Chapter Two
One Month Later...
I still hadn’t spoken a single word to my mother or Jason. Instead, I’d spent the last thirty days sleeping on a violently loud air mattress in Olivia’s living room, surviving on sheer spite and cheap takeout. To make things even more poetic, the sketchy storage facility where I’d kept the rest of my belongings had been broken into last week. Everything I owned was gone.
My life was an absolute masterpiece.
Today, though, things were finally looking up. Or at least, that was the lie I was telling myself as I smoothed down my outfit. I’d chosen a crisp white skirt and a black button-up blouse—professional, pulled-together, and deliberately calculated to show this potential roommate that I was a functioning, serious adult. Not a girl whose life had completely imploded.
The best part? The apartment was located in Olivia’s exact same complex.
I take a deep breath and walk up the concrete stairs to the fourth floor, tracking the numbers until I reached 4F. It was tucked away at the very end of the corridor, right beneath a flickering fluorescent bulb that hummed like a horror movie prop. Creepy.
Timidly, I knock on the door. Inside, I hear a sudden, violent scramble of movement.
The door slams open so fast it rattles on its hinges, and my jaw instantly drops.
A literal sex god stood in the frame. He had luscious, dark brown hair that fell in loose, messy curls across his forehead, though they did nothing to hide a pair of piercing, striking emerald-green eyes. Tattoos crawl up his arms, peeking out from a dark t-shirt, and wrap around the side of his throat. He raises a single, heavy eyebrow at me.
Shit. I suddenly realized I was staring at him like a piece of meat, entirely forgetting how to be a normal human being.
“I’m Danny,” I murmur, clearing my throat and trying to channel some of that marketing confidence. “I, uh... I contacted you about the available room?”
He let out a low grunt. “Danny’s a boy’s name.”
His voice was deep. Dangerously deep. Like gravel scraping over velvet.
“It’s short for Daniella,” I correct, a little breathlessly. “C-can I come in?”
He grunts again, stepping back to let me pass. I walk into the apartment, instantly taking in the layout. To the left was a sleek kitchen featuring beautiful black countertops and stainless-steel appliances. There wasn’t a formal dining room, but a couple of high-top industrial stools were tucked neatly against the breakfast bar. The living room flowed directly from the kitchen, minimalist to a fault, containing exactly four pieces of furniture: a leather couch, a media console, a television, and a wooden coffee table.
I wander down the hall to inspect the bathroom, bracing myself for typical college-guy grime, but it was spotless. The walls were lined with clean white tile, featuring a separate standing shower, a deep bathtub, and a pristine sink beneath a massive mirror.
Jason had always left the bathroom looking like a locker room after a mud bowl. This was a massive upgrade.
“Where’s the toilet?” I ask, looking around.
He didn’t speak, just points a tattooed finger at a closed door just outside the main bathroom. I open it to find a separate water closet. Smart.
Continuing down the hallway, I reach for a door handle at the very end, but before my fingers could make contact, his hand shot out, blocking the frame.
“No,” he says flatly.
“Okay,” I mumble, dropping my hand immediately. I turn around and opted for the second door instead.
When I push it open, I caught my breath. The walls were painted a clean, crisp white, save for the far wall with the window—someone had painted a breathtaking, intricate mural of climbing red roses across it. I walk over and push the window open, nearly gasping at the view. The entire city skyline stretches out before me, glittering in the afternoon sun.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, turning back to the door.
He was leaning against the doorframe; his arms crossed over his chest. He manages to make even a basic posture look entirely devastating.
“Do you have any questions for me?” I ask, trying to break the silence.
“Do you cook?” he asks coldly.
“A little,” I reply, offering a small, nervous smile. “Don’t expect a three-course gourmet meal, though.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. The emerald eyes remained totally unreadable.
“Do you clean?”
“I do,” I answer quickly. “But it looks like you’ve got your end covered anyway.”
He gave a slow nod. “Are you going to be throwing parties?”
I shake my head decisively. “I’m not really a party girl.”
He let out a quiet scoff under his breath but didn’t push it. “Rent’s due on Mondays.”
With that, he turns on his heel and walks back into the living room. I stand frozen in the center of the bedroom for a full three seconds before my brain catches up. I hurry out after him. “Wait—you mean I can live here?”
“No,” he deadpans, not even looking at me. “I mean pay me rent and live on the street.”
A wave of intense relief washes over me. “Thank you,” I whisper. “It’s Bear, right?”
Another grunt. I took that as a yes.
