by Tara Brown
“No. Stop being evil. I’m tired. It’s been a long week. And Ashley and I have to decide what’s for dinner. Are you staying?”
“For takeout and convincing you to get me the rules? Hard pass. Theresa is making me a Buddha bowl with peanut sauce and chickpeas she sprouted herself. I just came for my end-of-term hug. We cool.” She offered me a peace sign and nodded her head at Ashley. “See ya in the trenches, soldier.”
He lifted his brow, but she was already out the door, not waiting for him to acknowledge her.
“She’s smaller than I imagined.”
“Bonaparte was short as well. Didn’t stop him from trying to take over the world.” I spun, trying to find my pleasant face through what felt like the beginning of a headache. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”
“That Buddha bowl sounded good.” He pointed at the closed door.
“We can’t risk going home. If my mother sees us, the jig is up.” I took a step closer, hoping to get a feel for his situation and why he was acting so different today. “Are you all right?”
“What?” He frowned.
“You seem tense.”
“No, I’m fine.” He glanced at his phone again.
“Girlfriend troubles?” I smiled, trying to pry in the politest way possible.
“No, God. Father,” he said, and then flinched like he shouldn’t have said it.
“Godfather?” My heart paused.
“He’s—um—” He paused again. “I’m sorry. I’m not really up for company right now. I think I might just go lie down for a bit. My head is pounding.” He waved and stalked off. “Dinner at seven, as usual?”
“Yup.” I scowled, wondering what he was hiding.
It was going to be a rough week if Ashley continued being distant. I needed his full concentration and effort in order to make it through Friday in one piece.
Chapter Fourteen
CHESS, A GAME OF STRATEGY AND ANGST
Ashley
Lying on the bed, I mentally paced the room, going over what my mom had said.
The doctors were worried Da’s cancer had gone into his bones, and they were going to be checking that this week. We wouldn’t know right away, meaning his cancer could be worse than previously believed. Meaning I would desperately need to get home this summer. Meaning I really needed to do this job so I had the money to go home.
All of which really meant that I needed to not be attracted to the girl I was working for.
I changed topics in my rant and started giving myself a lecture on all the things about Cherry I didn’t like. Or rather, shouldn’t like.
She was rich—too rich. That mansion in the city had to be worth seventy or eighty million dollars. If not closer to a hundred.
She was spoiled—not on purpose, just by default.
She was privileged.
She was a snob.
She dated dipshits like that moron in the city, meaning she liked guys like that.
She was . . . too pretty.
I got up off the bed, nodding at that one, hitting my palm with my knuckles as I paced for real.
She knew she was pretty. Egotistical.
No.
That was a lie.
She might have known she was pretty, but her self-esteem was crushingly low. She wasn’t egotistical. And if I was being honest, the only problem with her being too pretty was my total lack of self-control.
In the city, I’d eaten in my room most nights, staring at the door and wondering what she was doing. I’d spent the entire car ride out here pretending to read an old thesis of my dad’s, doing everything in my power not to be nice to her. I couldn’t even make eye contact. I would have reached forward, and everything would have come apart, including her blouse.
The way she leaned forward, her breasts shifting in that lacy bra I could see through the shirt, stretching the tiny buttons until it created a gap. My God. Her creamy skin was perfection everywhere, but those ample swells on her chest called me by name. The skin begged to be stroked. I imagined what color the blush would be on it, my hand lowering to my stomach, contemplating touching my erection.
“Fuck!” I glanced down at my cock, realizing I wasn’t even trying. Hard as a rock and trying to burst from my pants. A cold shower; I needed a cold shower. I turned and hurried into my en suite, stripping and jumping into the tepid water.
It did nothing.
If anything, getting my cock wet was a colossal mistake.
Mainly because I resorted to a fantasy involving my new roommate as I turned the heat up in every way.
When I was cleaned of my impure thoughts and feeling less tense, I headed back downstairs to see if she had come up with an idea for dinner.
