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Holy shit, this chick is either going to be my new best friend, or she’s mentally unstable and I’ll need to sleep with a knife. “I, umm . . . my dad died when I was a kid,” I stumble out, my hand still raised after knocking on the wide-open door.
“Was he hot?” She stares back at me from the small kitchen, watching me through a narrowed gaze as though my response is going to tell her everything she needs to know about me.
I consider her question, thinking back on the few old photographs I managed to salvage from our home before social services ripped me out of there. “I suppose so,” I admit. “Tall, dark, and handsome with an edge oftouch my kid and you’ll fucking die . . . If you’re into that shit.”
She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes glimmering with excitement. “Oh, I’m into that shit,” she says, waving me deeper into the small college-owned apartment. “You didn’t answer the question.”
I scoff, dropping my bag at my feet and kicking the door closed behind me. “Does it really matter? As long as Thor’s got that big hammer, I’m good.”
“Right,” she says, nodding as she leans back against the counter. “So, your dad in Thor’s body then?”
“I . . . huh? How do you get that?”
“If you want the hammer, you have to have Thor’s body, too. Process of elimination, babe. You’re fucking your dad in Thor’s body.”
I stare back at her, unsure how we got here. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I mean, it’s not set in stone,” she says, strutting across the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine out of the fridge before searching for glasses. “We can always change your answer. You can fuck Thor in your dad’s body, but just between you and me, I think Thor would be hung like a horse, and girl, he’s a god. He’d know how to use it. It’s a no-brainer to me. Unless your dad was rocking a giant cock too. Do you happen to kn—”
“Oh God,” I groan, cutting across the living room to the kitchen as she pours two glasses of wine. “One of those better be for me because there’s no way I’m about to start discussing my dad’s dick without at least feeling a buzz first.”
She laughs and scoops up one of the glasses before reaching out over the counter to hand it to me. “Do you really think I’d let you talk about your dad’s dick sober? Of course it’s for you. Girl, we’re roomies now. We need to have each other’s backs. Besides, I find people need to drink while they’re around me. You know, takes the edge off.”
I lift the glass to my lips and tip its contents right down my throat before placing it back down on the counter. “I’m gonna need more.”
She takes the glass from me with a wide smile. “You passed, by the way,” she says as she refills my glass, my gaze shifting over her face and realizing she’s basically a shorter version of Kendall Jenner. “Most people don’t know how to answer that without sounding like either a prude or a fucking weirdo.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I laugh.
She raises her brows and nods before lifting her glass and clinking it against mine. “I’m Cara, by the way.”
“Oakley, or just O.”
“Congratulations, O. You just became my number one bitch.”
I press my hand to my chest, grinning back at her, absolutely dazzled by her gorgeous smile. “The honor is all mine.”
“Damn right, it is.”
“How long have you been here?” I ask, gazing around the apartment at the small living room and even smaller kitchen.
Her brows furrow, trying to do the mental math. “Ummm . . . little under two years maybe,” she says. “I was lucky to snag this place. I registered late and all the closer apartments were already taken, but the couple who lived here had this horrible break up and the girl left, leaving the guy to cover the rent, and when he couldn’t, he bailed for campus dorms. I mean, damn, I jumped on this place faster than I’d jump Jason Momoa. It’s perfect, apart from the fact rent is single-handedly destroying my life. Come check it out.”
Cara skips around the side of the island counter, taking her wine with her, and I follow along, taking in the sights as she leads me down the hallway to the bedrooms and bathroom. “You saw the living room and kitchen. They’re not much, but they’re a shitload better than the campus dorms. Though be warned, this is still a college apartment complex, so there’s always a party going on, and you’ll never be able to sleep with all the music.”
Cara grabs the handle of the bathroom door and pushes it open as she keeps walking by. “Bathroom,” she says, quickly pointing inside before continuing toward the spare bedroom. “You have a private ensuite through your room, but last I checked, the toilet wasn’t working. So, we’re going to have to share. Clean up after yourself. Don’t leave shit stains in the toilet, and please, for the love of God, don’t leave your dirty ass tampons for me to clean up because I promise, you will wake up in the morning with it wedged between your ass crack.”
“Promise,” I tell her. “You won’t need to worry about my used tampons, and in return, I’m hoping I won’t come home to find you’ve been using my toothbrush because I promise that you’ll be the one waking up to find my whole foot up your ass.”
Cara stops and looks back at me with a fond smile. “Ahhh, healthy boundaries. I love it,” she says before pushing open another door. “This is your room. You’re allowed to decorate it however you see fit, but be warned, the college likes to spring random inspections on us and they get pissed if things are messed up. Apparently, a few of the people upstairs painted walls and nearly got evicted.”
“Noted,” I say, glancing into my room and loving it. “No paint.”
“It’s not much, but it’s decent enough,” she says. “Oh, and the guy who lives in the apartment next door and shares a wall with you is kinda a manwhore . . . actually, kinda isn’t doing it justice. He’s a flat-out slut, so I recommend investing in some noise-canceling headphones unless you’re into that soothing, rhythmic thumping. The repetitious sound can be quite calming if you block out the moans and grunts.”
We make our way back out to the living room, and I drop onto the couch, more than prepared to put off the unpacking until tomorrow, or maybe next week. “Let me guess,” Cara questions, detouring to the fridge for a second bottle of wine. “Business major?”
“Ooooh,” I laugh, almost offended. “Psychology major. I’m two years in and just transferred from out of state.”
