Chapter 2
Chapter Two
~DEX~
Itry not to make myself too comfortable in this apartment.
I’m well aware that she may not want me to stay.
Hell, I’m not even sure I want to stay. This could be disastrous.
Sure, we’re grown adults and should be able to room together with no issues.
But it’s still a female being forced to share an apartment with man she doesn’t even know.
I think I would feel so much better if she chose this, but it’s being forced upon her, and I hate that, but my lack of other options has me standing in this apartment glancing at all the pictures and knickknacks she has sitting around waiting for her return.
Fucking August.
When he told me that he found a solution to my housing issue that I probably wouldn’t like, I should have said no. But desperation will do crazy things to a man. I couldn’t stand being in New England anymore and had to get out. It held too many memories of the stain of what I’d done.
I run a hand through my brown hair waiting for her arrival.
I stare at my bags piled up by the front door and contemplate unpacking.
I decide against it due to the very real possibility she will insist I leave.
I don’t want her to be uncomfortable in her own place, so my backup plan is getting a hotel room at my own expense, if that’s what it comes to.
I hear voices outside the apartment. I swear I can hear August telling her to give me a chance. Breathing in and out, I brace myself for Amelia to enter her home.
The door swings open and there she stands.
I smile, hoping that a warm smile will but her at ease, as I appraise her.
Her blonde hair up in a ponytail, eyes blazing with uncertainty and hatred.
I’m not sure if that hatred is for me or August. Either way, I can’t blame her if it’s directed at me.
Her hands land aggressively on her hips as she stands in the doorway, August trailing behind her, stammering something about being nice.
It gives me a moment to notice that her bright pink yoga pants accentuate her thick curves.
I bite my lip to keep from grinning, as my eyes travel up the black tank to her wide brown eyes.
She naps her fingers. “Hey, my eyes are up here.” The irritation in her voice is apparent.
Fuck, I got caught checking her out. Not the best first impression.
“I’m so sorry about that. I’m Dexter Langley, but you can call me Dex.” I offer her my hand and wait.
Reluctantly, Amelia steps forward and takes my hand, giving it a gentle shake as she announces, “Amelia West. You can call me Amelia.”
When I’m standing directly in front of her, I can see how short she really is. My six-foot-four frame dwarfs her as I stand to my full height. It causes her to take a step back.
She keeps shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting with her hands, unable to stand still. “August says that you’re the Center Back,” I say, hoping to make her feel more comfortable.
“Yeah, I am.” The response earns me a weak smile, and she continues, “I heard you’re the new trainer. Hopefully you show up more than the other trainers this one has hired have.” She gestures with her thumb over to August.
I grin. “Well, I plan to.”
“So, what do you think, Amelia? Can Dex stay for a bit until I can find him something more permanent?” August pleads with her with his eyes.
“He has the name of a serial killer,” she argues, staring pointedly at August.
I laugh out loud, “Yeah, that series really hurt us Dexters, but I promise, I’m nothing like him.”
“Uh-huh. So why don’t we have an apartment for you?” she asks.
I love her boldness. August gets ready to say something, but I say something before he can speak. “Yeah, well, I showed up a bit early and forced his hand into giving me housing. I had to get out of the cooler temperatures of New England.”
Amelia smiles, studying me over and over again. “It’s early fall; I highly doubt you all had snow on the ground.”
I nod, rocking on my heels. “No, no snow. Just some chillier temperatures up there that make coming down here to the heat more enjoyable.”
“You're running from something.” She pins me to the spot with a look.
“What makes you say that?” I cross my arms across my chest, forcing a smile.
“That wasn't a question; that was a statement. And I’m right, you’re running from something.”
No point in bullshitting her, the girl is perceptive, I’ll give her that. “I am.”
Amelia nods. “Honesty. How refreshing.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see August get ready to open his mouth again.
This time it’s Amelia who holds her hand up to silence him.
“Fine, whatever, he can stay. Don’t move any of my shit.
If you need extra room on shelves, ask me first. And please don’t eat all my food. ”
Amelia heads down the hallway that leads to her bedroom. “Oh, and don’t disturb the pretty pink guest room I have set up. You can have the other one.”
“Thank you!’ I call after her as she retreats into her bedroom. “I figured the empty one was mine anyways.”
August smiles. “It’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”
I nod, though I’m not convinced. “Thanks for letting me come here so quickly and taking me in like this.”
“Things were that bad up north, huh?”
I let out a long breath before saying, “They were.”
“That sounds like a story for another day. Sometime when we have some alcohol in front of us.”
“That would be preferable. I’d rather unpack and lick my wounds quietly.” I attempt to make a joke, but it falls flat.
August pats my shoulder, before saying, “Alright, well I gotta get back to work. Stop over tomorrow and we’ll get all your paperwork started so you can begin working with the team.”
“Thanks again, buddy,” I say, walking August to the door.
“No problem.” He turns to leave but I stop him for a second.
“Have you really had trainers not show up for you?”
He nods. “We have.”
“Why?”
“They were also committed to another team, or they were just bad employees. But that’s all going to change now, right?” August asks, raising his eyebrows. I know instantly he’s referring to the handsome salary that I negotiated.
“Yes, sir, it will.”
“Good. And it’s good to have you here, Dex.
We’ll get your life rebuilt, one brick at a time.
” And just like that he’s gone. I grab my first load of bags and begin to take them down the hall to the bedroom that she said I could have and begin unpacking my things.
I’ve never been so happy that I guessed which room would be mine, when I did a quick look around this place before she arrived.