But she wasn’t eating.
I paused in the doorway, seeing a shot glass, vodka, martini shaker, Grand Marnier, Chambord, cranberry juice, and limes spread across the counter. She was sitting at the bar and downing the last of a pink martini as I entered.
“Liquid dinner?” I asked, half laughing.
She nodded, looking a bit distraught. “Liquid courage.”
“Is vodka keto?” I said, mocking her and her beach diet. It was clearly going well.
“Yes.” She nodded again. “The Chambord isn’t, though.”
“Everything okay?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Being back here makes it all more real. I’m super pissed off, and I want to drive to Cait’s house and tell her what a fucking bitch she is. And that she is the worst friend in the history of bad friends. And that I hope she dies alone.” She blurted it, exploding with rage. “Sorry.” She covered her mouth, plugging the hole before more venom came pouring out. Clearly the drinks were loosening her tongue.
“Want another?” I asked with a laugh as I rounded the other side of the counter, as if I were a bartender. I didn’t know another response to this type of girl craziness.
“Sure. Sorry. I didn’t mean to word vomit that everywhere.”
“It’s fine. I get it. You’re about to embark on a revenge plot. It’s stressful.” I tried to be like a real bartender, tell her what she wanted to hear.
“It is stressful. I mean, what if we get caught? What if she’s on to me and I end up the big loser, again?” Her cheeks flushed as she grabbed the vodka. “Let me make it. I make a mean martini.” She poured fast, getting up and adding ice before shaking. “It’s just, she’s always won, you know? Her dad is like the king of assholes.”
“King shit of turd island, you mean?” I joked, making her laugh for real.
“Exactly.”
Watching her shake the stainless steel container killed my decision not to get involved with her. She must have taken her bra off when she changed, because everything was moving freely, jiggling. She was wearing those fucking short shorts again, a T-shirt, some huge knit socks, and possibly nothing else. She looked like a sorority sister. Or that babysitter you always had a crush on. And she was free, and not just in the chest. She’d let her hair down and was a mess.
“You wanna play a board game?” She lifted a dark eyebrow.
“What kind of board game?” I was back to being scared of my reactions.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you go and get one set up, and I’ll make snacks?” She smiled, not flirtingly, just normally. Like she was desperate to take her mind off things. My entire body took it as that we were going to play strip poker, and then I was going to poke her.
Fuck.
“Sounds great.” I offered my most churchy smile and sauntered into the other room, praying the blood stayed in my actual brain and didn’t dive to my favorite brain.
I found the stacks of board games in a big chest by the two large leather sectionals in the sitting room with the huge fireplace.
I decided on chess, certain I would crush her and possibly make her hate me.
It was one of those fancy boards you saw in snobby coffee shops where the pieces were hand-carved marble and the board was some vintag
e mahogany.
As I finished setting up, she came in with a charcuterie board like out of a magazine. It had pepperoni, salami, mixed olives and pickles, crackers, several types of cheeses sliced up, a chunk of goat cheese that had pieces of cranberries in it, and fruit. She left it on the sideboard and went back to the kitchen, returning with a massive pitcher of martinis and two glasses.
She poured us both some of the pink liquid and handed me mine.
“Chess, good choice.” She sat, her legs underneath her and her nipples staring at me, mocking me.
“You can play?” I asked.
“A bit. Andy likes it when I play with him instead of Ella; she crushes him every time.”
“Whereas he beats you?” I tried so hard to maintain her stare, lifting the glass to my lips.
“Not all the time. Just most of the time.” She nodded and sipped.
“Jesus, that’s delicious. What is it?”
“A raspberry cosmo.” She licked her strawberry-colored lips and set the drink down.
“Ladies first.” I gulped. We were never going to make it through seven days. I was never going to make it.
I’d never slept with an employer before.
