Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Trina
What is he doing here? He’s supposed to be at his party.
“Hey.” He smiles at me. “You get everything moved in?”
“Yeah, eventually. It took longer with all your stuff in the way.”
“Send me the bill. I’ll pay for the extra time.”
“Forget it. It’s already taken care of.”
I’m trying not to stare at him, but my eyes aren’t cooperating, which is really frustrating. I mean, it’s understandable I’d stare at him when he’s only wearing a towel, but now he’s fully clothed. I should be able to look away.
The girl clears her throat, getting the Jerk’s attention.
“Bridget, this is Trina,” he says to her. “She’s subletting Jenna’s place.” He looks back at me. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“I just started.”
“How do you like it?”
I shrug. “It’s a job.”
His gaze lowers to my smock. “I like the uniform.”
I almost roll my eyes but then stop myself, knowing how annoying it was when Rose did it.
“Babe, we need to get back to the party,” the girl says.
Babe? She must be the Jerk’s girlfriend. I thought he didn’t have girlfriends. I thought he just slept around.
“Get what you need and let’s go,” he says to her.
The girl shoves the can of whipped cream at me. “Do you have any more of this?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to go check. How many do you want?”
The girl turns to the Jerk, smiling at him. “What do you think? How many do we need?”
The way she says it implies what they’ll be using it for. I really didn’t need to know that.
“Maybe one more,” he says, looking at me, not his girlfriend.
“I’ll be right back.”
I take my time going to the storeroom. Making him wait is payback for him not moving his stuff out of the hall.
When I reach the dairy cooler, I find we have a whole case of whipped cream. I’m tempted to tell the two lovebirds we’re out of it, but then change my mind and take three cans from the case and go back to the store.
“Here,” I say to the Jerk, holding out the three cans. “Will this be enough?”
The Jerk gives me a slight smile, which might be even sexier than his full-on smile. And the blue sweater he’s wearing really brings out the blue in his eyes. I’ve never cared much for blondes, but this guy’s hair is a rich, dark-blond color that women would pay a fortune to get at a salon. It’s almost unfair how good-looking he is, but I’m sure he comes up short in other areas. Maybe he’s not very smart or has no personality. But guys with no personality wouldn’t have enough friends to have huge parties.
“That should be plenty,” he says, his hand brushing against mine as he takes the cans. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can we go now?” the girl says, sounding annoyed.
“You should stop by the party,” he says to me, ignoring his girlfriend. “What time are you done here?”
“In a few minutes, but I’m going straight to bed. It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you around.” He nods at his girlfriend and she follows him to the register where they buy their four cans of whipped cream, the three I gave him plus the one they got from the cooler. I don’t even want to imagine what they’re going to do with all that whipped cream. Well, I know what they’re going to do with it, but I’d rather not think about it.
It’s finally ten, which means I can go home. I’m on my way to the break room when Frank comes out of his office, stopping me in the hall.
“How’d your first day go?” he asks.
“Good. I mean, I think it did.”
He nods. “You did a great job. A lot better than Jared. He’s a nice kid, but not too smart. Kept putting things in the wrong place so I had to let him go.”
“Well, I should punch out,” I say, wanting to leave and not stand here talking to my boss. I like Frank, but I’m finding he talks a lot.
“You saw the schedule, right?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles at me, then goes back to his office.
I punch out and take off my smock. Am I supposed to take it home? I forgot to ask. I’ll just leave it here. I fold it up and put it in one of the cupboards.
When I go outside, I notice a chill in the air and a gusty wind that’s making it feel even colder. By the time I reach my building, I’m shivering and my arms are covered in goosebumps. I hurry inside and hear the pounding bass coming from the party down the hall. The one going on right next to my apartment. There’s no way I’ll get any sleep with the music that loud.
Going down the hall, which is now cleared of all the coolers and chairs, I stop at my neighbor’s door. I knock, but I doubt anyone will hear me over the music. I try the door. It’s locked. How am I going to tell them to turn down the music if I can’t get anyone to answer the door?
“Hey!” I yell, banging on the door. I hear people laughing and talking really loud. “Hey!” I bang on the door again. “Turn the music down!”
Nobody does. Either they can’t hear me or they’re ignoring me.
I give up and go to my apartment, almost crying when I see that I have nothing to sleep on. Asher had a really nice bed with a luxury mattress, high thread count sheets, and a down comforter. I went from that to sleeping on the floor. I really hate Asher right now. How could he go from saying he loves me and wants to marry me to not even caring if I have a place to sleep?
It’s not like I did anything wrong. I never cheated on him, or even flirted with another guy. I was a good girlfriend. And a good fiancé. I even agreed to let his mother help with all the wedding plans, which is not what I wanted, but I knew he wanted to include her so I went along with it. Sure, we had a few fights now and then, but all couples do. And our fights were never over anything serious.
So what happened? Did he really dump me for his job? Or did he find someone else?
