Chapter Thirty-One
W hat are you doing?”
I look up at Adam from where I’m crouched on the bathroom floor the next morning before work.
He’s wearing sweatpants that ride low on his hips and a white T-shirt, possibly the same one he lent me the night we slept together for the first time.
“Cleaning.” I brush a hair off my face. It’s damp because I’m sweating. Housework is strenuous exercise.
“With a toothbrush? I thought only Cinderella did that… and Annie and her fellow orphans.” He chuckles.
“It’s helping me target the hard-to-reach spaces.
” After we shook on the deal last night, I made a PB&J sandwich for dinner and brought it to my room to strategize.
This was the first item on my list. I go back to cleaning until my view of the floor is partially blocked by the gray of his sweatpants as he kneels next to me.
“This definitely qualifies as teacher’s pet–level extra credit, but if you’re going to put in the overtime, you might want to replace that.” He points at the Oral-B toothbrush in my hand. “It’s dirty, so you’re basically scrubbing the grime off just to put it back on.”
If I raise my head even slightly, I’ll be staring right at his dick, a temptation I don’t need, and so I steady my gaze on his thighs, which, let’s face it, are also tempting.
“A cleaning expert, are you?” Being snarky with Adam comes surprisingly easy after months of getting along so well, and it seems to be mutual.
His teeth dig into his lips as if he’s holding in laughter. “Just trying to help.” He stands.
“I’ll take it under advisement, but maybe you should stop worrying about me and think about how you can prove you’re the better roommate.
I haven’t seen you clean this room once since you moved in.
” As far as I can tell, he hasn’t made any effort at all.
Then again, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.
I try to switch positions and wince. I’ve been sitting here way too long.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” he mimics.
I return to my scrubbing, expecting him to leave, but he hovers. “Do you need something?”
“The toilet.”
I lift my head. “Can’t you use Marcia’s?”
“Technically, but you look like you could use a break.”
I want to argue with him, but my back is aching. He’s right. I do need a break. I stand. “Thanks.” It kills me to say the word, but it just slips out.
“It’s a hard-knock life,” he says before closing the door in my face.
I go to my room and do toe touches, cat-cow, and other stretches to loosen up while Adam does his business.
Even though everything hurts, there’s a sense of accomplishment I can’t deny.
Taking my cleaning up a notch is one way to show both Adam and Marcia how much I care about this apartment.
I’m also going to ask Marcia if she wants to do a girls’ pottery paint night at Color Me Mine next week for some one-on-one bonding.
I have more ideas up my sleeve but need to balance my time with school and work.
When Adam shouts, “Shit!” I fall out of my downward dog and race to the bathroom just as Marcia rushes out of hers.
“What happened?” We ask in unison as Adam peels himself off the bathroom floor.
“I slipped,” he says, rubbing his lower back.
“You… what ? How?” Until now, he’s demonstrated more-than-adequate coordination skills.
“The floor was slippery.” He darts a glance my way.
My mouth drops open. Is he suggesting his slip had something to do with my cleaning efforts?
Marcia lightly holds his arms one at a time, twisting them from front to back to check for bruises. “Are your legs okay?”
“I’m fine, Grams,” he says, fake protesting the attention.
I barely suppress a groan. He’s so milking this. More likely, he faked the fall to turn my cleaning into a bad thing.
I lift my chin in pride. “Like I told Adam, I’m scrubbing the tiles with a toothbrush…
trying to get those hard-to-reach spots the mop can’t reach.
I’m not sure why the floor was wet considering I was using powder floor cleaner.
” I gesture to the carton of Spic and Span packets on the sink.
I hadn’t wanted to shove my efforts in Marcia’s face because it would look disingenuous, but if Adam wants to do it for me, damned if I don’t use it in my favor.
“I’m glad you’re okay though,” I say begrudgingly. Faker.
“That’s awfully sweet, but don’t bother,” Marcia says, patting my arm.
“Scrubbing with a toothbrush isn’t worth it.
The floor will be dirty again in a few hours and you’ll have nothing to show for it but achy joints and a dirty toothbrush.