But I’d also never met a girl I wanted more than this one, probably because this was the first one I wasn’t allowed to have. Not to mention the fact she was stunningly gorgeous and incredibly secretive. She didn’t speak her emotions or lighten up easily. You had to work for it. She had to trust you. Seeing Cherry blossom was like watching one of those rare flowers bloom that needed perfect conditions to come to life—but the payoff was so worth it.
It was my own private hell.
Sitting by the fire, we played for two hours, just being us. Her laughing and me desperately trying to make her laugh so I could stare at her smile. Drinking and eating until there was nothing left on the board and nothing left in the pitcher and my self-control was hanging by a thread.
She beat me twice in chess. She played like one of those eleven-year-olds in the park, talking about nothing, twirling her hair, and crushing me like she was a seasoned battle general. I couldn’t help it; I reached forward, just like it was natural, and had to twirl a lock of her shiny red hair myself.
When it was all the way around my finger and I was ensnared, both in my heart and with my hand, she gulped.
Her stare widened as she locked eyes with me, reading my dirty thoughts as they flickered with the flames, reflected in my gaze.
She spoke after a second. “We should go to bed.”
“Yours or mine?” I laughed again but she didn’t.
She furrowed her brow and nodded. “I need water.” She jumped up, wrenching my hand with her. Without any grace, she bolted from the room, slammed the door to her room across the house, and ended the evening, just like that.
“Excellent work, Mr. Jardine,” I congratulated my drunken self aloud. “This won’t be awkward at all in the morning. Well done, you.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE NEVER-ENDING ANGST
Cherry
My head throbbed.
My eyes were crusted over, and my heart was burning like I’d thrown—oh, right—I’d thrown up all night.
The garbage bin next to the bed confirmed that.
The smell made me gag, but I managed to get to the bathroom before anything else happened. I heaved over the toilet, nothing left in me to remove.
It lasted too long. A noise startled me and I jumped, realizing I’d passed out with my face on the toilet seat.
“Jesus,” I grumped, and turned, crawling back to my bed.
“What in the seventh hell is this?” Ella shouted, coming into my bathroom.
“Shhhhh.” I waved her off. “Stop shouting.”
“I’m whispering, you moron. Why are you drunk? What the hell did you do last night? Ashley looks like he might be walking dead. You’re a mess.”
“I don’t know.” I made it back into the sheets as she continued yammering on. I ignored her and closed my eyes, hoping the bed would quit spinning and the sheets would reclaim me as one of their own.
I passed back out, waking to a dark room and no Ella. I felt miraculously better, and in the shadows, I caught a glimpse of why. The IV hooked up to my arm was refreshing me.
“Hello?” I called out, curious who had put it there.
“Hi. Sorry, miss. Your sister said she would be right back.” A sweet-looking lady who clearly worked for the hydration-therapy company beamed at me. “You’re almost done. Should be good as new in about five minutes.” She left the room.
“Thanks,” I shouted after her, and grabbed my phone, seeing the messages I’d sent Ella. “Good God,” I muttered, and cringed at them.
I think I love Ashley.
He’s so hot, would it be weird if we fucked.
Can I fuck him if we’re paying him?
Who did I become when I drank? Dear God. Mom. That’s who.
I double cringed when I saw the messages at the bottom of the conversation from Andy, scolding me to keep it in my pants and not sleep with the guy who was his new friend.
I’d sent the messages in the group chat. Lovely.
“Tell me you managed to keep all that to yourself.” Ella waved her hands over my body.
“I think I got sick all night long.”
“Oh, you did. There’s no doubt. Ashley says he doesn’t remember the night much. I’m assuming you went for the raspberry cosmos? I saw the roadkill on the counter. Who drinks a pitcher of martinis?”
“Oh, God,” I groaned. “He must think I’m insane.”
