Chapter 4
"Aw f*ck," Trevor muttered when he opened the fridge to grab his packed lunch only to remember that he didn't have one. He'd forgotten to go to the store last night. "Damn it."
Looked like he was hitting the coffee truck today, he thought unhappily. They never stocked it with enough food. He grabbed his tool belt and hardhat and headed for the door, already in a pissy mood at the prospect of starving. His only hope was that his cousins and uncles bagged their lunch so that he would have a chance at getting a decent lunch today. He hated competing with those bastards for food, especially his uncle who wasn't above kicking everyone's ass for a damn cupcake.
It was really kind of pathetic, he thought even as his stomach rumbled, liking the idea of a dozen or so cupcakes for breakfast. Perhaps he'd stop by Mary Lou's on the way to work and pick some up.
He stepped out of his apartment, trying to be quiet and not wake up his little tenant. It was kind of funny how after last night he was more conscious of all the noise he made. Before last night he honestly hadn't given it much thought. He quietly closed the front door behind him and scooped up her newspaper so he could look at the picture highlights from last night's game and carried it to his truck, deciding he'd be more considerate in small steps.
Halfway to his truck he paused and frowned as he watched some a*shole reaching into Zoe's car.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, resuming his pace and hurrying towards the jackass. The man noticeably started as he stood up. He took one look at Trevor and dropped the armful of CD's he was holding and took off at a dead run.
"Don't let me catch you around here again, a*shole!" Trevor called after him, wishing he had the time to go after the piece of shit and knock some sense into him.
He walked back to his truck and threw his shit in and slammed the door shut, wincing when he realized how loud it was and hoping he hadn't woke her up since he had a pretty good idea that she'd stayed up most of the night pacing.
There was a lot more shit in her life besides losing her job and he had no interest in finding out about any of it. It was bad enough that he actually asked about her work drama, and that had only been because he'd felt bad about what he said. He didn't want or need to find out about any of the other shit.
He walked over to her car and cringed as he picked up her CD's. What kind of sick bastard listened to Phil Collins? God, this woman needed more help than he thought, he mused as he collected her CD cases and tossed them in her car. A dark frown crossed his features as he took in the soaked driver's seat and open window.
What in the hell was she thinking leaving the window down last night? he wondered as he looked at his watch. He really didn't have time for this, but he couldn't just leave her car here, knowing that bastard would come back.
With a resigned groan he walked back to the house and let himself inside and knocked on her door. He was just about to run up to his bedroom to see if he could wake her up through the wall when her door opened.
"Zoe, I--Oh God!" he said, clutching his chest and stumbling back.
"What?" she asked, looking anxiously around herself as she held a large brown muffin against her chest.
With a shaky hand he pointed at the offending item that she dared bring into his house. "What the hell is that?"
She looked down and frowned. "My muffin?"
"How could you?" he demanded hoarsely as he shook his head in disgust.
"What the hell are you freaking out about?" she demanded, looking around again.
"That shirt!" he said, pointing wildly towards the Red Sox shirt that she dared to wear in his presence. "What the hell were you thinking?"
She sent him a look that clearly stated that she thought he was crazy. He inwardly snorted at that. He wasn't the one sporting a f*cking Red Sox shirt.
"I was thinking that it was cute and comfortable," she said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.
Oh, god, he was going to be sick. He stumbled forward and snatched the muffin out of her hand.
"Hey!"
"I need sustenance to deal with this, woman!" he snapped before taking a huge bite of her muffin. It took a split second before the taste hit and when it did he ran past her and headed for the small wicker basket trash can she had by her couch and spit the entire bite out, but that wasn't enough. The horrible taste was still in his mouth.
"It wasn't that bad, was it?" she asked, worrying her bottom lip.
He threw her a disbelieving look as he rushed past her into the kitchen. He threw open her refrigerator and nearly wept with relief when he spotted the nearly full gallon of orange juice. He grabbed the jug, tore the cap off and tossed it into the sink behind him as he started chugging the orange juice, hoping that it would take that god awful taste out of his mouth.
"Okay, now you're just exaggerating," she said, sounding exasperated, but the nervous look on her face told another tale.
He narrowed a glare on her as he finished off half her orange juice. Gasping, he pulled the gallon away from his mouth and cringed when he tasted a hint of that scary muffin. When she opened her mouth to say something, he held up a hand to stop her and chugged the rest of the orange juice.
"What the hell did you just try poisoning me with?" he demanded, still panting.
"Hey," she snapped, placing her hands on her generous hips. "No one told you to steal my muffin!"
"I needed nourishment after the scare that you gave me! How could you wear a Red Sox shirt in front of me?" he demanded, jumping back when he spotted the large plate of dark brown muffins on the counter. "And what the hell kind of muffins are those?"
"Apple," she mumbled, worrying her lip again.
"Apple?" he repeated in disbelief. His eyes shot back to the things that had no business being called muffins and shook his head in disbelief. He'd never seen a brown, almost black apple muffin before and he was a man who knew his muffins.
She threw up her hands and let them drop by her sides. "I'm not a good cook. Okay? Are you happy now?"
He looked between the plate of muffins he swore just moved and her tee shirt that needed to be incinerated and shook his head. "I'm truly at a loss for words here," he muttered.
