by Ashlee Price
Her knees are bent one in front of the other so that she can pounce at a moment's notice. Her fingers wrap firmly around the neck of her guitar, ready to swing it.
A guitar doesn't strike me as an ideal weapon, but I guess it's better than nothing. The real question is, why is it aimed at me?
I lift my hands. "Now, now, Jessica, let's not..."
"Stop calling me Jessica!"
She swings the guitar as she leaps forward. I jump back, narrowly avoiding it.
"But that's your name, isn't it?"
She answers with another swing. Again, I jump back. I'm running out of room.
"Liar!"
"What? I never lied to you."
I jump to the side as she takes another swing. The guitar hits the metal cylinder on the table by the window and the pens scatter to the floor.
"You told me you were my new roommate," she hisses.
"I thought I was. I even signed your contract and gave you money."
"You're a man!"
This time, the guitar hits the floor lamp in the corner. It wobbles and I straighten it to keep it from falling.
"I thought you knew," I tell her.
"How was I supposed to know when you didn't fucking tell me?"
"You didn't ask."
"Why, you..."
She growls low in her throat as she tries to hit me again. I pick up the lamp and use it as a shield. Mahogany clashes with metal as my back hits the wall.
"Calm down, Jessica!" I try to reason with her. "You'll damage your guitar."
"I'm gonna damage you, you sneaky jerk!"
Another clash.
I let out a deep breath.
Who'd have thought she could be so aggressive when she was acting all happy to see me last night?
As much as I've enjoyed seeing her so riled up and waving that guitar around so fiercely, this has gone on long enough. If she's not listening, I'll just have to make her.
The next time she swings, I drop the lamp and duck. Then, before she can recover, I pull her into my arms. One of them wraps around her waist. The other presses against her breasts as her back meets my chest.
She lets out a yelp.
Hmm. I thought her breasts were barely there, but they seem to be squishing nicely beneath my arm, soft and firm just as I like them. And her waist seems slender, too, and...
An elbow to my ribs, right on my just-healed wound, knocks away my breath and thought.
My arms loosen and Jessica escapes. The guitar is up in the air again.
I manage to roll out of the way before it smashes my head.
She prepares to hit me again, but suddenly, her eyes and her mouth gape.
I look down at my robe. Ah. It seems as if the sash has come undone-and I'm not wearing anything underneath.
She gives a girlish squeal as she drops the guitar. It lands on the coffee table with a crash.
"No!" Jessica cries out.
I stand up and approach her to try and comfort her, but she puts a hand up in front of my face.
"Go and put some clothes on, pervert! Why are you even wearing my robe anyway?"
I tie the sash and scratch the back of my head.
"Well, I lost my suitcase and..."
Jessica crosses her arms over her chest. "If you think I'm going to lend you some clothes, I'm not."
"Okay. I'll just wear this, then."
She scowls. She marches off to her bedroom and comes back with a shirt and a pair of pants which she throws at me.
"Put them on," she orders.
"Okay."
I slip my foot into a leg of the pants.
"Not here, dumbass!" She hurls a throw pillow at me. "Get changed and come back here."
I obey. I head to my bedroom to change into her clothes. The jeans are too tight for my liking, the shirt too loose, but they fit.
When I return to the living room, it's still a mess, but Jessica looks calmer. She's staring at her broken guitar. The contract I've signed lies beside it, along with the wad of bills I gave her last night.
I glance at the guitar as I approach her. "I'm sorry for..."
Again, she raises a hand. Then she points to the chair across her. I sit.
"Your name is Steffan?" she asks.
I nod. "Steffan... Olsen." I borrow the last name of my friend from Norway. Jessica can't know who I really am, after all. "But my friends call me Steff."
She sighs. "And you're from?"
"Norway," I lie.
I'm pretty sure she hasn't heard of Brelv, and I don't want her to be even more suspicious of me. Besides, I am trying to conceal my identity.
She stretches out her hand. "Passport?"
I rub my neck and give her a sheepish smile. "Sorry. It was in my suitcase."
Jessica frowns. "How am I supposed to know you're not an illegal immigrant or some fugitive?"
I sit back and shrug. "I guess you'll have to trust me."
Her frown deepens.
"Or you could kick me out."
She touches her knees. Her shoulders slump as she sighs.
"How did you find my ad?"
"I saw it online."
She looks at me. "You do know it says that the apartment belongs to a woman, right?"
I scratch my chin as I try to recall the ad.
"But you didn't say you were looking for a female roommate."
She snorts. "Anyone with common sense would know that."
She glares at me again.
"Unless you knew it and you've got some sick plan to..."
"No plans." I wave my hands in front of me before she can think of starting a ruckus again. "In my country, unmarried men and women share rooms all the time."
Jessica's eyes narrow.
"There's nothing wrong with it," I assure her.
Her gaze hovers over the contract. "So you have no problems with it?"
"None."
"Well, I do and I might," she says. "But I do need a roommate."
"I'll do my best not to cause you any trouble," I tell her.
"Too late for that." Jessica lets out another sigh. "Fine, I'll let you stay here in my apartment, but I have a few conditions."
