10. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
ANDREA
When I was a little girl, I fantasized about my dream house.
Little did I know that I wouldn’t stay in Maine.
I wouldn’t purchase the perfect four-bedroom and three-bathroom blue cottage-style house two blocks from my childhood home.
It had a steep, gabled roof with dormers.
I could always imagine myself raising a family of my own there.
The front yard was spacious, and the backyard had a fenced-in area, where a dog could run freely, and I wouldn’t have to panic about them running away.
The elderly couple who lived there let me inside once.
I remember the light being natural and bright and warm.
The ceilings were tall compared to my parent’s house and there was white wooden trim and an ornate staircase.
There was a stained-glass window that squeezed my heart just right.
It was all very romantic—even to a twelve-year-old.
I remember the certainty I felt with this concocted plan. I carried it with me for years and then I turned eighteen and every plan I ever made disappeared. The loss of my perfectly laid-out future burned something inside of me. It changed me in ways a person should never have to change.
“So, what do you think?”
The question tugs me out of the memory, and I blink back into focus, staring into the small, cramped space New York City calls an apartment.
It’s a studio, no more than four hundred square feet.
My eyes zigzag across the room, landing on the red brick wall—love it.
They go to the window where the dumpster sits and I’m pretty sure there’s trash juice sloshed against the window—hate it.
I look back at the realtor, whose name is Sal. “Does it have any rats?”
He looks appalled by this question. I already know he’s going to lie to me. The apartment is on the first floor, which means there are definitely rats. “Of course not, the building owner has a pest management company that stays on top of such things.”
Boyd told me the same lie once upon a time, but I nod and pretend that I believe him.
“You know, you remind me of someone.”
“Who’s that?”
“My date tonight,” he answers confidently.
Oh boy.
He’s young, maybe twenty. I could tell he was full of himself the moment he greeted me outside.
His blond hair is gelled back with precision, his eyebrows perfectly plucked and shaped and his nails shiny as if manicured.
He’s the kind of man who would call a woman high maintenance after staring at himself for an hour in a mirror.
He probably even has a compact one on him; wouldn’t be surprised.
His navy-blue suit looks much too small for him, but I have a feeling he might prefer it that way.
I step further into the open space, hesitant to commit.
I can feel his eyes on my ass for the eighth time.
I immediately regret wearing my skintight dark purple sheath dress, but I wanted to wear the nude pumps I stole from Maisie’s closet.
I have a meeting with the parents of one of my students after this and didn’t want to waste time running back to Julian’s apartment to change.
I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, but now I would like a second stone to be thrown at Sal’s head.
There’s a knock on the door that’s perched open with a wooden cheese block. When I look over, I’m both confused and relieved to see Carter, but then Julian enters behind him, making the space feel much smaller.
I always send Carter my location when viewing places. He also makes me text him updates to make sure there’s no funny business—not that I find it all that necessary when I have a stun gun in my purse.
Not that I’d tell him, but I liked it when he was here to ask all the right questions I could never think of on the spot.
I glance at Julian, who’s ridiculously delicious for no reason, and wonder if he’s brought his logic , but he’s not looking at me.
He’s glaring at Sal. I look over and see Carter doing the same thing.
It really sucks for Sal and I kind of feel bad for a second, but then I remember how uncomfortable I’ve been in this room with him. He looks alarmed and rightfully so. He probably thought he’d be able to smooth talk me into a shitty deal.
Carter switches his two fingers between their eyes. “You’re looking at me now.”
I roll my eyes like he’s being ridiculous, but I go rigid. While he might come off as a goofball, he’d start swinging if I gave him any indication that I needed him to. It’s why I say, “The testosterone in this room is so thick, I’m going to regurgitate.”
Carter’s glare doesn’t lessen since he’s used to my antics.
However, it does cause Julian to look at me with an amused look on his spectacular face.
A thrill rolls through me at gaining his attention.
Seeing him outside of the apartment feels more intimate than it should.
I mean, I’ve seen him in sweatpants and his hair unkempt.
Something told me he didn’t let many people see that side of him.
