Chapter 34
ELLIOTT
Chaos
How much mint chip do you need?
One of the main reasons I never considered finding a roommate was because I wanted to avoid awkward situations in my own home.
Now I’ve walked right into one of the most awkward situations of all.
Loren left her phone on the counter, and I happened to be walking by when her friend texted. It’s not my fault she has no privacy settings in place so that any random pair of eyes can read whatever messages come in.
So here I am, standing in the middle of the kitchen, spoon of peanut butter in hand, not knowing what the hell to do with myself until she gets out of the shower.
Great. Now I’m imagining her in my shower. Naked. Water cascading down her—
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Let’s see what I need to get from the grocery store. I shove the spoon into my mouth and throw open the fridge, scouring the groceries Loren bought earlier this week.
Still pretty stocked up, so this distraction was a bust.
Now her phone is lighting up again, and I’m not a saint, okay? I’m a man with flaws, and I need to know what it says. Boom. Another text from her friend Meg.
God, how does this woman have so many notifications? Don’t those little red numbers drive her insane?
2,567 unread emails?
I am living with a psychopath.
The bathroom door finally opens, and Loren slips out in a fuzzy purple robe, reminding me of that dinosaur that used to be popular with kids way back when. Her head stays down, but when I call her name, she freezes.
Her hair is wrapped in a towel turban-style, up on top of her head. “Yes?”
I bet her hair smells like that peach-infused shampoo she uses. Yeah, I sniffed it in the shower. So what? Sue me.
“Your phone has been blowing up.” I hand her the thing, and she tucks it into her pocket. “Aren’t you going to check your messages?”
“I will when I get to my room.”
Yeah, that’s not going to cut it. I’m sick of waiting and these questions aren’t going to answer themselves. “What is a sex bra?”
Her back stiffens, and she freezes mid-step. When she whirls, there’s a fire in her eyes that I haven’t seen before. “You went through my phone?”
“Of course not. It was on the counter and some messages popped up.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to read them!”
Irrelevant details because I did read them.
“So…sex bra?” Obviously it’s a bra, but the way those two words are combined have all sorts of dirty ideas running through my mind. Is it a bra specifically made for sex with like, the nipples cut out, or just a typo and her friend really meant “sexy” bra?
“No. You and I are not having this conversation,” she says like she thinks shutting this down is going to keep me from bringing it up every chance I get.
Eventually, she will break. When she does, I shall celebrate with one of those big chocolate chip cookie cakes they sell at the mall.
I’ve always wanted to try them but have never pulled the trigger.
Loren doesn’t seem like the type to wear a nipple-less bra.
I guess there could be another option. “Is that the bra you wear when you want to get laid?” Her face flushes.
“Holy shit. I’m right, aren’t I? You have a lucky bra.
” It’s like August’s lucky underwear he used to throw on back in high school every time we had a soccer game, except way hotter.
“I do not. Go away.”
“What color is it?” I bet it’s red. Please, tell me it’s red. “Can I see it?”
“I’m not showing you my bra, Elliott!” She sprints the rest of the way into her room, the hem of her robe flapping against her bare calves before she slams the door shut.
“You don’t have to be wearing it,” I call through the barrier. I mean, she could if she wanted to, but from the horrified look on her face when I brought it up, she doesn’t seem into it. Which is absolutely for the best, especially if it’s nipple-less.
“Come on, how else will I know when to avoid knocking on your door because you’re knocking boots?”
There may be a door between us, but I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “You’re disgusting.”
Yeah, yeah. “I’m not the one with a sex bra.”
My cousin—the brother I never had—is about to understand the definition of wrath.
If murder wasn’t illegal and if I didn’t need him to help run the bar, he would be swimming at the bottom of the lake right now.
As it stands, my roommate has agreed to assist me in this most devious endeavor, along with her friend Meg.
When the leggy blonde walks into the bar next to Loren, the game is afoot.
August zeroes in on our new guests like a sniper. “Who’s the stunner?”
I glance around at the few patrons already seated at the bar, pretending I don’t know who he’s talking about.
He takes either side of my head and points me toward the newcomers. “The one with your girl. She looks familiar. She was here before, right?”
Loren isn’t my girl; she’s my roommate. But saying that to August will only garner some stupid response like, “Methinks thou doth protesteth too much.”
I shake him off. He knows how I feel about him touching me. “Yeah, she came in the night Loren dumped her ex.” I twist around, catching Loren’s gaze in the mirror behind the bottles. “Loren said you made quite the impression.”
He steps closer, the toes of our shoes brushing. “Bullshit. Really?”
