Chapter 5 #2
The scene before me is . . . confusing. The emerald green velvet couch that normally faces the fireplace has been turned at an angle to better face the TV on the adjacent wall, and combined with the two armchairs that usually flank the coffee table, a triangle-shaped gaming station has been set up.
Three fairly enormous men are centered around the coffee table, tipping back beers and shouting to be heard over the music, while their game is paused on the TV.
Who are these people and where is that music even coming from?
As I look at this scene, I swear my eye twitches.
I finally locate a portable speaker on the sofa table that used to be behind the couch but is now floating in between the entryway and living room.
I pull Jared along with me, suddenly thrilled I’m not facing these three giants alone.
When I hit power on the speaker, everyone’s heads snap toward me. And there’s one face I recognize. A face I’d like to shred into pieces at this point. I leave Jared behind, taking slow steps around the couch as I head toward Beau with murder in my eyes.
Behind me, I can sense Jared backing away, but I still move forward.
Beau doesn’t break eye contact, I’ll give him that much.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. This?” I ask as I take in the takeout food spewed across the coffee table and even on the rug.
The game controllers lying around haphazardly, sweatshirts discarded over the backs of the furniture, a pint of ice cream sitting half-melted on a plate.
“Well, hello to you too, sweetheart,” he drawls, and I have to wonder for a minute who this fool is.
This is not the same guy I hung out with at Jackson’s wedding.
It’s like I’m witnessing Performance Beau.
Or maybe this is who he really is and the side I saw of him last weekend was the performance.
The anger unfurls inside me, seeping out and spreading through me like smoke.
I reach out and grab the fabric of his hoodie at the base of his neck, pulling up swiftly so that, in his surprise, he stands.
Which maybe was a mistake, because now he’s inches away, looking down at me with heat in his eyes and I can’t discern whether it’s anger or something else. Is he enjoying this?
“First of all, don’t call me sweetheart.
It’s demeaning and disrespectful. And second, when I wanted roommate ground rules, you said the only one we needed was: don’t be assholes.
Well, guess what, asshole, you already broke your one and only rule.
” I push him backward onto the couch, where he lands with a thud.
“Pick your shit up and keep the music down because we have neighbors with little kids.”
“It’s Saturday night,” the idiot on Beau’s right says, and as I turn toward him I see Beau shake his head back and forth. “Never mind . . .” he mutters, but I swear I hear a whispered grandma at the end.
When I glance up, I see Jared hovering halfway between the couch and the front door. I walk back to him, surprised he stuck around for all this. Behind me, the music starts up again at a very low volume, barely loud enough to be heard.
“You okay?” he asks me quietly while I take off my jacket and hang it on one of the wall hooks that line the top of the board-and-batten trim in the small entryway.
“Yeah. That’s my best friend’s little brother, and he’s staying here for a few weeks. Just moved in tonight while I was out. I wasn’t expecting this . . . scene . . . when I got back.”
“I can tell,” he says and reaches out, placing his hand lightly on my hip. “Can I do anything to help you relax?”
I breathe in sharply, not expecting the tenderness in his voice or the obvious sexual advance given the room full of guys behind me.
I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. We flirted tonight at the bar, and I let him drive me home.
He probably assumed that when I said he could walk me to my door, that was code for let’s fuck.
After Peter, who I didn’t sleep with until our fifth date, this feels really fast. I hardly know this guy, and I’m definitely not in the mood.
The need to get him out of my apartment comes on suddenly.
“I think I just need to be alone tonight,” I tell him. “But thank you so much for the ride home.”
“Another time, then,” he says, and holds out his hand. “Here, give me your phone so I can send myself a text from your number.”
When I glance over into the living room, Beau is watching me carefully. It’s all the encouragement I need to unlock my phone and hand it to Jared. He seems nice enough, I guess it couldn’t hurt to see him again.
He types his number in, saves the contact, and then sends himself a very long text. I stand there a little uncomfortably, waiting to find out what the hell he’s writing.
When he hands me back the phone, I can’t help but laugh at his message.
