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Out of all my cousins, Lindsie is the one with the worst taste in men. On top of that, she is kind of a leech by nature, never really trying to do anything with her life. Only using others to get what she wants. We used to be close when we were younger, but as we grew up, she took too many traits from her father.
My mom somehow managed to look past all of Lindsie’s antics and makes her out to be this saint that can do no wrong, today being the perfect example. I can’t believe the way this evening is going. I’m already grumpy from being in the car for hours, and now I’ve got to go find a hotel to stay in until Lindsie and her flavor of the month finally vacate my parents’ house. Annoyance floods my veins.
“See you later, I guess.” Grumbling, I leave the house and climb back into the car, so I can get the hell away from them. Mom and Dad wave goodbye, and I back out of the driveway, running over the curb. Just my fucking luck.
Halfway down the road, I pause, realizing I need to find a hotel before I start driving around. Pulling out my phone, I call the first hotel that pops up in the search bar on Google. There are a lot of hotels in town but not a lot of nice ones. I can slum it for a little while, but I’m going to send all the bad juju toward Lindsie and her boy toy.
“Hey, man,” I say after the front desk picks up. “I need a room starting tonight through the rest of the week.”
The man laughs at me for a solid two minutes, and I stare at the phone, seriously considering just hanging up. Finally, after an eternity, he clears his throat.
“Sorry, you’re not going to find anywhere to stay. The largest Little League Baseball Tournament of the year is happening in town this week. Everything is booked solid.”
I groan. “There’s nothing?”
“Sorry, dude. Even the seedy, no-tell motels are booked solid.”
“Damn,” I grumble. If the hourly hotels were booked and the hookers didn’t have a place to work, I’m sure as hell not going to find a place for a week.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” I say begrudgingly as I disconnect the call.
“Seriously, what the hell is with this night? Is this karma for that time I didn’t open my fortune cookie?”
Figuring the guy was lying, I call a few more hotels, but every single one I call has the same reaction, though some of them don’t laugh at me. Thank God.
Now, like it’s some huge cosmic joke, I’m left with two options. Option one is that I crash with my best friend’s little sister, a girl that I have some smoking hot history with, history that really doesn’t need to be repeated. Or option two, sleep in my car and pray that I don’t get mugged in the middle of the night. I’m really starting to think that this is some kind of dream. The kind you wake up from thinking man, this was a weird-ass dream.
NINA
After work, I’m feeling cute and like blowing off some steam. I put on some dance music and start taking off my clothes. The dress I wore today is a slim red tunic, but it hangs in a flattering way. I especially like the plaid pocket on the front, I was able to match it with my plaid tights. Kicking off my boots, I do a little shimmy out of it.
My underwear desperately needs replacing. I’ve had these same PINK ones for the past two years. The same goes for my bra which is missing one underwire. If someone looked really close, they’d be able to see it makes my boobs look uneven.
I’m not too worried about it since no one has seen underneath my clothes in a while.
I work for an accountant in town as his secretary slash—runs the whole world—assistant. If I’m not there, my phone rings four or five times, at least with people looking for things. I try not to complain though, at least I have work, and it’s nice to have a little job security.
There are two of us. I’m the assistant who does all the work in the office, and Sam is the personal assistant who not only does work in the office but picks up dry cleaning.
The accountant we work for is extremely successful. Recently he landed one of the biggest moguls in the area and started doing the accounting for all his businesses. He can afford two assistants, and since I make more than a lot of women who have the same job, I’m not complaining. If I could find a cheaper apartment, all would be golden.
The difference between Sam and me is that he’s totally driven and going to law school, and I’m just working for an accountant until I figure out what to do with my life. Someone recently asked me what my passions were, and I drew a blank. Maybe this year I’ll figure that out, who knows. Not me. All I know right now is that my passion is dancing in my underwear.
Turning on the eighties music, I crank it up as I put a T-shirt on for a bit of modesty and then go into the kitchen to find something to eat. Opening and closing the fridge, I find I need to go grocery shopping. My attention lands on the tube of cookie dough, and I consider eating it for dinner as Billy Idol sings his heart out.
I wiggle my butt and sling my hair back and forth as I pull out the cookie dough roll. Just a little bit, I tell myself. I’ll order some groceries and make a salad or something later. Deciding to commit completely, I bring the tube of dough up to my lips and use it as a microphone, singing at the top of my lungs.
I’m completely lost in my own world as I launch into my best impression of the eighties king, singing into the roll of dough. After the shitty luck I’ve had lately, I need to have a little stupid fun. I dance and prance around the living room, minding my own damn business. At the end of the song, I spin and dip, holding my rock fist up in the air, thanking my invisible audience.
Suddenly, I get this feeling… the feeling of not being alone, of being watched. Like someone is in the room with me. My eyes fly open. I scan the space, realizing my front door is standing wide open.
Panic clings to my insides as I try to remember if I’d left it open. Of course not! Why the hell would I leave it open? Then, I hear slow clapping followed by the ear-piercing whistle that my brother is known for. My gaze swings around to the place where my couch used to be, and I confirm that, in fact, I am no longer alone in my apartment, and that I really did have an audience.
Please, someone, kill me now.
My cheeks heat, and my body goes warm as embarrassment takes over.
I duck behind the counter and groan. “What the hell are you doing here?” I growl as their laughter is now coming out harder and faster. Their. Grady isn’t alone. I peek back over the counter, and my heart launches itself into my throat. My eyes settle on the other man with my brother, and there’s a tightening in the pit of my stomach. It’s a face I never wanted to see again.