“No, I suspect he thinks something else. Like how can he get you back into that mood, minus the puking? He’s being weird in that ‘I almost banged your sister last night’ sort of way.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Oh, he is. He’s asked about you twenty times.” She rolled her eyes. “That magic vag, Cherry. You need to learn to contain it.”
“Shut up!”
“I’ll see you later. Behave. Don’t make me come back over here. I left you guys some lasagna in the oven. Take it out in, like, half an hour. It’s from Theresa. She knows you’re home and sends her regards.”
“I love you.”
“Not as much as you love Ashley,” she teased, and left the room, waving.
The IV lady came in and unhooked me. “And you’re free.” She smiled and cleaned up, leaving me to my thoughts.
What the hell had happened?
I didn’t recall everything.
We ate and drank and laughed and played chess. I won. Twice. I liked him. That was all I had. So why hadn’t we had sex? Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he didn’t like me back. Maybe he was sick too. Maybe I got sick first. Jesus, did I get sick in front of him?
I was starving, and it was time to face the music. I climbed off the bed and pulled on a robe, then snuck out to the living room. I should have showered first, but I needed to check the lasagna. Tiptoeing, I made my way to the oven, smiling when I saw it still had twenty-three minutes on the timer.
Ashley was sleeping on the couch by the fireplace. His arm over his face.
I hurried back to my room and jumped in the shower, washing my hair and body and brushing my teeth as fast as I could. When I was done and dry, I hurried to my bags and picked the cutest set of short shorts, ivory with lace on the bottom, and a super-tight pale-pink T-shirt with an adorable pink lacy bralette. It was casual, like I wasn’t trying at all, and yet pretty.
I pulled my wet hair into a ponytail, something my stylist would kill me for, and did the fastest makeup job on the face of the earth, making it look like I wasn’t wearing anything when, really, I had on tons. I had to. I needed to hide the evidence that I woke up looking like a dead fish.
Then I sauntered out, stretching and yawning, like this was the first time I’d left the room.
Ashley was in the kitchen, looking like he’d fought in the same battle I had. He was freshly showered, wearing gray joggers and
a pale-blue T-shirt with a shield on it. His scruff was dark and thick, making me want to rub my hands over it. His dark eyes sparkled from behind those thick-framed glasses. “How ya feeling?”
“All right.” I put my hand on my stomach. “Starving.”
“So am I. That IV thing worked like a charm. You rich people don’t even suffer through hangovers?” He narrowed his gaze. He looked like Superman.
“Maybe not. But we still have to suffer through each other’s existence. Consider that.” I grabbed two plates and twisted my torso toward him, catching him staring at my ass like he was paid to. “Want to grab water glasses?”
“Sure.” He nodded, not even taking his eyes off my butt.
I put a slice of fresh bread and a huge piece of Theresa’s famous lasagna on each of our plates. The smell was doing bad things to me. My stomach growled like a lion.
“Was that you?” he asked as he filled up the water, hearing me over the running tap.
“It was. I’m really hungry.” I laughed and carried the food to the kitchen table.
He brought water and napkins, and we sat in awkward silence.
“So, what happened last night?” I asked, cutting the lasagna. I lifted my first bite and waited for it to cool.
“I honestly don’t know.” He cracked a grin, doing the same.
“We drank way too much.” I placed the bite in my mouth, closing my eyes and moaning. “Oh my God,” I muttered through the food with my hand in front of my mouth, perhaps relaxing a little too much.
“Mmmmmm.” He was doing the same.
I wanted to kiss him and touch him, but watching him eat was almost as good. He loved food. He nodded and chewed, holding the fork and knife and letting his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Oh my God. This can’t be keto.”
“It’s not.” I grinned. “It’s not even really homemade. She cheats. She uses jarred sauce from Rao’s.”
“Where?”
“A pasta house in Harlem. Best spaghetti in the world.”
“Damn.” He took another bite, performing the same dance. It was like the buns all over again.
He wiped his lips and took a huge bite of garlic bread after dragging it through the sauce.