“Well, what little stuff I have left is downstairs in my car, so... is it okay if I start moving in today?”
As he stood up, I noticed the broad muscles in his shoulders tense slightly. “Would you like help?”
My eyes widen at the unexpected offer. “Oh, well, there’s nothing too heavy, but I just don’t want to make ten different trips up the stairs,” I ramble, suddenly nervous again.
“Don’t you have a bed?” he asks dryly, looking at my empty hands.
I shake my head, the familiar sting of bitterness hitting me. “I put everything into storage after my breakup, and the unit got cleaned out by thieves.”
For a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine sympathy crosses his face before his expression drops back into a completely blank, stoic mask. He walks over to me, and I involuntarily flinch as he reaches out. He didn’t hurt me, though; he just gently takes my arm and forces my palm open, dropping a brass key into my hand.
“Key for the apartment,” he mutters.
“Thanks,” I murmur, staring down at it.
“I can’t help you,” he adds abruptly, before turning around and walking right out the front door.
I frown, staring at the empty doorway. Then why the hell did you offer?
----
Since the thieves had taken almost everything I owned, “moving in” would take me all of twenty minutes. With plenty of time left in the afternoon, I met up with Olivia and Stacey at a diner down the street for lunch.
“So, what’s the verdict? What’s he like?” Stacey asks, barely looking up from her menu.
“Quiet,” I answer, tearing open a packet of sugar. “Like, aggressively quiet. He speaks in grunts.”
“I’ve seen him around the building a few times,” Olivia chimes in, sipping her soda. “And my god, Danny, you are the luckiest bitch alive. But seriously, just be careful. He looks intense.”
“I will,” I promise.
Right on cue, my phone began to blare from the tabletop. The screen lit up with Jason’s name. A heavy, familiar dread drops into my chest, and I immediately flip the phone face down.
Both of the girls look at me, their expressions instantly softening with pity.
“It’s fine, guys, really,” I insist, trying to wave it off.
Before I could stop her, Stacey lunges across the table, snatches my phone, and swipes to answer. “Listen to me, you pathetic piece of trash,” she snarls into the receiver. “Fuck off. She never wants to hear your voice again!”
I could hear the tinny sound of Jason’s voice franticly trying to apologize through the speaker, but I tune it out, staring at my hands. Stacey slams the phone end-call button and hands it back to me with a triumphant grin.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“You need to block his number, Danny,” Olivia says gently.
“I know I should,” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “It’s just been a hectic month.”
“We know babe,” Stacey murmurs, her tone finally turning soft.
The heavy atmosphere broke when our waiter struts over. He takes our orders, but not before spending a solid ten minutes blatantly flirting with Stacey. She ate it up, casually scribbling her number on a napkin before he finally departs for the kitchen.
“Man,” Stacey breathes, watching him walk away. “He could bend me over this table any day of the week.”
“You are repulsive,” Olivia mutters, shaking her head.
“Oh, please. Says the girl who had sex with Jeremy Ranson on a literal bale of hay,” Stacey shoots back.
My jaw drops. “You hooked up with Jeremy?!”
Olivia rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing pink. “Jeremy and I dated for a whole year, Danny.”
“Why did you guys even break up?” I ask, completely distracted from my own problems.
Olivia let out a dry chuckle. “Because he’s gay.”
“Well, see? That’s not even that bad,” Stacey says carelessly, waving a hand. “It’s not like he fucked your mother.”
The table went dead silent. I glare at her, and Olivia reaches over to kick Stacey’s shin under the table.
“Too soon, Stace,” Olivia growls.
“It’s been a whole month!” Stacey argues, defensive.
“You have to wait until she’s actually over Jason,” Olivia states, turning her gaze to me.
Now I was glaring at both of them. “I am over him.”
“No, you’re not,” Olivia counters flatly. “You’re not even remotely interested in looking at another guy.”
“Am too,” I snap.
“Oh really? Who?” Olivia asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Well... there’s Adrian,” I mumble, shifting uncomfortably in my booth.
Olivia deadpans. “You mean the barista who serves you coffee every morning? The guy you have never said anything more to than ‘Yes, please’?”
“He knows my exact order,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“Ask for his number, girl,” Stacey encourages, leaning forward. “Seriously. Get back in the game.”
I stare down at the condensation pooling around my glass. Maybe she was right. Maybe I really did need to get back out there.
After all, Jason certainly hadn’t wasted any time getting back in the game.
With my mother.