Chapter 7
It’s Raining Men
After my mostly cold shower, self-inflicted to cool myself the hell off after that strange altercation with Cruz, I changed into a pair of satin pajamas with shorts and a button-up shirt, then emerged from my new room.
I have no idea what I am about to walk in on, but the smell of fresh basil, tomatoes, and melted cheese is calling my name, and my stomach will not let me miss another meal.
I find Cruz sitting on the sofa with a beer in one hand and an open pizza box on the table in front of him.
The TV is on, with what looks like some sort of professional fighting on it.
One dude thumps the other across the face, and blood flies across the mat.
I wince in disgust and look away. I have never been one for violence.
The sight of blood turns my stomach, and I can’t understand how anyone gets enjoyment out of watching people hurt each other.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a few different flavors.” Cruz motions to the kitchen counter, and I find six boxes stacked up.
“Cruz, there is enough here for an entire family.”
“Jagger will eat what we don’t,” he mumbles through a mouthful.
I open a couple of boxes and find something that looks appealing — mozzarella cheese, pesto, and prosciutto, yum. “Do you have plates?” I call back.
“Just eat out of the box.”
I’m not a pig, I think to myself but refrain from actually saying it, not wanting to cause another confrontation with him.
Trying to get familiar with the kitchen, I open cupboard after cupboard.
After the third try, I find some dinner plates.
I pull one free and stack four slices onto it.
When I look up, I find Cruz watching me again. Why is he always watching me?
“There is soda in the fridge,” he says, then returns his attention to the fight.
“Thanks.” I find myself a lemonade and carry it over to the dining table, taking a seat.
You can do this, Daisy. See, you’re eating dinner like a normal person with roommates.
I guess that’s what this situation is going to be.
I pull out my phone and take a quick snap of the delicious-looking food, uploading it to my new Instagram account with a caption of “yum!”
“You’re not going to watch the fight with me?” He grins like he knew it all along.
“I want to enjoy my food,” I mutter, disgusted. I tuck away my phone and grab a cheesy slice of pizza.
To my surprise, he shuts off the TV and collects his greasy pizza box, then carries it to the table and takes the seat beside me. The sudden silence in the room is ringing in my ears. He watches me, his lips turning up at the sides just slightly. “You don’t like MMA?”
I take a bite. It’s not like pizza from back home, but the crust is wood-fired, and the toppings are surprisingly tasty. “It’s barbaric,” I respond when I have finished chewing.
He tilts his head. “I think you’re watching it wrong. It’s a sport.”
I glance back at him, confused as to what he is going on about. How could I watch it wrong? “I suppose a guy like you gets off on the violence of it all.”
He points to his chest. “A guy like me?” he says as if I have just insulted him.
“One caught in the middle of the night creating violence of his own.” I spell it out for him.
He throws his head back, laughing. “It’s cute you know me so well already.”
I roll my eyes as I pick up my next slice. Is he kidding me?
The front door opens, and I freeze. I was hoping that by the time Jagger got home I would be tucked up in bed fast asleep with my door locked and I wouldn’t have to deal with him until the morning, but when I glance toward the door, I see it’s not him at all.
“You’d better have left some for me,” Asher calls as he tosses his jacket over the back of the sofa. He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes locking with mine when he finds me at the table. “Daisy, what are you doing here?”
I offer a half smile, feeling kind of awkward after everything that happened today, first the lap dance and then the telling-off by Sloane.
And now I’m sitting here eating pizza in my PJs.
I was hoping to avoid him for the immediate future.
“This was the place Sloane was talking about, where I could stay for a while. I didn’t realize it came with roommates, or I might have declined the offer. Don’t tell me you live here as well?”
He covers his heart as if I just wounded him. “Nope. I’m just here for the food and the fight.” He glances toward the flat-screen TV. Seeing it is blank, he looks back to Cruz, his face scrunched up. “What the hell, Bro, the third fight should be on by now.”
“Not you as well.” I roll my eyes. They land on Cruz, wondering if he instigated this awkward dinner after he found out I had already crossed paths with Asher at the club today. Seems like the kind of thing he would do just to cause chaos.
