Chapter Twelve #2
No. I hang up the phone and throw it onto my bed, deciding enough is enough.
The universe will not ridicule me any longer.
I have suffered enough, damn it. My clam has been battered by the Arctic, I’ve had a single-woman food fight after going one-on-one with my fridge, I’ve been folded like a freshly made taco, had a masturbation mission gone wrong caught by four deliriously handsome strangers, beaten myself with a hockey stick, taken some unflattering photos of myself with one of those handsome strangers, and now my belly is making it sound like I’m harboring a grizzly bear in my apartment.
What’s worse is that I’m not even embarrassed by it all.
I’m just done. There’s only so much a girl can explain away before people start looking at her weirdly.
If it were just my friends and me, there wouldn’t be any cause for concern.
Those girls have seen me through every stage of my life.
They’ve seen me at my very worst and stuck around. Nothing can faze them.
But four devastatingly gorgeous guys who have literally just moved into the apartment below mine?
They haven’t even experienced the tip of the iceberg, and there’s a very rational fear that now lives inside me that I’m too much to handle.
Too much to be around. Too much to deal with.
Just… too much. I don’t particularly want to find out how much Rayne, Caiden, Ryan, and Baxter can deal with before they ditch the apartment because it was all too much.
Knowing I’m their landlady after they witnessed the day that crawled straight from an ogre’s sphincter has likely already startled them enough as it is.
Maybe I should lay low for the next few days?
I’ll call Mom and Dad and tell them I can’t visit.
Maybe sneak into work early to avoid any potential run-ins.
Hell, maybe I should just build a new apartment building and move into that, giving the new guys some peace of mind that there won’t be any repeats of today.
With a long-suffering exhale that feels like it weighs at least a ton, I roll awkwardly out of my bed and pad quietly to the bathroom, the cold floor seeping through my socks. Shutting the door behind me, I shuffle to the sink and flinch so hard at the reflection that greets me in the mirror.
“Holy shit, jump scare,” I blurt, eyeing myself in absolute horror.
Blinking back at me is a face that looks like it’s seen better days.
As predicted, the hockey stick did a real good number on me.
A mottled, dark-purple bruise stains the skin around my eye and bleeds out beneath the patch that covers my new stitches, giving me the appearance of someone who fought a kangaroo and lost. If I’d wondered what a sucker punch from King Kong would look like, I’d imagine the way half of my face currently looks.
It certainly joins the race for the worst-looking injury I’ve received, and that’s coming from a girl who snapped her leg clean in half with the bone protruding out of her skin after a particularly brutal fall from a swing when she was twelve.
But that’s not all. Icy-blue hair sits in a rumpled mess on top of my head, a sign that I was tossing and turning as I slept off the whiskey that flattened me enough that I needed to be carried to bed.
My mascara is smudged beneath both eyes, more visibly smeared beneath the eye that isn’t surrounded by a bruise to end all bruises.
To top it all off, there’s a sucker stick stuck to the side of my cheek that has me frowning at my reflection.
Peeling the stick from my skin with a hiss, the sting of it cementing the travesty my day has become, I give myself a dirty look before relieving my bladder and washing my hands and face.
I’m careful to avoid the square bandage over my stitches, keeping my fingers gentle despite still wincing in pain as I brush over the bruised skin.
I’m patting my face dry when I hear a knock on my door, followed by, “Madison? It’s me. Open the door.”
Staring at my reflection, I wonder which god hates me enough to turn my life into this kind of shambles. As if the day I’ve had wasn’t bad enough, it had to include the bane of my existence.
“Please, Madison. I just want to talk,” Toby calls from beyond my front door, his voice grating on my nerves.
Not that he sounds weird or anything. In fact, Tobe the Chode is obnoxiously handsome.
Outwardly, he’s the epitome of what one would imagine as a handsome actor.
His voice is deep and rumbling, he’s tall and dashing with surfer-blond hair and a body born from the gym and light use of steroids.
However, it’s everything on the inside that makes him the ugliest motherfucker to stain the planet.
I don’t even know how he found out where I lived, but I’m going to have to talk to Tanner and Callie about this now that he does know and bypassed her somehow.
I’m sure it wasn’t hard. Most women fold at a mere glance from Toby Moore, and Callie would be no better. Not without warning.
Mentally kicking myself for not warning her and making a note to have a lengthy meeting about what a dickhole the guy is and to never let him set foot in my building again, I retrieve a brush from the mirrored cabinet above the sink, brushing out the tangles and knots my hair gathered as I slept.
All the while, Toby continues to knock on the door, pleading for me to hear him out and to give him a chance to talk.
That I’ll change my mind if I hear him out.
That he’s willing to forgive me for the meme and talking to his mom if I just open the door.
I snort at that one, placing the brush back before throwing my hair up in a messy bun on top of my head.
Still ignoring the persistent bastard outside, I walk back to my room, my feet leading me to my walk-in closet that would be a bedroom in the apartment below.
Beelining straight for my fluffy hoodies, I retrieve a cream-colored oversized hoodie, find a plain white tee and matching shorts, and strip where I stand.
Dressing quickly, sighing the moment I feel cozy and comfortable, I gather the clothes on the floor and carry them to my laundry basket.
Just as I’m leaving my room once more, leading myself to the kitchen, I hear a voice that has my eyes widening in dread.
“Why are you sitting outside Blue’s apartment?” Caiden’s voice carries through the door, and my now-bare feet are suddenly rushing through the hallway and heading straight for the door just as Toby answers.
“I’m Madison’s boyfriend. Who the hell are you?
” Toby answers, and I fight the urge to kill him with my bare hands, instead using them to switch the lights on and swing the door open.
I stare with an undignified amount of revulsion when I find Toby sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and a puzzle book on his lap as though he were going to settle in for the long haul.
Mouth falling open in shock, my horror-filled gaze colliding with Caiden’s, I shake my head rapidly before looking back down at the weirdo at my feet. Sadly, Toby chooses that moment to look at me.
Ah, shit.