I’d know.” She laughs and kisses Adam’s head before returning to her room.
“ A for effort.” He does finger guns at me on his way out the door, seemingly completely recovered.
Alone again in the bathroom, I rub my achy joints with one hand and toss the filthy brush in the trash with the other.
Later that day, the apartment smells like peanut butter when I get home after work.
Before I even drop my purse in my room, I walk into the kitchen expecting to find Marcia with a batch of cookies straight out of the oven.
“Inject those cookies right into my…” I gulp as Adam, who’s facing the oven with his back to me, turns around.
His eyes light up. “Perfect timing. They’re ready.”
I take him in and blink. Then I blink again to confirm I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.
But yes, he is wearing an apron that says, “My favorite people call me Grandma,” and…
I take a step closer… there’s also an adorable picture of Adam as a baby.
I know it’s him, not only because he looks exactly the same now, just older, but because below the photo, it says Adam in script.
He lowers his chin as if he’s forgotten what he’s wearing. When he meets my eyes again, he grins. “Can you believe my grandma saved this apron for almost twenty-five years?”
“Cute,” I say without emotion since I’m positive his decision to wear it today of all days is some psychological warfare shit meant to undermine my confidence for our battle.
But Marcia loving Adam is not in dispute.
Him being the better roommate to her is another story, though baking definitely counts as making an effort to prove he’s not a useless freeloader.
He turns his back again and bends to open the oven so his ass is practically in my face. I wonder if this too is psychological warfare, since his jeans fit like they were made especially for him by Adriano Goldschmied himself.
I quickly shift my gaze when he straightens his back and faces me again.
Placing a tray of peanut butter squares on the island, he says, “Peanut butter treats. Try one.”
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.” My mouth is salivating and I absolutely want one… two … but isn’t eating Adam’s treats like helping my opponent win? I’d be a traitor to my own team.
Adam leans against the island and smirks. “I know you want one. You’re practically eye-fucking them.”
I drag my gaze away from the treats and lock eyes with him. Heat pools below my belly. Until now, he’s only ever spoken a derivative of the word “fuck” in my company while he was fucking me.
“Fine.” I take a cookie from the tray and bite into it as Marcia joins us in the kitchen.
Her eyes widen. “Did you just offer Sabrina a dog treat?”
WHAT? I spit the bite into my hand and drop the rest of the treat onto the floor. Rocket must have “treat” radar because he races into the kitchen, his tail wagging behind him, and swallows it up within seconds. “Seriously?”
My cheeks are practically baking from embarrassment. I march to the sink and pour a glass of water to wash the taste of dog treat out of my mouth. After I guzzle it down, I face my two roommates again.
Marcia shakes her head at Adam. “What’s gotten into you?”
He smiles sheepishly. “The recipe says they’re good enough for humans to eat. I was just seeing if that was true.”
I cluck my tongue. “Using me as your guinea pig. Nice.” From the small taste I got, I agree with the recipe, but I will never admit this to Adam.
The three of us watch Rocket go to town on another treat, but after a few seconds Adam says, “I’m sorry, Sabrina. I couldn’t resist, but I swear I wouldn’t have let you swallow it.”
“I should hope not,” Marcia says, her lips twitching. She pats my back. “Are you okay?”
I glance between them, all smiles because I don’t want Marcia to suspect anything and also, it’s not like he tried to poison me. “Go ahead and laugh. It’s all in good fun, right, Adam?”
“Exactly.” He pulls his apron over his head.
Underneath, he’s wearing a black hoodie that he unzips and removes as well, leaving only a T-shirt in such a light shade of blue, it almost looks white.
It’s so threadbare, I can see his muscles right through it.
He might as well be wearing nothing, although this might actually be sexier.
Not wanting him to catch me staring, I look away, but it’s too late.
“All in good fun.” He winks.
I escape to my room to recover. When I come back out about an hour later, Adam’s on the living room floor brushing Rocket’s hair while the dog leans into his touch with soft eyes. I retreat back to my room and text Carley.
Sabrina: 911