6. Wren
6
WREN
Clenching my teeth, I have to remind myself I don’t look good in orange but most of all, I refuse to heed to Stefan’s doucheness. Standing here, I watch as his muscular ass clenches with each thrust into the bimbo he has bent over the back of the sofa.
The pig that he is catches me watching, and with his eyes locked on mine, he brings his whore to climax, then he empties himself inside her. I hope he’s wearing a condom , I think to myself, and no sooner do I finish that thought and he pulls off a condom and pockets it. EEEEW!
His bimbo spins around and notices me as she pulls her dress back into place, and she makes an offer that has me quickly passing and holding back vomit. EEEEW!
“Your loss,” she singsongs. Then she looks to Stefan with stars in her eyes. “Call me,” she purrs before she marches across the room like she’s on a catwalk in Paris, but Stefan is paying no attention to her. His stormy gaze is locked on me. His bimbo is out the door and turns around, but I don’t want to deal with her anymore. With a fake smile, I kick the door shut, slamming it in her face. When I spin back around, I come face-to-face with a smirking Stefan.
“You had to clean the place, huh?”
He shrugs and smiles. The urge to slap him in the face is strong, and it rises when he says, “Welcome home, roomie.”
You don’t look good in orange. You don’t look good in orange , I chant to myself as I walk farther into Stefan’s home. Making my way toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, I stare out at Venice Beach. I’ve always loved the beach, and as much as it pains me to say this, this view is stunning and the view alone is the reason I know I’ll survive this.
A knock on the door startles me, and I jump in fright. Stefan walks over, opens the door, and steps outside. I can hear muffled voices, and then Stefan returns with my two suitcases.
“So, which room is mine?” I ask. He goes to open his mouth, and I just know he’s about to say something douchey, so I raise my hand to stop him. “If you say your room, I will knee you in the balls.”
He raises his hands in surrender but from the smirk on his face, I know I was right. “For your information, I was going to say, up the stairs and to the right.”
“Thank you,” I tell him as I grab one of my cases and head to the stairs.
“Let me,” he offers, and before I can protest, he grabs both cases and starts up the stairs. Standing here, with my purse in hand, I watch him ascend the stairs. Seeing him being helpful gives me hope that I can get him back on track … that is, until he says, “What you got in here? Glass dildos and anal beads? These things are heavy as fuck.”
Shaking my head, I don’t answer. I stomp up the stairs and follow him. “Where’s that go?” I ask, pointing at the door just past the entrance of the master suite. Yep, Stefan’s room has a grand fucking entrance.
“To the rooftop deck.”
“Nice,” I voice. A silence envelops us, and we stare at one another. “Guess I better get unpacked then.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Without another word, he leaves me in my new room to unpack.
A few hours later, I’m all unpacked. I haven’t seen or heard from Stefan, and it’s been peaceful, maybe this arrangement won’t be so bad after all. Making my way back downstairs, I find Stefan in the kitchen. He has an apron with the cartoon image of a woman with huge boobs on it tied around his waist, and he’s cooking. My stomach rumbles and the amazing smell permeates the air. The rumble is so loud Stefan hears.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Famished,” I tell him. I haven’t eaten since the plane, and it’s nearly dark now. I’m surprised I’m not hangry and biting Stefan’s head off.
“Dinner’s nearly done. I hope you like buffalo chicken mac and cheese.”
“I’ve never had it before, but I’m sure it’ll be delicious considering the smells coming from the kitchen right now. Can I help with anything?”
“You can set the table if you like … or we can eat here.” He points to the barstools.
“Here is good.”
“There’s white wine in the fridge or red wine on the rack over there.”
“What are you having?”
“Water, but I’ll have a glass of what you’re having while we eat.”
Nodding, I open the refrigerator and grab the white. “Moscato,” I say. “I would have pegged you as a dry wine drinker, like maybe a chardonnay.”
“Ugh, that’s like drinking wood.”
“That’s from the oak it’s soaked in.”
“Are you a wine connoisseur?”
“Ha,” I laugh. “Not me. If it tastes good, I don’t care what variety it is or how much it costs.”
“Same,” he agrees with a nod. “I think the best wine I ever had was when I was in Australia; it was like six bucks a bottle.”
“Gotta love a bargain.”
Pouring two glasses, I place them in front of two stools, and with a lucky guess, I open the cutlery drawer and grab two forks.
Stefan plates the food, brings it over, and takes a seat next to me.
We dig in and quietly eat. When we've finished eating, he insists on cleaning up but I help. After we top off our wines, we head up to the deck I was admiring when I arrived.
“Sorry for being a dick earlier,” Stefan says, breaking the silence.
“I get it. It was a shock to be stuck with this, but you do know, they and I, only have your best interest at heart?”
“I’m not a child,” he huffs.
“Says the man currently huffing like a child.” He eyes me. “Look, this can go one of two ways. You follow the rules, things pan out, and then I can leave. Or, you can fight this and prolong my stay, but in fighting this, you also risk losing your job and facing a massive lawsuit from Tania and, between you and me, that woman scares me.”
“Between you and me, that woman scares me too.”
“Then looks like it’s option one,” I reiterate.
“Looks like it.”
“How about tomorrow after your morning practice, we sit down and work out some ground rules. I don’t want this to be awkward?—”
“What’s not awkward about a twenty-seven-year-old needing a babysitter?”
“What’s not awkward about being a twenty-seven-year-old babysitter overseeing a twenty-seven-year-old hockey player.”
“Touché.” He raises his glass in my direction.
I tap my glass against his and watch Stefan as he takes a sip. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.