The sun begins to set, casting shadows around the room.
I hear soft music coming from Amelia’s room.
I move closer to the adjoining wall and hear the faint sound of her singing along.
It makes me smile. Her voice is so soft and delicate.
Like she has no idea that I can hear her.
I listen intently, trying to make out the song.
I find myself pressing my ear as close to the wall as possible.
I start to wonder what other sounds I might hear coming from the other side of the wall.
I step back at the thought that the curvy little smart-mouthed woman that I met earlier and I share a wall. And she’s blonde. Exactly my type.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it.” I chastise myself quietly. “You did not come here for this. You came here to get away from the fucked-up mess that you created back home. Do not create that here.”
I say the words over and over again like they are my mantra. Like it’s the only thing that will save me from making another mistake.
Water. I should get a glass of water. I head out into the kitchen to open and close the cabinets until I find the glasses.
The glasses weren’t where I thought they would be so, forcing me to go on a scavenger hunt for something to put water in.
I discover a stack of cereal bowls and momentarily consider drinking from one of those.
I laugh at the absurdity as I continue the hunt where I thought they would be.
All my life glasses have been next to the fridge.
Like it was a logical place for them to live.
But not here. They are all the way on the other side of the kitchen.
I grab a glass, fill it with water from the dispenser on the fridge and inspect the other cabinets.
None of them really make sense. The silverware is not near the plates.
The pots and pans are not near the stove.
“Whose kitchen is this?” I ask out loud.
“It’s mine,” I hear the soft voice coming from behind me say. Only now, instead of singing sweetly along with the radio, she sounds super annoyed with me.
“Sorry,” I choke out. “I was looking for glasses and noticed that your kitchen seems a little disorganized.”
I hate that I said that out loud. It’s not going to make her like me.
“Why do you say that?” Her hip juts out and she places a hand on it. Her brown eyes carefully survey me while she waits for an answer.
I shrug and think about trying to play it off like I wasn’t being serious, but she’s caught me, so I explain myself. “Well, my mother always taught me to arrange things in a way that made sense in the kitchen.”
Fuck, that didn’t come out right.
“Oh, and the way I did it doesn’t make sense?” she challenges.
“Not entirely. But if it works for you...” The rest of the words die on my lips.
She nods. “Well, would ask if you found everything okay but my kitchen doesn’t really make sense so I’m going to go with no.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm as she bites out the words.
I try to laugh it off, but it just comes out as uncomfortable. Which I freaking am. She’s not going to make living with her easy or comfortable. Hopefully, August can find me somewhere else fast.
“I wanted a glass for some water,” I reply, gesturing towards her with the glass. “We should probably talk about what you want to do about food,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“What do you mean?” Her brow furrows and she stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head.
“Do you want to tell me what my share of the grocery bill is? Should I buy my own food? Unless you want to go shopping together.” The last word hangs out there in the air.
Amelia may not be fond of me but fuck if she’s not adorable. Standing there staring me down with her wide chocolate eyes. She’s got the kind of curves that a man could spend all day running his hands across. But that will not be me. That can’t happen.
“Oh, well, I hadn’t really thought about it,” I catch her saying. At least I think that’s all she’s said.
“Well, let me know when you figure it out. I can get meals on my own until you do.” I shrug sheepishly like it’s the least I can do in the situation.
Her mouth opens but immediately closes, no sound escaping her lips. It happens again. I grin at her.
“Are you suddenly at a loss for words?” I tease, taking a sip of my hard-earned drink.
Her cheeks flush pink which makes my grin grow wider. Damn it, she’s adorable. I mentally slap myself to stop the thoughts that are forming in my head.
“No, I was just going to ask you something that is none of my business, so I figured I’d shut up.”
“What was it?” She swallows, not saying a word. “Come on, I’m invading your space with my serial killer name and all, the least I can do is answer your question. Whether it’s your business or not.”
I watch as she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, biting ever so slightly as if she’s not sure if she should say anything else. “Ask away.” I stretch my arms out to her like I’m yielding the floor to her.
“What did August mean when he said you were rebuilding your life?" Her words are tentative and slow, like she doesn’t want to ask me the question, but she definitely wants the answer.
I sigh. I figured we’d get to this at some point.
I hoped we’d be on better terms or at least had a few more conversations before she grilled me with the hard stuff.
“He meant that I was staring over here in Tampa,” I begin, figuring I might as well get it over with.
No sense making her drag it out of me. “I am recently divorced. Left my ex-wife back in New England, in our house with our dog.”
“Oh,” her mouth hangs open, and it doesn’t close until I smirk.
“There you have it, my secret pain.”
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” she begins, but I cut her off.
“No, it’s okay. How could you possibly know something like that about me?
It’s fine. It was time for a change of scenery anyways,” I tell her.
The urge to run away and hide in my room flares strong within me.
“I’m gonna go unpack the stuff in my room,” I tell her, placing my glass in the sink, and gesturing towards the hallway she’s blocking.
Amelia steps aside and I make my way past her. As I pass, she grabs for my wrist. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”
I turn my head, looking down at her, so that our eyes meet. She’s standing so close to me that I can feel the heat coming off of her. “Don’t be. Fifty percent of marriages end in them, or some shit like that.”
And with that, I pull my wrist away from her soft hand and continue toward my bedroom, breaking our contact and sacrificing the little bit of something I saw behind her eyes.
I can’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t pity, but it wasn’t lust either.
Curiosity, perhaps. Either way, I might just be fucked.