Sierra
Hi Jared, it’s Sierra. Long blond hair, sweet brown eyes, big pouty lips. I’m the one who couldn’t get enough of your sense of humor tonight. I’d love to see you again. Maybe we can go out next weekend?
By the time I’m done reading the message, he’s already got his phone out and has sent a reply.
Jared
Sure, how about next Saturday?
I smile at my phone and he steps closer.
He leans down and says quietly in my ear, “This is when you say ‘Saturday is perfect, I can’t wait.’”
Instead, I raise an eyebrow in his direction, then glance down at my phone and type out my reply.
Sierra
I can probably fit you in on Saturday ;-)
His laugh is soft as he reaches up and takes a lock of my hair between his fingers. “I’m willing to be squeezed in if that’s what it takes to get more time with you.”
I glance up at him and his eyes are locked on my lips. As he starts to lean in, a deafening roar goes up behind us that has me spinning around in surprise. One of Beau’s friends is on his feet and one is on his knees on the ground.
“What the hell, dickwad,” one of them says as he reaches over and swats at Beau, who’s facing me and not the TV. “You just got all of us killed.”
“All right,” I say, turning to Jared. “We’d probably better say good night. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Yeah,” Jared says, taking a step back toward the still-open door. “I’ll text you later.”
I shut the door behind him, grab my water bottle off the countertop that divides the kitchen and living room, and head for my bedroom.
Thirty minutes later, I’m in my pajamas, have washed my face and brushed my teeth, and am ready to crawl into bed after an emotionally draining day. Except, I’m hungry. And as the pleasant fuzziness of tonight’s margaritas have worn off, I’m also left with a bit of a headache.
I stare longingly at my bed, wanting to crawl into it, but also knowing that in my world, a pre-bedtime snack is practically a prerequisite for a good night of sleep.
I crack open my bedroom door. It’s quiet out in the living room, and I’m guessing that Beau’s friends—and maybe him as well—left while I was in my bathroom getting ready for bed. Thankfully, we’re not sharing a bathroom, at least!
I start down the hall and am surprised to find the door to my old room, his room now, is open, and it’s dark inside. Does he sleep with the door open, or did he go out?
I’m two steps into the living room before I notice Beau sitting on the couch with his bare feet up on the coffee table and his laptop on his thighs.
“You scared the crap out of me!” I say, pressing a hand to my chest as a shot of adrenaline goes through my system.
He looks up and throws one arm across the back of the couch, putting his bare chest on display. “I’m literally just sitting here. How could I have scared you?”
“I didn’t think you were here. I thought you’d gone back out.”
“It’s almost one in the morning. Is anything even open at this time?”
“No, not here.” Park City was referred to as Sin City during the mining era, but what qualifies as “Sin City” in Utah is a bit different from other parts of the country. Most bars close at midnight or 1:00 a.m., even on weekends.
We stare at each other for a minute before I ask, “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“Because I’m relaxing at home and it’s freaking hot in here.”
It is warm in here, but you don’t see me stripping. “How would you feel if I was walking around with no shirt on?”
“You really don’t want me to answer that.” He smirks as he eyes my chest.
I cross my arms over my breasts, realizing too late that I’m wearing a thin T-shirt and no bra. “Is this going to be a frequent occurrence, you walking around only partially dressed?”
“Why? Do you like it?” He raises his eyebrows in a challenge. His laptop is blocking his abdomen, but if the way his arms, shoulders, and pecs are sculpted is any indication, I’m sure he has impressive abs as well.
“Quite the opposite,” I tell him. “I’m going to have to bleach my eyes now.”
He grins, baring his teeth like a wolf about to eat its prey. “Too bad bleaching your eyes won’t get this image out of your mind.”
Ugh, the arrogance of him!
I spin and head to the kitchen before he can see how easily his ego and immaturity piss me off. I grab a cereal bar out of the box I’d unpacked into a cabinet earlier this afternoon, refill my water bottle, and head back to my room.
I go into the bathroom and splash water on my hot face, hoping it will help wash away the picture of a shirtless Beau in gray sweatpants out of my head. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work, and I’m left feeling like a voyeuristic cougar.