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“And he has a basic understanding of grammar!”
He tossed her on the bed, making her yelp. “Don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched him stride toward the attached bathroom until he was out of sight. Suddenly tired, she leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was vaulted, with a skylight. That had to be a bitch in the mornings. The room was enormous but looked empty, with only two stout, matching dressers, a mounted TV, and the bed. The latter was big enough to take up her entire bedroom at home.
Again, the decor showed Ambrose’s friend had no class. A hodgepodge of styles and colors were broken up only by paintings—most likely from his friends Banner and Rook. What a strange friend group he had. Ambrose seemed to take the success of the others in stride—maybe he wasn’t the jealous type. Trepidation snuck in. If all his friends were rich, and they got serious, he’d want her to be friends with them too. How would that work?
But not dating a guy just because he had rich friends was a bitch move too. It wasn’t like amazing sexual chemistry came along all the time. Plus, he was sweet and thoughtful and funny—maybe there was a way to stay together without getting too close to his snobby friends.
Ambrose returned, smirking and wearing a pair of plaid boxers.
She looked at them pointedly then pouted.
Chuckling, he plopped down on the bed, making it dip under his weight. “What’s that look for?”
“You covered up.”
“You like my cock?”
“I do, Sir.” She waggled her brows, and he laughed.
“Naughty. Maybe later I’ll let you play with it again.” He leaned back, pulling her into his arms as he went, then tossed the blanket on top of them. “For now, we cuddle.”
She let her head rest on his chest, her muscles gradually relaxing with each of his breaths. The last weeks had been a flurry of stress—between the protest and extra shifts at work. The warmth of his arms, and the steady breathing, and even the smell of sex, calmed her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Is this your friend’s bedroom?” she asked, drowsy. “’Cause that’d be kind of creepy.”
“No. It’s his guest room, but I’ve been house-sitting so much I’ve kind of taken over. We both kind of consider it my room now.”
“So his room must be even bigger.” She sighed. “I can’t even imagine trying to fill a room that size. I’d need a lot of clothes or cats or something just so I didn’t feel so lonely.”
His shoulders moved under her head like he was shrugging. “It’s not so bad. You get used to it.” Sadness leaked into his voice. He wasn’t fooling her. She’d bet anything he was lonely sometimes too. “So what’s your issue with rich people anyway?”
Where to start? “They had an issue with me first.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was bullied.” It took a long time to relearn confidence and trust after those harsh years. “I had a single mom who did her best, but it was hard to make ends meet. She was young when she got pregnant with me. Her family deserted her. We were on our own and she had no education. She worked hard and went to night school for nursing, but we were poor.”
“Wow.” He squeezed her tighter, as if trying to protect her from her own story. “Good for her.”
“Kids at school were mean, especially girls. They made fun of me because I didn’t have the right clothing labels. And sometimes I wore the same clothes over and over because nothing else fit. Most of my clothes came from thrift stores, so I wasn’t exactly in fashion.”
“I’d never have guessed.” He lifted a purple streak of her hair with his index finger and smiled.
“Yeah.” She chuckled. “I kinda made up for it later on. But I don’t spend a lot of money on myself. I just got really good at making recycled things fashionable.” Staring down at the stark white sheet, she added, “But I’ve been doing what I can to help those living in poverty since.”
“You’re like a sexy female Robin Hood.”
Laughing, she grinned up at him, but his face sobered.
“So based on some snotty kids a long time ago, you judge a whole population?”
“And my extended family.” She probably should have felt guilty, but that’d never happen. The anger was too deeply rooted. “I know it sounds bad, but I just can’t stand them. They hurt me. When I was cold and afraid, sleeping on the shelter cots at seven years old, do you think anyone cared? No. People wanted the shelter shut down because it wasn’t aesthetically pleasing to the neighborhood.” Bitterness tainted her voice so she tried to lighten it up so she didn’t scare him completely. “It’s not that much of a generalization anyway. We get lots of wealthy people in the shop. They’re almost always snooty and talk down to us.”
It was quiet a moment, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. She kept forgetting all of his friends were rich. “There are exceptions though.” A picture of Konstantin formed in her mind—his kind eyes, the way he watched over her at the club when she’d almost played with that guy Troy. Sure, there were some nice rich people, but they were few and far between.
She didn’t bother telling him her most humiliating memory. As an adult, she’d learned to love and accept her body, but high school had been hard. When a group of popular girls found out she had a crush on Zachary Baker, they took a picture of her changing after gym class and showed it to him and all his friends. And then they taped it on her locker with a note that read, You’re better off looking for a boyfriend on a farm. Moo.
