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I creep the door open slowly, my bedroom adjacent to the living room. I don't see anyone in the common areas and there's no noise coming from where Ashton's room is down the hall.
My body slides out from the small crack in the door, my feet padding lightly against the hardwood floors that have a chill to them. I make my way to the bathroom which is across the hall from Ashton's room. His door is open but I don't see him inside when curiosity gets the best of me and I peek my head in. Phew, it looks like he is gone.
I take my time in the shower, washing my hair thoroughly and ensuring my legs are silky smooth for no one other than myself. Seriously, it has nothing to do with Ashton and everything to do with the fact that my leg hair is getting long enough that the stubble snags on my scrub pants. I pull on the pair of relaxed shorts I brought in here with me before rubbing moisturizer on my freshly shaved legs, enjoying the unmatched smoothness. There are few things that can be compared to heavenly and freshly shaved legs are close to the top of that list. I finish my skincare routine and exit the bathroom, wiping the shower walls off with my towel before bringing it with me to hang in my room so it can dry.
Walking through the living room, my eyes catch on something shiny in the kitchen. I stop, turning to get a better look.
Dishes.
Tons of dirty dishes piled on the counter next to the sink. Not in the sink, but next to it.
Seriously?
The first day of us living together and he is already pulling this shit, directly in violation of the rules he agreed to.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that it is only the beginning of a new journey for the both of us and though he has already decided to break rules, I have to remember rule number six from our roommate agreement: don't let minor things become bigger problems. It's simple, we need to have our first meeting to discuss the rules more thoroughly. I know he read them, he signed a copy and Delaney gave it to me. Maybe he didn't realize the severity of how these infractions would impact my mental well being.
Avoiding the dishes piled on the counter is a challenge as I prepare my lunch since they take up most of the surfaces in the kitchen. I eat quickly, wanting to get out of this room as soon as possible. I head back towards my bedroom, doing my best to not let the dishes haunt me for the rest of the day, grabbing my book off the table on my way. Sitting in the living room for reading today isn't happening. If I do, I know I will end up elbow deep in dish water and feeling defeated that I gave in to my cleaning impulse. Instead, I will read in bed today. Change can be good sometimes, right?
After an hour of reading, I hear the apartment door click open. I shut the cover of my novel, inhaling deeply in the process, preparing myself for what comes next. I place the book on my nightstand, lining it up perfectly atop my journal, pushing the pen off the top and letting it rest next to the newly formed pile.
I make my way to my bedroom doorway where I can see clearly into the living area, a perfect view of where Ashton now stands. He looks like he has been outside all day, his skin a deep shade of pink from where the chilly November air has been beating against it. The jeans he is wearing have a dirty look to them, like no matter how many times you wash them the stains will never come out. His work books make him at least a full two inches taller with the added support and protection built into the soles. The fabric is ripped around the toes, letting the dull shine of the metal below peek through. His long fingers unzip his sweatshirt and then he tosses it onto the closest dining room chair.
"We need to talk." I interrupt, leaning my body against the doorframe like a disappointed parent who just caught their teen sneaking in past curfew. His blue eyes meet mine and it's like he is trying to read my soul with them, flipping the pages with his expert fingers.
Crap, Mel, stop thinking about his fingers!
Four words that you never want to hear from your new roommate slash girl you kinda sorta almost hooked up with one time.
We need to talk.
I haven't even had a chance to take off my work clothes before Melanie is already starting in. If I wanted to be nagged right when I walked in the door, I would get a girlfriend. Or move back in with my mom.
"Can I at least get out of this shit and like wash my hands?" the question comes out and I don't even realize how it shoots my mind back to that night in the Galactic bathroom. I had washed my hands before going to the club, but somehow the ghost pepper sauce found a way to stay on my fingers until the worst possible moment they were inside her. I can see that Melanie's mind jumped there too at the way her body clenches and almost shudders at the thought. Is there etiquette for how to ask about someone's pussy? If there is, I sure as hell don't know what it is and I already feel like I'm on her shit list, so I'm not going to chance making any more waves.
"Yeah, sure. I will wait here until you're done," Melanie answers, joining me in the kitchen and pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down. I kick off my boots, the top still untied from when I got into my car to come home, my calves needing a break from the restrictive ties gripping them. Her eyes dart to where my boots lay next to the door, one upright and one toppled over. I swear I can see some kind of pain in her eyes but I don't focus on it, turning to move down the hallway to my bedroom.
I have learned over the past year of working in construction that there is no use in washing my pants daily. Even though they look dirty, pretty much none of it comes out in the wash anymore. It's all built into the fabric at this point, permanently dirty. I toss my pants into the small folding chair that sits in the corner of my room. I used it as one of my dining room chairs - if you could even call it that - in my studio apartment. The ease of chairs that could easily be folded up and moved out of the way won out over them looking nice. Space over appearance.
My grey sweatpants hang off the corner of my bed where I tossed them when I was getting dressed this morning. I pull them on before yanking my dirty t-shirt over my head, aiming it at the hamper in the corner next to my closet. Shooting it like a basketball, the shirt careens through the air, coming out of its ball shape that I squished it into. It bounces off the rim. Go figure. Basketball was never my sport anyway. The last thing I want to do after working in layers of clothes all day is put more clothes back on, but something tells me that after our encounter this morning when I was shirtless that I should try to refrain from letting it all hang out for a second time today.
Even though I saw her looking me up and down, my bare abs were something she didn't get to see at the club even though she got to run her hands down them. Fuck, I need to stop thinking about that night or I will be trying to tuck a boner in these pants which might as well be impossible. There's a shirt I cut the sleeves off of sitting at the top of the contractor-size trash bag I packed all of my clothes into and I decide that is as close to shirtless as I will get. I make my way back out into the kitchen where Melanie is waiting, pulling the shirt over my head as she comes into view.
"Alright, let's do this."
She folds her hands on the table and I notice her fingernails are cut short. That night in the club bathroom, she was scraping them down my skin, letting it sting like a kitten's claws. It almost makes me sad to see that she has put her claws away, but I know they are still in there somewhere.
"We didn't get much of a chance to introduce ourselves this morning ... formally. I'm sorry for how I acted, I didn't realize you would be here when I got home from work or I would have been more prepared to be social. I work overnights at the hospital so when I get home at seven in the morning, I am pretty dead to the world. Anyways, my name is Melanie, it's nice to meet you." She unclenches her hands and holds one out to me, as if this is the first time we are meeting. A handshake is nothing compared to our actual first meeting when she was grinding her ass against me and begging to take her right then and there.
"I'm Ashton," I answer simply, taking her hand in mine, obliging her need for formalities when we are far past that point. Her hand is warm - maybe even a little sweaty - but it's cold as shit in here so it can't be because of the temperature. Is she nervous?
"I know you read and agreed to the roommate paperwork I provided, but you're already breaking the rules by not cleaning up after yourself and your breakfast buffet you made this morning." Her tone is stern and I know this is important to her, but it's just a few dishes, what's the big deal?
"I assumed with your cleaning zone or whatever being the kitchen that you wanted to be the one to do the dishes. Plus, I didn't really have much time before work to do them since I was ... interrupted."
Melanie doesn't look impressed by my response, her hands clenched back together in a fist on the table. This girl is strung higher than the lights on the Rockefeller Christmas tree.
"While you are correct that my cleaning zone is the kitchen and bathrooms, I would appreciate it if you didn't leave all of your dishes waiting around for me to get to them. We are both adults, I think we can understand the concept of cleaning up after ourselves, don't you think?"