His twisted grin tells me all I need to know; he most certainly did. “It’s recording, we can watch it after we eat. Thought we’d better entertain our new guest. She’s violence averse.”
Asher takes a box off the kitchen counter and brings it over to the table. Pulling a chair out, he spins it around so he’s sitting wide-legged straddling it, looking at me like he’s picturing me grinding up on his lap.
I glance away quickly, pretending to be super interested in my pizza toppings. I can’t handle him looking at me like he wants to eat me and not his dinner. He saw too much of me today, and I really hope I don’t start regretting it.
“Why do I feel like I just interrupted something?” he asks, glancing between us as he noisily munches on a slice of extra-cheesy pizza.
“You didn’t,” I mutter quickly, not wanting to get into it with him. What happened last night and this morning was so out of my realm of normal I can’t even process what it all was, and the last thing I want is for Asher to know about any of it, especially while I have to work with him.
Cruz winks at me, his eyes filled with mischief. “Don’t lie, little darlin’. You know the chemistry is so damn thick you won’t be able to resist me for much longer.”
I stare back at him, deadpan. What the hell is he trying to do?
“It is not,” I say through clenched teeth, not sure why I need to deny it so much, but I don’t like what he is insinuating.
Asher looks me over, and I know he can see my cheeks heating because they feel like they’re on fire.
I can’t stop them, even though I wish I could.
It’s more from embarrassment of sitting at dinner with the two of them than being all flustered by Cruz, but he seems to have a disarming effect on me I don’t understand. And so does Asher.
Asher’s grin turns playful, almost challenging. He enjoys making me squirm; I knew it today when he made me dance for him. “Did Daisy tell you she’s going to be working under me at the club?”
Under him? Oh, my God. What the hell does he even mean by that? I don’t look at either of them. I can’t, because I can feel the tension in the room hit a new all-time high.
“I will believe it when I see it.” Cruz snickers, but I can hear his disapproval.
Asher whistles. “The girl can move. I have every confidence she will be one of my most profitable dancers before the end of next week.”
“I say she won’t last the week,” Cruz sneers back at him, a cruel edge to his tone that gets under my skin.
“Asshole!” I snap. But their eyes are fixed on each other in a standoff that looks like it’s about to get physical.
“You want to place money on it?” Asher cuts back, looking like he’s about to fly across the table and thump Cruz.
Cruz looks just as on edge, but he’s more unpredictable, and I know I need to put an end to whatever this is as soon as possible.
I shove my chair back. “Can you not?” I place my hands on my hips, disgusted that they are talking about me like I’m not here, and that they are willing to place a bet on the likelihood of my succeeding at my new job. It’s so insulting.
Asher smiles at me. “Sorry, Daisy, I just believe in you. That was some lap dance you gave me today. I have been sporting a semi ever since.” He adjusts himself, and I’m sure it’s more for Cruz’s benefit than mine. Oh, God, have I just stepped in on some sibling rivalry?
I blink back at him, unable to believe he just said those words out loud.
Knowing I can’t stay here, I collect my plate and soda.
“You two are pigs. I would prefer to eat alone,” I snap, bitchy as all hell, before storming from the room, slamming my bedroom door behind me.
I lean into the door, sucking in deep measured breaths.
Daisy, what on earth have you gotten yourself into?
The TV springs back to life and the fight blaring through the apartment, the volume twice what it was before. I’m sure out of spite.
Just great.
I slump down on the bed, sipping my soda.
Grabbing for my headphones, I place them over my ears and pump my music mix up to high so I can block them and their annoyingness out.
I have never had roommates before; I lived in a mansion with Valentine, but he didn’t really communicate with me unless it was to tell me how I needed to behave for some social event we had on, or when I was extra lucky and he needed someone to take his bad mood out on.
We slept in the same bed, but it was so large there was no need to touch each other.
The only time he would even bother was when he needed what he called his sexual appetite filled.
All about him, and lucky for me, he was quick to finish, so I would tune out and pretend it wasn’t happening, so repulsed by the man I was forced to marry I never really took part in the ritual.
It’s why I was happy it didn’t take him long after we got married until he was fulfilling his needs with women from his club. It took the pressure off me.