by Hazel Kelly
She raised her eyebrows and pointed towards the counter. “Your dad gave me your spare key-”
“I never gave him-” I snatched the offending key off the counter and banged my fist on it. “God dammit.”
She shrank against the couch. “Should he not have-”
“No, he shouldn’t have,” I said. “He got this made without my permission.”
“Maybe he was just trying to be helpful? In case you ever got locked out?”
I glared at her. Was she seriously still so naïve? My dad had never done a fucking thing to help me out in his entire- “What are you doing here again?”
“I have an audition.”
“For what?”
“For a role in-”
“Never mind.” I raised one hand and pinched my temples with the other. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.”
When I dropped my hands, she was staring at my chest. Her cheeks turned red.
I sighed. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long do you need a place to stay?”
She pursed her lips.
I pulled my belt the rest of the way off, folded it in one hand, and leaned against the counter.
“Just a few days,” she said. “If I get a part, I’ll look for something more permanent.”
I clenched my jaw and inhaled through my nose.
“I’m really sorry again about my timing,” she said, nodding towards the door. “I just didn’t want things to go any further while I was sitting here and-”
She always was a prude. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
“Still.”
I grabbed a glass from the kitchen, filled it with tap water, and drank it down.
She pulled her knees to her chest. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah,” I said, walking around the counter towards my bedroom door. “You, too.”
But I didn’t mean it. Not a fucking word. In fact, every decision I’d made over the last six years was made so I would stop seeing her.
And now here she was in my goddamn apartment. In her pink pajamas. With no makeup on so I could see the freckles on her nose, the same fucking freckles I’d crossed the country to get away from.
“Well, goodnight,” she said, her face so innocent she shouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near this city.
I nodded and closed the door, wondering what the hell I’d done to deserve this.
All I wanted was to live a simple life filled with simple women who I could entertain simple feelings for.
But apparently I couldn’t have that.
Just like I couldn’t have Jen.
Chapter 3: Jenny
My bladder was full when I woke up.
I rubbed my eyes and rolled over.
Ethan’s door was still closed.
Shit. Under no circumstance could I creep in there and use the bathroom if he was in bed. Not after last night.
For all I knew, he slept naked. Or I’d wake him when I flushed. And I couldn’t not flush. I mean, I was already an unwanted houseguest.
I scooted to the end of the couch where I’d stashed my bag and pulled my bra out, keeping my eye on his door as I put it on under my pajama top. Then I reached for my phone on the glass coffee table. It was after nine.
I tried to recall when he’d come in the night before, but I hadn’t checked. All I knew was that I was dreaming when I heard the door slam. God that was so awkward to see him touching that girl across the room, to hear her moaning like that.
Just thinking about it again sent a chill up my neck.
I folded the blanket I’d used in the night and laid it across the back of the couch, hoping he’d be impressed with my attempt to make my temporary bed. At this stage, I needed to be on my best behavior.
I figured as long as I stayed out of his hair, he wouldn’t kick me out. But somehow I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I wanted him to like me, not just tolerate me like he always had.
Perhaps a gesture of thanks was in order.
I opened the blinds a little and looked out the window. He had a great view of the city, which was a nice surprise since I half expected his windows to face other walls or grimy dumpsters after the way my stepdad bitched about New York.
He was always saying it was full of shallow social climbers and wannabes and people who thought too highly of themselves. It was his least favorite place on Earth.
Perhaps that’s why Ethan had decided to call it home.
Personally, I didn’t have an opinion on the place. Not yet. All I knew was that- as an aspiring actress- I could probably be accused of being any one of those things so who knew what he thought about me. But I already knew I was going to love the place, the energy of it, the unpredictability.
Not that I didn’t love growing up in Ohio, but I’d always longed for the creative buzz that seemed to spring out of major cities where everything was bigger, brighter, louder, and more glamorous. I just hoped New York would love me back.
Starting today.
Then again, maybe it would be wise to start with winning over my roommate.
I went to the fridge and pulled out the carton of eggs, the bread, the milk, and the butter, tiptoeing as quietly as one of the cat sized rats my stepdad warned me about. I flinched as I pulled a pan from one of the cabinets, as if I could make up for the clanging metal sound by opting not to breathe.
