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“Am I done cleaning your mess, you mean?” I snap. “Because I shoulda called in a Hazmat team it was so disgusting. Can’t imagine what your room looks like.”
“Bet you’d like to imagine, though, huh?” He wiggles his brows. “Imagining lookin’ at my ceiling lyin’ on your back or looking at my black satin sheets while you’re starin’ at them ‘cuz I’m doin’ you from behind?”
My mouth drops open in shock. I have no words.
He snickers, his eyes sparkling, and he strides back to his room muttering, “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it down.”
I look around. The place looks pretty damn good. You’d think he’d offer a thank you or an apology or something.
What a grouchy ogre jerk. I sure hope we don’t have to work in the same department at Carmichael. I also hope I can get matched with a new roommate on Monday.
I’m going to ignore that his dirty talk made my nipples tingle. Though I might have to change my panties in order to forget.
I shove that thought aside and huffily being to unpack my clothes.
That evening, as the sun sets, I sit at the little bistro set on the balcony, which starts at the living room and wraps all the way around the corner of the building where I’m guessing his room likely has a door. Mine does. This apartment and the location, the view? Gorgeous. I enjoy the beautiful view as I eat lasagna, drink my glass of wine, and think about moving forward, instead of looking back.
I won’t continue to be a doormat. My sister can find someone else to bail her out of trouble all the time. My disloyal two-faced ex-friend can find someone else to be her Agony Aunt. And Jon? Jon can go fuck himself, meaning he gets to fuck his favorite person in the world. He was never that good at thinking about the other person he was having sex with anyways.
***
I stay up and read on my e-reader half the night. I sleep weird --- time change, I guess.
When I get up Sunday morning, it’s eleven o’clock, San Diego time. I wanted to get up earlier so that I’d be tired at a normal California bedtime Sunday night and not be all groggy on my first day at my new job.
I decide to try to busy myself with sightseeing so that maybe I’ll tucker myself out. I head to the kitchen to put on the coffee and see there’s a pile of dishes on the counter and a dirty frying pan on the now-greasy stove I meticulously cleaned the day before. The blender on the counter is also dirty, with some green grainy-looking stuff in it. There are green supplement and protein powder bottles on the counter.
I feel my face go red.
Did Shrek eat my groceries? I open the fridge and see he not only used four of my eggs, but he drank half my gallon of orange juice, too. And there are no dirty glasses, so does that mean he drank from the jug? He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Would he?
Two of my bunch of bananas are missing, too. Maybe he drank from the blender. I sniff it. It smells like OJ and dirt.
I had intentionally put all my groceries on the bottom shelf so that it would be obvious that it belonged to someone and that any other person putting food in the fridge would deduce that they could put their food stuffs on one of the other empty shelves.
I lift the foil on my lasagna and cuss under my breath as I see that the jackass ate almost all of my leftovers! There’s one tiny corner piece left, not even a whole piece. I was gonna eat this for dinner tonight. Or maybe lunch at work tomorrow. There was enough left for both. I growl at the fridge, growl at the mess, and then get the coffee going before storming to his bedroom door and pounding my fist on it.
“Aiden! Did you eat my food and mess up the kitchen?” I demand.
No reply.
“Aiden!” I shout.
No reply.
I push the door open and the bedroom is empty. It’s a huge luxurious master bedroom with black bedding all tousled on a king-sized bed with… yep, black satin sheets. My face goes hot as I have a sudden strange vision of him and me tangled up in them.
There are clothes all over the place. And more fast food garbage. And liquor garbage. I crane my neck and see the ensuite bathroom door is wide open. There’s a pile of towels on the floor in there. The jerk isn’t here.
This makes me madder, because I want to holler at him.
I slam his door and pace the length of the hall, raging.
***
It’s mid Sunday afternoon and I’m walking the beach. It’s not exactly swimming weather, but I am not thinking about the ogre I’m sharing the apartment with, who hadn’t come back yet to face my wrath when I headed out for my beach adventure.
He’s the furthest thing away from my thoughts right now. No one who has made my life miserable lately is on radar, because I am absolutely stoked to be looking at the Pacific Ocean for the first time. My family had done Florida a few times, but I’ve never been on this side of the country. My phone starts to ring from my bag. I lift it out and it’s my sister calling. I reject the call and scowl as all my troubles flood back to the surface for me.