Why is this so easy? It’s sad when you think about it. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but she was asking if you were single.”
He peers over my shoulder at the women, who, thanks to the mirror, I can see are now sitting at the bar, whispering and shooting not-so-subtle glances at us.
Like the idiot he is, he slicks a hand over his gelled hair. “Lucky for her I am very single.”
Lucky for me, he means. Otherwise, this wouldn’t have worked.
I twist and wave at Loren, and she returns the gesture. “I better go see what they want.”
August presses a hand against my chest. “You finish the inventory. I’ll help them out.”
Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
My cousin strolls down to where the girls wait, leaning an elbow on the bar between them. He makes them two gin and tonics, then instead of coming back to help me count shit, he stays right where I want him.
I must admit, this plan of Loren’s was ingenious.
As with all good pranks, I bide my time, taking care of the other customers and all the barback duties since it’s Tuesday and we don’t typically bring in extra help during the week.
Loren whispers something to Meg and then brings her drink down to where I’m pretending not to watch Meg and August flirt.
He looks like a giddy golden retriever, drooling and dancing around, waiting for someone to throw a ball.
Loren’s lips, a glossy shade of plum, leave a mark on the end of her paper straw. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I nod toward our project. “How are the newlyweds?”
“Planning the honeymoon already.”
Excellent. It should be only a matter of time before he makes his move.
Not even two minutes later, August brings Meg around the back of the bar to teach her how to pull a pint of Guiness. There are lots of casual touching and crude jokes about head that girls laugh at whether they think it’s funny or not.
“Man, you know him so well,” Loren murmurs under her breath, poking at an ice cube with her straw.
“Too well.” He really is like my brother. Any time he got annoyed with his crazy family, he’d hop the fence and come hang out with me. With six siblings, it happened a lot.
“Does it really work?”
“Almost every time.”
Her cheeks hollow out as she sips, and I hate myself for where my mind goes. Let’s just say it’s not very gentlemanly. “I mean, I guess I get it,” she says. “He’s hot enough.”
She did not just say that. “Gah.” I stuff my fingers into my ears to keep those words from sinking in. “Please tell me you did not just call August hot.”
Her lips tilt into a smirk behind her straw. “What? He is.”
“Then I guess we didn’t need Meg at all.”
All she does is smile, which is more infuriating than the fact that she’s attracted to August. “Yeah, why didn’t you ask me to do it?”
Because my cousin never would’ve taken the bait. He believes I have a thing for Loren and that makes her off limits.
I’m starting to worry that he may be right.
Thankfully, I’m saved from responding when August whispers something into Meg’s ear and the two of them slip away to the office.
So fucking predictable.
This is where the magic happens.
I drag out my phone, flick over to the camera, aim it toward the back, and wait.
An indignant yelp echoes down the hallway. Meg comes sprinting out, catching herself on the wall and doubling over with laughter. Damn, she’s fast in those heels.
“What the fuck?” August stomps out, green globs dripping down his forehead.
He swipes a finger across his brow, his wide eyes meeting mine as I zoom in on his irritating face and say, “I hate mint fucking chip.”
A startled laugh bursts out of him. “You’re some bastard.”
“Says the guy who put me on a dating app without permission “
“You’re the one who said you wanted to get back out there after—”
I whip the sprayer from the sink and squirt him right in the face. The girls take off laughing again, and so do the other four people in the bar.
Now August looks like he’s going to kill me. “What the fuck, Elliott?”
“Hey, I was just trying to help clean you off.”
“Oh, it’s on. You’d better watch your back. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t even fucking blink. And you two.” He levels his finger at Loren and Meg. “You are both dead to me.” He twists around and stomps back into the office, globs of melted mint chocolate chip ice cream dripping the entire way.
“Waste of perfectly good ice cream if you ask me,” Meg mutters as she saunters past, returning to her gin.
Loren trails behind, swiping her own drink on her way. “Have I told you how amazing you are? I want to be you when I grow up.”
Meg is amazing. And as a thank you, I think they could both use another drink. I throw some ice in two fish-bowl glasses, pour in a little extra gin, and add a little less tonic.
Meg drains what’s left in her glass, then slides the thing over to me. “What can I say? I have a gift.”
“And for using your ‘gift’ for evil, both of you drink for free tonight.” I add two lime wedges and set them right in front of my new favorite women.
Meg accepts hers with a “thanks,” but Loren stares down at her glass like I might have poisoned the thing. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to get in trouble with the manager.”
Manager? I mean, it’s sweet of her to worry, but doesn’t she know? “Chaos, I own the place.”