I lean forward. "Okay."
"One, we'll tell everyone you're my cousin, okay?"
"Okay."
I suppose I shouldn't tell her that first-cousin marriage is fairly common in my country.
"Two. You will not lay a finger on me." She points hers at me. "Or try to peep while I'm changing, or... well, you get the idea."
She looks away with rosy cheeks.
I grip my chin and grin.
My, my. My roommate seems to be a virgin.
"Understand?" Jessica asks.
"Perfectly," I answer. "I'm not some mischievous little boy, you know."
"Whatever."
"I'm not going to do anything bad to you, Jessica," I promise her.
Stealing a kiss isn't bad, is it? Besides, she only said 'finger'.
"Three," she goes on. "Don't ever call me Jessica again."
My eyebrows crease. "But..."
"Jess," she says. "Call me Jess."
"Jess," I repeat.
She crosses her arms over her chest, sits back and lets out a deep breath.
"I guess that's settled then."
"Really? I'm glad to hear it."
After all that chaos, finally, we've reached an understanding.
"Yeah." She nods and glances at the table. "It's not going to mend my guitar, though."
"Well, you were the one..."
I stop as Jess glares again.
That must be her signature look.
"It's all my fault," I correct myself. "So why don't I buy you a new one?"
"Nope." Jess shakes her head.
"But you need one, don't you?"
"How...?"
She pauses and glances at the framed pictures on the wall.
Jimi Hendrix. John Deacon. An autograph from Carol Kaye. Pictures with Paul McCartney, Taylor Swift and
John Mayer.
Then there's the massive collection of CDs on the shelf, along with the smaller collection of headphones. And the pile of music sheets.
Even without the guitar on the wall, anyone could see she's a musician.
Jess scratches her head. "Well, I guess I do."
"Then let me..."
"You paid me extra anyway. I can afford one," she cuts me off.
Right. I did.
I rub my hands together. "Then I guess all that's left to do is to buy one."
"Yeah." Jess nods.
She stands up and narrows her eyes at me.
"And while we're out shopping, you might as well get your own clothes."
~
"What do you think of this one?"
I pull a long-sleeved lavender shirt from the rack.
Jess slaps her forehead. "What? Don't tell me you don't know how to pick out your own clothes!"
Well, actually, I've always had someone pick my wardrobe for me.
"Just grab a few and pay for them," she says. "Men's clothes all look the same anyway. And hurry up. I want to get back before dark."
"Yes, ma'am."
Seriously, she's even bossier than Danni.
I get a few more shirts from the rack.
"What about you?" I ask her. "Don't you want to get anything?"
"I have enough clothes, thank you."
Funny. Until now, I didn't think a girl could have enough clothes. Natasia, my mother and my sisters certainly don't seem to think so.
I glance at the shirt I'm wearing and then at the one she's wearing. They look almost the same. "You mean you have enough oversized shirts."
Shirts that don't show off her curves, I might add.
My gaze goes to the red dress on the mannequin and I point to it with my chin.
"What about that dress?"
Jess glances at it. "Nope. I don't wear dresses."
Pity. She would look so much hotter if she did.
"Just get your clothes already and lay off mine," she snaps.
"Okay. Okay."
I grab another shirt on a hanger.
"What about this one?" The sales clerk, a woman with curly blonde hair and a name tag that says 'Vivian', approaches us with a black trench coat.
"Stylish," I remark.
"Yeah," Jess agrees. "But isn't that a woman's coat?"
Vivian looks at me and her eyes grow wide. Her cheeks grow red.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she mumbles. "When you walked in, I thought..."
"It's okay." Jess waves her off. "You're not the only one who's made that mistake."
I give a sheepish grin.
After Vivian walks away, Jess turns to me with her hand on her chin.
"Amused, are you? Well, it's really inconvenient for other people."
I throw her a puzzled look. "But I haven't done..."
"How about we do something about this?" Jess takes a few strands of my hair and wraps them around her fingers.
I swallow. It's been a while since a woman has had the courage to do that to me.
She lets go of my hair. "And what's with the earrings?"
My hand goes to the earring dangling from my right ear. I've had the pair since I was sixteen.
"Well, in my country..." I begin to explain.
"Well, you're not in your country, are you?" she pouts.
I scratch my head. "I guess not."
I take off my earrings and hand them over to her. She tosses them inside her purse.
I bet she doesn't have a clue how much they cost.
"Better." Jess nods in approval. "But you still need a haircut."
I touch my hair.
I haven't had a haircut in years, and the last time I did, my mother was quite displeased. Then again, she's not around now.
Didn't I say this was supposed to be an adventure? I can't stay how I am or I'll never become a better person.
"Sure," I tell Jess with a smile. "Let's do it."
~
A few hours later, I walk away from a barber's chair with my hair so much shorter I can barely recognize myself. A man in a black shirt is already sweeping the locks I used to have from the floor.
I pay at the counter and head to the waiting area where Jess is.
At first, she doesn't notice I'm there but then she looks up and her onyx eyes grow wide. The magazine in her hands falls to her feet.