Zoe blew a strand of hair out of her face as she continued to glare at him. "Is there a reason you came knocking on my door at six-thirty in the morning besides to remind me that I can't cook?"
Trevor blinked. "That's not enough?"
She growled and he couldn't help but smile.
"Actually, I came back to tell you to move your car and to find out why the hell you left your window down last night," he said, moving to fold his arms over his chest when something caught his eye.
His stomach growled viciously as he reached over and snatched an iced honey bun off her counter and ripped it open.
"Please help yourself," she said dryly.
"Thanks," he said, taking a huge bite of the delicious treat. As he ate the snack he did his best to appear innocent as his free hand slowly made its way back to the pile of individually wrapped baked treats that she foolishly left lying on the counter for anyone to steal.
With an eye roll, she stepped past him and pushed the treats his way. "Just take them."
"Thanks," he said, grabbing them and not giving her a chance to change her mind.
As he ripped open a cherry pie and dug in he watched as she grabbed a plastic shopping bag and held it out to him. "Put them in here," she said.
His eyes narrowed on her and the bag. "Why?" he asked cautiously, afraid she was trying to steal his treats.
Just what kind of sick game was she playing?
"Forget it," she said on an exasperated sigh, heading back to her cabinets. As he snacked away he watched her go through each cabinet and pull out yummy treats that caused his poor neglected stomach to rumble.
A few minutes later when all his treats were long gone and he was downing her last Coke, she handed him three shopping bags full of junk food.
"What's this?" he asked, taking them.
"I've decided to go on a diet," she said, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
He visibly winced, remembering what he said last night and feeling like an a*shole all over again. "If this is about what I said last night I'm really so-"
"It has nothing to do with you," she said, cutting him off. "I've just decided to make some changes in my life."
Guilt was a real bitch, he decided.
"Are you going to my uncle's for an interview?" he asked, hoping she would so that he could get rid of some of this damn guilt he had over insulting her. He still didn't know what the hell he was thinking. He'd never been that rude to a woman before and he'd dealt with some real bitches over the years. If his aunt ever found out what he said.....
Oh shit, he really hoped she didn't tell his aunt.
Zoe shrugged. "It's worth a shot."
"You don't sound too sure," he noted, leaning a hip against the counter.
"I'm not expecting a good reference from my old boss," she sighed. "I don't think I'm going to find a job anytime soon so you might want to start looking for a new tenant."
That wouldn't work for him, he realized as he looked around the surprisingly clean kitchen. Not only would he still feel like an a*shole for what he said, but then he'd be stuck with either his cousin living here or some tenant that annoyed the shit out of him. He wasn't about to lose his perfect tenant, not if he could help it.
"How about this?" he said as Zoe picked up the plate of muffins and thankfully tossed them into the trash, "if my uncle doesn't hire you, which I'm sure he will," he'd make sure of it, "then you can work for me."
"Doing what exactly?" Zoe asked, washing the plate and putting it in the dish strainer.
"Cleaning, laundry, running errands, taking care of the lawn, shit like that," he said, feeling quite proud of himself for coming up with the idea.
She narrowed her eyes on him. "Would I have to cook?"
God no....
"Um, no that's okay," he said quickly.
"How much an hour?" she asked hesitantly.
"Eight bucks an hour?" he suggested, liking the idea more and more. It would certainly free up his load and let him enjoy what little free time he had. This could definitely work for him. Too bad she couldn't cook. "Actually, even if my uncle does give you the job you can still have this one to earn extra money."
He could tell the prospect of having extra money appealed to her, but she was trying not to let him know.
"Ten dollars an hour," she finally said.
"That's highway robbery!"
"No, that's the price for going near your dirty drawers."
"Fine," he said on a long drawn out sigh, pushing away from the counter. She did have a point after all. "You can start after your interview."
"Okay," she said, nodding. "What do you need done?"
"I need you to go grocery shopping, do a load or two of laundry and a little light cleaning," he said, trying not to frighten her with the truth. She'd learn soon enough what hell awaited her and by the time she'd discovered the truth she'd already be set on earning some extra money. Plus she was desperate for work, so she really shouldn't be complaining about his pigsty. Instead she should thank him.
"That doesn't sound too bad," she murmured, pulling out a pen and a pad of paper. "Write down what you need and I'm going to need money for the grocery shopping," she said, sounding embarrassed.
"Don't worry about it," he said, taking the pen from her and writing his list down quickly. "You never told me why you left your window down last night," he reminded her.
"The window came off its track again and I think it broke inside of the door," she said, trying to peek over his shoulder at his list. "I'm going to have to bring it by the garage today."
He should just let her do that, but he knew how much those places charged for that shit. "No," he said, shaking his head and handing over his list so he could pull his wallet out. "I'll fix it over the weekend. Until then place a few towels and a trash bag over the car seat when you're using the car otherwise let it dry out. You can use my rug cleaner to suck the water out of it this afternoon," he said, handing her his grocery money. He really needed to move his ass now or he'd be late.
"Thanks," Zoe mumbled absently as she frowned down at his grocery list. "You didn't write anything."
"Yes, I did," he said, pointing to the one word he wrote.
"Everything," she read out loud, lips twitching. "So helpful."
"That's just the kind of guy I am," he pointed out, knowing in time she'd come to realize how lucky she was to have a landlord like him.