And I’d never been more conscious of the noise a cracking egg makes. Of course, it wasn’t until I’d cracked all but two of them that I realized I probably shouldn’t have helped myself to Ethan’s stuff without asking.
Moments after the first batch of toast popped, the smell hit my nostrils, and I hoped Ethan would wake up soon because I didn’t want to have to decide which was less awkward- bringing him breakfast in bed or surprising him whenever he woke up with cold scrambled eggs.
Fortunately, I heard him get up when the eggs were halfway done cooking, and despite my desire to come across as cool and casual, I had to pee so bad at that point all bets were off.
I raised my eyes from the pan when he opened his bedroom door. He was standing shirtless, a pair of navy sweatpants pulling between his hip bones. I felt a shameful curl of heat in my stomach.
Last time I saw him, he still had a few boyish qualities left, a few skinny features here and there. But he’d completely filled out, and he didn’t look anything like the thin, metro gay guys I’d studied drama with.
“Morning,” he said, speaking through a scratch in his throat.
“Morning,” I said, looking back down and wondering if he’d gotten all dressed up for me.
“You’re making breakfast.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that okay? I just thought-”
“I wish you would’ve asked first.”
My heart stopped.
“Those were special eggs.”
I looked up at him and turned the burner down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll-”
“I’m joking, Jesus. The look on your face.”
“Fuck you,” I said, the heat in my cheeks moving to the back of my neck.
He rolled his eyes. “Relax.”
“I was trying to be nice.”
“Try to be nice with a thicker skin or you’re going to get eaten alive out here.”
I hadn’t realized how high and hopeful I’d been until he rained on my good vibes. “Can I use your bathroom?”
He pushed his door open and stepped up to the counter. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “What’s mine is yours, right?”
I turned the burner off and walked towards his room.
“My apartment, my couch, my eggs-”
I clenched my jaw as I passed him.
I felt a little less anxious after I went to the bathroom, but I didn’t go back to the kitchen right away. Instead, I stared at myself in the mirror and tried to calm myself down.
So what if he didn’t like me? Why did I care so much?
My
skin was plenty thick enough. I didn’t need his approval. I just needed his couch for a few days, and if he wasn’t happy about it, so what?
I’d never asked him for a goddamn thing.
Not a ride, not a hug, not even a “hey can you open this for me?”
What right did he have to treat me like this when I hadn’t done anything wrong?
Besides maybe cock block him a little last night.
But I said I was sorry.
I took a deep breath and puffed my chest out like a Gorilla until I felt big and proud and strong like my charisma book promised I would- or rather, until I felt silly. Then I headed back out to the kitchen.
And while I wanted to stay mad at him and show him that I could be hard and not cut anybody slack, too, that all went out the window as soon as I saw him again.
Because something about the way the muscles in his arms and stomach moved as he plated those special eggs made me forget everything.
Including the fact that he was totally off limits.
Chapter 4: Ethan
“I’ve decided to let you stay,” I said, forking another clump of scrambled eggs. “Since this breakfast isn’t half bad.”
She swallowed the bite she was chewing. “I didn’t realize you were thinking about kicking me out, but thanks. I’m glad my eggs have helped you decide to do the right thing.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Maybe you could celebrate my good luck by putting some clothes on.”
I looked up from my plate.
Her hazel eyes were down on her eggs.
“I thought you were an artiste?”
“I’m an actress.”
“A wannabe actress.”
“Better than an honest to goodness asshole.”
One side of my mouth curled up in a smile.
She raised her eyebrows. “What’s your point?”
“No point,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I’m just surprised that a half naked human body would be so offensive to you.”
“And I’m surprised you didn’t learn some respect after all those years in boarding school.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Respect? You’re the one that showed up here uninvited.”
“Your dad said it was okay.”
“What the heck does that even mean? You think his lack of consideration for my privacy is an excuse for your rudeness?”
She pulled a knee up to her chest and hugged it. “Look, Ethan. I only need to stay for a few days. I thought it would be okay because I’ve never asked you for anything.”
