The apartment above the empty store is small, but it’ll do for the time being. The mattresses in both bedrooms, on the other hand, need a date with the dump. I pull out my phone to put in an online order from our family’s store for one mattress. There’s no sense getting two since I won’t be having anyone over. The new one won’t be as comfy as my bed back home, but at least it won’t look like someone pissed all over it and feel like it’s made from straw.
Memory foam? Don’t mind if I do. The best part is, after a quick call to the store manager, the bed will be delivered by the close of business today.
Now, to get this hovel clean enough to sleep in. I’ll need washcloths, sponges, paper towels, a mop, a bucket…
While my mental list continues to grow, I catch a glimpse through the window of a woman wearing bright yellow rubber gloves coming out of The Rocking Horse clutching a hot-pink mop and matching bucket.
Bingo. I practically fall down the stairs in my rush to get to her. When I burst onto the street, she whips around toward me with her mop handle raised, ready to attack.
My hands fly up in front of me. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her brows lift, but the only thing I care about is the way the mop lowers.
“Are you a cleaner?” I ask.
She waves her gloved hand in my face and swings the bucket toward me. “What gave you that idea?”
I tuck my hands into my pockets and shrug. “What can I say? I have a sixth sense about these things. Are you looking for any more jobs? I moved in upstairs and the place is a wreck.”
Her gaze falls to the building behind me. “No wonder. No one’s rented that place since old Marnie Hill passed.”
God, I hope old Marnie Hill didn’t “pass” in the apartment. I don’t ask, though, because I don’t want to know. “Think you can help me out?”
She sets down her mop and bucket and tugs the gloves off her fingers. “How many bedrooms is it?”
“Two. And one bathroom.” One disgusting, roach-filled bathroom.
“It’ll be expensive.”
If she’s willing to keep me from having to touch roach carcasses, then money isn’t an object. “Name your price.”
Her eyes narrow as she considers my question. “Seventy-five dollars.”
Is she kidding right now? I pay the cleaning company back in Austin twice that much, and they don’t have to deal with suspicious brown stains around the toilet. “Deal.”
“You’ll have to get some bleach and dusting spray, window cleaner too. And your own mop and bucket.” She nudges the pink one with the toe of her shoe. “Sally here doesn’t like new dirt.”
I have no idea what new dirt is or why she calls her bucket Sally, butholy shit. She’s going to do the windows too? What did I do in a past life to deserve this small mercy?
“I’ll grab it all right now.” And would you look at that? There’s a store right next door.
I step inside Quinn Brothers for the second time today, and all my blood rushes south when I see Jade bent over a box of—who am I kidding? I’m not looking at what’s in that box because I am definitely ogling her perfect ass in those turquoise yoga pants. Fuck me.
No, seriously.
Fuck. Me.
“Did you see me coming, or are you just practicing your downward dog?” I ask.
Jade lets out the cutest little squeak that gets me thinking of some other noises I’d love to hear her make. Not that she and I would ever happen for obvious reasons. Hayley would take a knife to my balls if I went anywhere near her best friend. And since I like my balls right where they are, I force my gaze away.
Jade stands up, and the way the filtered sunlight catches her face makes her look like an angel. If I had my camera, I’d sure as hell be taking a picture.
“You have any bleach?” I ask, trying not to stare at her.
Her lips tip into a sexy little smile. “Why? Is there a dead body up there?” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”
Maybe I should be offended about her dead body joke, but it feels kinda nice to make fun of something so shitty. A little “fuck you” to death and all its nasty friends.