The music next door gets louder. I stomp over to our shared wall and bang on it, but nothing happens. No one can hear me over all that noise.
I’ll have to talk to the Jerk in the morning and make it clear that this level of noise is unacceptable, even on a weekend. Or better yet, I’ll call the landlord and complain. I’d do it now, but it’s late and I don’t want to anger the landlord. I need him on my side.
I go in the bathroom, which has a curtain instead of a door. The space is so small I have to squeeze between the sink and the wall to get to the toilet, which is right next to the shower.
After I’ve washed my face and changed into something to sleep in, I spread out some of my clothes to cushion the floor then ball up my winter coat for a pillow.
Unfortunately, my efforts do nothing to soften the hard floor. I just need to deal with it and try to sleep.
Three hours later, I’m still awake. And the party next door is still going on. In fact, more people have arrived. I can hear them opening and closing the door and talking really loud.
The Jerk has to be close to 30 years old. Hasn’t he outgrown this stage of life? I was done with all-night parties when I finished college. Now I’d much rather have a nice dinner and a glass of wine on Saturday night than hang out at a loud, crowded party.
Two more hours go by, and then finally, the music shuts off. I sit up, wondering if I’m dreaming this or if it really did stop.
It did. It stopped. It finally stopped!
I’m tempted to go next door and yell at my extremely inconsiderate neighbor, but he’s probably too busy licking whipped cream off his girlfriend to answer the door.
Overcome with exhaustion, I finally fall asleep.
When I wake up, it’s just after eight. I would’ve liked to sleep longer, but my body wouldn’t let me. It’s aching from being on the floor all night. I slowly get up and make my way to the shower, which is barely big enough for me to turn around.
At least the water is hot. I was worried it wouldn’t be, but I’m probably the only person in the building up this early on a Sunday morning. That thought gives me an idea. I finish my shower and search through my things for my wireless speaker.
“Let’s see how you like this, Jerk!” I say as I turn the speaker on. I go to the playlist on my phone, find the one labeled girl power songs, and hit play. I turn the volume all the way up and set the speaker on the floor next to our shared wall.
I can’t stop laughing. The Jerk’s going to hate this. He’s probably over there cursing my name. I bet he has a horrible hangover and a pounding headache, which is only getting worse from all the noise.
As the song plays, I happily sing along as I get dressed. I feel wide awake, despite getting less than five hours of sleep. Knowing I woke the Jerk up and giving him a taste of what I had to deal with last night has filled me with energy. Maybe I’ll go for a walk. I could use some fresh air.
Grabbing my keys, I hear someone out in the hall. I bet the Jerk’s coming over to yell at me to turn the music down. Yeah, that’s not happening.
I go out to the hall, expecting to see him storming over here, half asleep, his eyes droopy, his hair a mess. But no. The Jerk is standing at his door looking wide awake, wearing workout pants and a hoodie. What the hell?
“Hey, neighbor,” he says, smiling at me.
“Hey.” I walk over to him. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
I glance down and see he’s wearing running shoes. “Are you working out?”
“I already did. Went on a five-mile run and did some weights at the gym.”
“When did you wake up?”
“I don’t know. Around six?”
That means he didn’t get more than three hours of sleep. And he still looks like that? Like he just walked off the pages of a fitness magazine? How is that possible?
“You want some breakfast?” he asks, opening his door.
“Breakfast?” I say, still processing the whole three-hours of sleep thing.
“Yeah. You know, the meal that comes before lunch.”
I look up and see him giving me that slight smile. Why is that so sexy?
“Um, I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Really? You should. It’s good to feed your body early in the day. Gives you energy.”
That doesn’t seem to be a problem for him. He’s clearly got tons of energy if he can do a workout after getting almost no sleep.
“Hey, I got the rolls!” someone says from behind me.
I turn back and see Cole coming down the hall, holding a pan of what I think might be cinnamon rolls. I can smell them, and wow, they smell good.
“I just got home,” the Jerk says to Cole. “I was about to make coffee, but my neighbor decided to stop by.”
“Actually, I was just leaving,” I say.
He glances at my apartment. “You’re going to leave with your door open? And your music on?”
“Well, no, I—”
“Stay for breakfast,” Cole says, holding out the pan of rolls. “These are fresh from the oven.”
“You made those?”
“I make them every weekend.”
“Cole likes to bake,” the Jerk says to me. “He makes all kinds of things. He’s always trying new recipes.”
“Are you a chef?”
“No, I just do it for fun. It’s kind of a hobby.”
Cole looks wide awake too. And he’s been up making cinnamon rolls. Do these guys not sleep? And how do they look this hot first thing in the morning?
Maybe they’re not human. Maybe they’re some mutant species that can eat baked goods and not sleep and still have perfect bodies and tons of energy. Okay, that was a very strange thought. Where did that even come from?
I think I need to go back to sleep.