I give her a smile as I brush the short strands of hair out of my left eye.
"How do I look?"
Chapter 3
Jess
Scorching hot.
As Steff sits across me, eating a slice of pizza, I can barely take my eyes off him.
His pale blond hair has been neatly trimmed to his neck, but there are still strands long enough to tuck behind his right ear. Most of it, though, has been swept over the left side of his face. The strands seem to dance with his every move so that sometimes his eye is peeking through them and sometimes not. It adds an air of charm and mystery to his already fetching features. And when he brushes them away, like he's doing now, I can almost feel my heart stop.
He was good-looking before. Beautiful.
But now, he's so hot my panties are almost melting. Or maybe it's what's inside them that's almost melting.
I shift in my seat and close my legs as I take a sip from a can of soda just in case the wet spot is showing.
It's not just Steff's hair. It's also his clothes. In spite of everything, he picked them well. The midnight blue long-sleeved shirt he has on is hugging his chest and arms, making him look more manly than before. The pristine white jeans make his legs look even longer and leaner, and I can't even begin to describe how they looked like from behind when I was walking after him at the mall. I caught a few other women looking, too.
Am I really going to be living with this guy? Can my virgin heart handle it?
Steff finishes his pizza and slips his thumb and forefinger past his lips to clean the crumbs off them. Afterwards, he rubs his lips together, and then the tip of his tongue darts out to swipe the upper one.
I can feel my insides turning to goo.
"Are you alright, Jess?" His voice makes me jump and I nearly fall off my chair.
"Yes," I answer as I sit up and pull my shirt higher up my shoulders.
For the first time, I wonder why all of my shirts are so loose. Maybe I should have bought a new one like he suggested?
"Are you sure you don't want some?" He pushes the box of pizza towards me.
I shake my head. "No, thanks."
"It's quite good."
I know. At least, I thought so at first, but after months of going through the menu, the flavors have started to seem like nails on a chalkboard on my palate. Plus, my dad's pizzas are way better.
"You like pizza," I observe out loud.
Steff chuckles and some strands of his hair sway towards the right.
"It seems you've learned one of my weaknesses."
I'm suddenly curious to know about the others.
"That's why I thought your apartment would be perfect," he adds.
My eyebrows arch. "You chose my apartment because you knew I lived next door to a pizzeria?"
"You mentioned it in the ad," he points out.
I gaze up at the ceiling.
Right. I did. Whose suggestion was that again?
It doesn't matter. Actually, I was wondering why of all the ads for a roommate, he picked mine. Now I know.
I exhale. Thank God for Swizz Pizza.
Wait. Thank God? Wasn't I just thinking I was cursed this morning?
I take a bite of my chicken sandwich. "Anyway, you're not just going to eat pizza every day, are you?"
Steff scratches his chin.
No way. He's considering it.
"It's not healthy to eat just one kind of food," I tell him. "And don't tell me pizzas come in different flavors. Pizza is still pizza. You should have a varied, balanced diet."
Now I'm starting to sound like my mom.<
br />
"Wow." Steff tucks his hand under his chin. "You're really concerned about your roommates, aren't you?"
Concern?
"Don't get me wrong," I tell him with a pout as I try to keep myself from blushing. "I just don't want to take care of you if you get sick."
More importantly, I don't want him losing that perfect figure.
Steff chuckles. "Well, I guess you'll have to cook for me then. I don't know how."
My eyes grow wide.
"I'll pay you extra," he adds.
Unbelievable.
"What? Has someone else been cooking for you all this time?"
He shrugs. "Something like that."
Who? His mom? No. Somehow, I can't imagine it. A girlfriend, then? Girlfriends? A wife?
"You're not married, are you?" I ask in sudden alarm as I glance at his hand.
Well, there's a ring, but it doesn't look like a wedding ring.
He shakes his head. "This is a... family heirloom."
I nod. "Divorced?"
They have divorce in Norway, don't they?
"No," Steff answers.
I don't know why I'm so relieved.
"Just to be clear, I'm single," he goes on.
Heat bursts in my cheeks. My arms cross over my chest.
"I wasn't asking."
He smirks. My temper simmers.
"I only asked because I was wondering who's been doing your cooking for you," I say defensively. "I bet you've had endless women cooking for you."
"Yes," Steff answers.
Yes?
"And men, too."
What?
"We've had both male and female cooks."
I blink. Cooks?
Ah. I get it now.
"So you're from a rich family, huh?" I ask as I reach for my can of soda. That would explain the family heirloom. "What? Did you run away from home?"
"Something like that."
He's not even denying it.
I take a sip and sigh. "Oh well, we all have family issues. And I have money issues, so I guess I'll cook for you as long as you pay me extra."
"I can..."
I raise my hand to silence him. "But I'm not washing your clothes or doing anything else for you, you hear?"
I set my can down and slap the table.
"I'm your roommate, not your babysitter."
Steff gives me a thumbs-up sign. "Got it."
I finish my sandwich as he grabs another slice of pizza, then gulp down my soda and toss the empty can into the trash. I let out a yawn.
