.
A perusal of the fridge turned up not a whole lot, but as far as enchiladas went, I had everything for those.
Hmm.
I fetched my phone from my purse and pulled up Ethan’s number.
ME: What time do you finish work? Definitely 5?
His response was swift.
ETHAN: Yeah, 5. Why?
ME: I’m making enchiladas. Did you want some?
ETHAN: Are you going to poison me?
ME: Even if I were, why would I tell you?
ETHAN: To be nice?
ME: Murderers don’t give advance notice.
ME: Nor are they nice.
ME: Can you answer the question?
ETHAN: I don’t know if I trust you not to poison me.
ME: To paraphrase the Beast—then go ahead and fucking starve.
ETHAN: If you’re talking about the Disney dude, I don’t think he said ‘fucking.’
ME: That’s why I said paraphrase.
ETHAN: Right.
ME: Look, I’m going to make a ton anyway because I make too much of everything, but I was asking to be nice.
ETHAN: I’d love enchiladas. As long as you don’t poison me.
ME: If you don’t fucking shut up, I’ll bludgeon you in your sleep.
ETHAN: That’s fine. I have great dreams. I’ll die happy.
ME: Weirdo.
I put my phone down and got to preparing dinner. Cooking was soothing to my soul, and I felt entirely at home in the kitchen. More than anywhere else, actually. It was my happy place.
I diced the chicken and tossed it into the pan, then sliced the vegetables. By the time it was all done and I had the sauce made, the front door opened, and Ethan walked in.
He froze in the doorway.
“What?” I asked, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“Nothing. It smells better than I thought.”
“Yeah, well, they do say that most people can’t smell cyanide.”
“Funny,” he drawled, dragging the word right out. “I might order in instead.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the tortillas, slicing the packaging open with a knife. God only knew I’d made enough fillings for all of them, so I was going to cook all of them.
Ethan disappeared into his room, and I finished making the enchiladas. The oven was hot, so I put the dish inside it and closed the door. It already smelled amazing, and I was a little gutted that I had to put the dishes in the dishwasher.
I wanted to lick the pan.
Just a little.
Hey, some people ate cake mix from the bowl, I wanted to lick enchilada sauce from the pan.
We all had our vices.
By the time Ethan rejoined me, the kitchen was clean and I’d wiped down all the counters.
“Wow. You got fairies who do that?”
I shook my head as he pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge. “Yes, me.”
He held a bottle of beer out to me, but I shook my head. “Did you help Reagan for the rest of the day?”
“How did you—” I stopped. Of course he’d know about Preston’s car. He worked at the only garage in town. Since his uncle owned it, he had a standing job there whenever he came home. “Never mind. Yeah, I got back just after four. Did you fix his car?”
Ethan took a long drink from his beer, then shook his head. “No. We had to order in a new exhaust pipe.”
“A new exhaust pipe? How do you break an exhaust pipe?”
“When it gets loaded with rocks and pizza crusts.”
“I… don’t really know how to respond to that.”
“Yeah, well, neither did we until Halley hunted down the raccoons and found three empty pizza boxes hidden in a bush.”
I frowned. “Let me guess: Boris?”
Ethan nodded. “Fuck knows what happened, but that raccoon sounds like he should be in jail.”
He was not wrong about that. Hard time would probably do that animal some good. Readjust his priorities and all that.
Probation at the very least.
“Why would he put pizza crusts in the exhaust pipe?” I asked, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. “That’s the weirdest, most random thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t speak raccoon, and apparently, he ran off when Halley demanded answers. Does she know raccoons don’t speak English?”
“It’s something we’re working on,” I replied vaguely. “Seriously, she does, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to stop talking to them.”
“Has anyone ever told her that she’s really weird?”
“Yes. Every day. She couldn’t give a shit.”
“Fair enough.” Ethan cough-laughed and rubbed his hand over his lips. “But yeah, it looks like Boris has something against Preston, and took revenge in his car.”
“I don’t buy it. I mean, Boris is a raging fucking asshole, but how would he even know to put stuff in the exhaust?” I paused. “Then again, this is Boris, and raccoons are crazy smart. Smarter than we give them credit for.”
“This is vindictive ex-girlfriend shit, though.” Ethan flattened his hands on the island and leaned forward. “A guy I worked with a couple of years ago in Dallas broke up with his girlfriend when she caught him cheating on her, and shit, man. She went apeshit. I think there’s a video of her defacing his car on the internet somewhere.”
I blinked at him. “He broke her trust. Breaking his car seems like a perfectly reasonable revenge method to me.”
“And remind me to warn every man ever away from you.”
“Not all of them. Only the cheaters, but then you’d be doing me a favor.” I shrugged and crossed to the oven to check on the food. “Look, there are crazy bitches out there. I’m not one of them, luckily for everyone in my path.” I gave him a pointed look.
“Don’t you have a picture of my ballsac on yo
ur phone because I let the hedgehog out once? That’s crazy-bitch territory in my opinion.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t going to tell him I didn’t actually have it. “I’m vindictive, not crazy.”
“You say that like it’s an upgrade.”
“Sure it is. I won’t key your car or smash your windows with a brick, but I will make sure everyone knows you and your three-inch dick can only get off to the gay porn I found in your internet history.”
“There is no gay porn in my internet history.”
“Yet.”
“You’re a little scary, do you know that?”
I grinned, lifting my wine glass to my mouth. “Just reminding you of what I’m capable of if you ever, ever move my fucking candles again.”
He raised two fingers to his temple and saluted me. “Your obsession with those candles is weird.”
“I told you; I like them just so. They’re symmetrical. I like symmetry.”
“Well, that explains the cutlery drawer.”
I opened the oven again and side-eyed him. “There’s nothing wrong with an orderly cutlery drawer.”
“Do you have OCD?”
“What? Because I like things a certain way?” I set a three-minute timer on the oven and faced him. “No. OCD is way too overused for people who just like things a certain way. I can enjoy organization and order without having a genuine disorder that shouldn’t be thrown about as trivially as it is these days. Yes, I thrive on things being in the places they’re supposed to be in, and I like to make sure everything has its place, but that’s all it is.”
“All right, Dr. Phil. Calm down.”
“Watch yourself, or I’ll find you a place six foot under.”
“Your death threats are getting more and more frequent.”
“And they only happen after you say something stupid. Isn’t it funny how that works?”
“Living with you is a pleasure I didn’t know I needed to experience in my life, Ava.”