I blinked at her. I supposed that was true, but she’d demanded so much of my attention over the years it felt like it couldn’t be.
“Plus, I would do it for you.”
I rolled my eyes.
She raised her eyebrows. “But if I’m really cramping your style so much, just say the word and I’ll go.”
I bit one of my triangles of toast in half. “Where would you go?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out if I have to,” she said. “But frankly, I’m beyond stressed out over this audition, and I really don’t need your shit right now.”
I groaned. Why did she have to be so fucking sensitive- to my nakedness, my attitude? Could she not see how severely style cramping that was?
“Well?”
“You don’t have to go, okay. I’m not even really mad at you. I’m mad at my dad for having the audacity to copy my fucking key without permission and then lend it out to guests without giving me so much as a heads up.”
She pursed her lips.
“You’d think his controlling ways would’ve lessened considering how long ago I moved out and the fact that I went halfway across the country to get some goddamn space, but he just won’t take a hint.”
“I know he can be a little intense-”
I furrowed my brow. “A little intense?! He makes Robert De Niro in Meet the Parents look like Mr. Rogers.”
“Which is why when he told me to take your key and show up here, I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”
I stared at her open face. She looked so young in her matching pajamas, so innocent. And I knew she was telling the truth.
After all, I got out.
I’d learned how to say no to my dad after years of practice and distance, distance she never had. And even though he wasn’t her father, he was intimidating in a way I can only imagine was hellish for her growing up.
Plus, without me around to distract him, I often worried about how things must’ve been for her after I left.
But, selfishly, I didn’t care. Because even though my dad was a controlling prick, I knew she was safe under his roof, though I admit it never occurred to me that she might ever be under mine.
“You gonna eat that?” I asked, lifting my chin towards her last triangle of toast.
She slid her plate towards me.
“Tell me about your audition,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Sure.” I figured I’d given her enough hell for the day, which I had to do because she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t like it here.
But considering that her time was limited, I might as well get her talking.
After all, maybe if I got to know her, I’d discover that she wasn’t all that great anymore and that I’d outgrown my stupid childhood crush on her, a crush I never should’ve had in the first place.
Cause back then she was a weird drama student teacher’s pet who I couldn’t be seen to acknowledge, much less like.
And yet, in those days, everything about her was interesting to me: the way she looked in headbands, the way she hummed to herself when she thought no one was paying attention, the stupid pride she took in her grades. She was like another species, and most of the time, I couldn’t tell if I was studying her or hunting her.
“One of my professors told me about it. It’s the story of the Beach Boys and their rise to-”
“So are you going for the part of Dennis or Brian?”
She cocked her head. “Very funny.”
I smiled. I knew androgynous looks were in these days, but Jen couldn’t have played a convincing man if she were the best actor in the world.
“To be honest, I’d be happy with anything. I mean, this is my first audition for something this big. If I even get to be an extra I’ll be thrilled.” She pulled her feet up and sat cross legged. “It would be a relief to have something on my resume besides school productions, ya know?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “So what do you have to do to prove you’re the person for the job?”
“I have to read out some lines, sing a bit, and there’s a good chance they’ll teach me a routine to see how quickly I can pick up choreography.”
“Sounds like you’ll have plenty of chances to impress them.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I know it would be lucky to get something so soon after graduation, but I don’t really have a Plan B.”
“I was never really into Plan B’s myself.”
Her eyes softened at the edges, and I felt a twinge in my groin.
“So what’s Plan A?” I asked. “To become a huge movie star?”
She laughed. “That’s sort of Plan A+.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’d be happy if I could just get enough acting jobs to keep food on the table and not have to go back to Ohio.”
“I hear that.”
“It’s not really fame I’m after. I just want to make a living doing what I love, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” I said. “And I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah?”
I shrugged. “Of course. I love my job.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You love bartending?”
“I do.”
“Cool.”
“You don’t have to get it,” I said, reaching for her empty plate and stacking it on my own. “Just like I don’t have to get what you like so much about showing people your
jazz hands.”
“I suppose.” She stood up and reached for the plates. “Here. Let me.”