He’s far from unkempt now and dressed in a perfectly fitted black suit. I have a strange urge to walk over and pull his tie until he’s pressed against—
“I don’t want any trouble, man,” Sal says, raising his hands in defense. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
I shake off the U-turn my brain took and force my eyes away from the man who threatens all of my sanity. He’s your roommate . He’s your roommate . He’s your roommate .
Carter takes a step forward. Uh oh. “Unless your job is being a sleazebag trying to get into my cousin’s pants, I’d say you’re doing a shit job.”
I walk toward them, waving my hands in the air. “Woah, woah, woah! No one’s trying to get into anyone’s pants.”
Sal points at me. “Exactly! See, man, you’re overreacting.” Then the idiot goes and says something stupid. “If anything, she was interested in getting into mine.”
My jaw drops. “I beg your finest pardon?”
He regards me slowly, smirking like a jerkface and my insides scream in fury. “It’s okay to want me, most women do.”
Is he trying to get punched? I scoff. “You’re delusional.”
“And you’re. . .” His teeth drag across his bottom lip as he eyes me up and down. “Not my type. Too thin.” Shrugs. “Would still shag you though.”
Something akin to a growl comes out of my throat as I charge forward and swing my purse.
I’m aiming for his chest but when I’m lifted from around my waist, it lands on the top of his head instead.
There’s laughter in my left ear as I’m spun around and carried out of the apartment until I’m set back on my feet in the hall.
Adjusting my dress, I spin around to face Julian who seems a little too delighted at what just occurred. “Remove the happiness from your face.”
He doesn’t. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? I didn’t take you for a scrapper.”
I square my shoulders, narrowing my eyes. “I am a lady; I do not scrap.”
He presses his lips together and I can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or if it’s an attempt to hide the anger that causes the vein to protrude through his neck. He shakes his head and mutters, “Je veux le tuer.”
My brows furrow as I catch the tension in his jaw. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Carter punched Sal as he steps into the hallway shaking out his right hand.
“Did I get the apartment?” He gives me a perplexed look that says ‘ Seriously?’. “Bummer. It was cute.”
Julian chuckles again and I try to peer discreetly over at him as we head back out onto the streets of New York. I decide right then and there that I love the sound of his happiness, and I don’t want him to remove it from his face.
As I look around, I notice his laughter catches more than my attention.
Two women walk by staring at him like he’s the sun and I get it.
Maybe a little too well. Last night, I dreamed of his hands.
That’s it. Okay, fine, maybe they were touching me, but the moment I woke up I pushed every thought of him in that way as far as humanly possible. And then I took a cold shower.
When I told Maisie about it she said that I needed to “get some” and I didn’t disagree with her.
Looking away from his eyes that somehow manage to become bluer in the sun, I take a deep breath—ignoring the slight stench of the street. It’s such a beautiful day and I’m determined to not let that interaction ruin it.
I side-eye Carter as we begin walking, not sure where they both came from or if they were together. “I thought you were busy this morning.”
“I am,” he tells me, glancing down at me. “You called me.”
“What?” I ask, squinting at him. I dig through my purse for my phone. When I find it, I see that the screen isn’t locked. When I view recent calls, I see a thirty-nine-minute phone call with Carter.
Oh, so they heard everything then. Great .
“I rushed over here for a butt-dial?” Carter asks me, slightly appalled.
“At least you got to punch someone. You enjoy doing that, right?” I ask lightly and he tries to hide his smile, but I see it peek through his glare, anyway.
“Clearly, you didn’t need us,” Julian chips in, the rumble of his voice hitting my ears just right.
I nod once. “I had it perfectly under control.” I glance at each of them. “Thanks anyway, though. I appreciated the backup.”
Carter wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me into his side to rough up my hair before releasing me.
I immediately start flattening the top, scowling at him.
“I have a meeting, you Neanderthal,” I bite out, but then glance down at his hand.
It’s starting to bruise. It’s hard to remove the annoyance from my voice when I offer, “We have ice at the academy for your hand.” He’s about to say something irritating like he doesn’t need it—probably—so I add, “Or to cool down your ego.”
He laughs and then ruins my hair again. Prick .