After slipping on a pair of basketball shorts and an old tee, I step into the living room. Indy’s mess is cleared out, but the apartment feels different than it did a couple of days ago.
I’ve been alone for a long time. Having Stevie live here for the nine months she did was a nice reprieve from the quiet, but the silence returned when she moved out. I like my alone time, thrive on it really. But the difference in the air this morning, having someone else here, doesn’t feel like the worst thing to happen to me. It’s not as alarming as I assumed it would be.
The door on the opposite side of the living room is cracked slightly. The sliver of pale-yellow paint burns my eyes as the morning Chicago sun bounces off the walls. There are no drapes or blinds in there anymore. Stevie used her own funky curtains for the time she was here, but before and since her living here, I’ve kept that room shut.
But Indy’s new bedroom won’t close completely because of the books and clothes thrown about her floor, keeping the door from shutting.
I learned another thing about the girl during our third meeting. Not only is she emotional and can’t hold her liquor, but she’s messy. Real messy.
She’s colorful too, I remind myself. It’s glaringly obvious around my black and white apartment. The dresses shoved in her doorway are shades of light purple and floral prints, but I think the biggest culprit of the doorjamb is the strappy pink heel sticking out from under the vibrant fabrics.
Maybe that’s the shoe that left a scuff mark on my bedroom door last night.
4
INDY
“Are you kidding me?” I bury my face in my pillow, trying to shield my eyes from the blaring morning sun pouring into my bedroom windows. “Why are there no blinds?”
The sun beats off the yellow walls of my new room. I need to ask Stevie why the hell she painted this room such an obnoxiously morning color because I know there’s no way in hell Mr. Black and White did.
I don’t know what time it is. I didn’t set up anything in my new room, including my alarm clock and only God knows where my phone could be, but I can tell by the obscenely bright sunrise filtering into my room, it’s too goddamn early to be awake.
I have an overnight flight to work tonight, our first of the season, and I need my sleep. I’m not a morning person regardless, but especially not on days I have to fly all night.
I slept like shit. On the floor with a single pillow and two throw blankets. I don’t have a bed or mattress yet and my stubborn ass refused to crash on Ryan’s couch after last night’s debacle.
I need to go shopping for some things. It feels weird starting over, but no part of me wants the mattress or bedding from where I found Alex with someone else.
Thinking of his name alone reawakens the ache in my chest that likes to hide for periods of time until a simple reminder brings a tsunami of pain along with it.
Finding my phone digging into my back, I squint my eyes, careful not to blind myself with its bright screen.
Indy
Daily update—why the hell is this room the color of a baby duckling?! I wish your bed was still here. Zanders is rich enough to buy a different one for your guest bedroom. Oh, and your brother is a dick.
Stevie
Well, at least that’ll keep you from wanting to sleep with him!
When did I say that? I’m a romance reader. I have a thing for assholes.
She doesn’t respond and I wonder just how many daily updates it’ll take for her to block my number.
Burying my head, I use my pillow to blind my eyes, hoping to get a few more hours of precious sleep, but as soon as the waft of fresh coffee filters into my room, I’m on high alert. The smell is enticing as it is, but couple that with some crackling bacon and I’m out of bed and stumbling over my clutter to get to the kitchen. I don’t eat the stuff, but God does it smell amazing.
“Morning,” Ryan says, not bothering to turn around as he faces the stove top.
“Yes, it is,” I mumble, taking a seat at the kitchen island.
A cutoff T-shirt and basketball shorts grace his body, but his outfit doesn’t give off the frat boy vibes you’d expect. His shirt seems so old and worn that he had to cut the sleeves off simply because the fabric was garnering too many holes—surprising for someone as clean as him. Regardless, I’m not complaining because his sleek, curving oblique muscles peek out perfectly from the deep cut sides and his bulging quads make my imagination dance with all the things those powerful legs could do.
God, he’s cut.
Ryan finally turns to face me, catching my admiring stare before his eyes flicker to my chest. I probably should’ve thrown a bra on. Thanks to this thin, smiley-faced tank top, I’m not the only one greeting my new roommate this morning.
“We aren’t into bras?”
“We? I personally don’t love wearing one with my pajamas, but you do you.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Judgment free zone.”
He shoots me an unimpressed glare before placing a piping hot mug of black coffee on the counter in front of me, followed by a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and wheat toast.
I pull my gaze up to meet his. Blue-green eyes bore into mine, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t. The edge of frustration he wore last night has washed away slightly and he looks softer, kinder.
“You wanted to have breakfast together,” he reminds me, nodding towards my plate.
He remembered, although I forgot all about that after my little meltdown. I figured I would be greeted with an eviction notice after last night, not with a homemade breakfast.
This meal is an olive branch. And even though he was a royal jackass, I did throw a shoe at his door, so I don’t know that he’s the one who should be apologizing.
“Was it the bright pink ones?” he asks, pulling my stare away from his bedroom.
“Hmm?”
“The shoe you threw at my door. Was it your pink heels?” He motions to the mess in my doorway.
I guess I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. “Probably. Those are my I-don’t-take-shit shoes.”
A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lip, but I don’t get my hopes up for a genuine grin. I’ve quickly learned that Ryan Shay finds me neither funny nor charming.
He holds a fork out for me as he stands opposite the island, but before he begins to eat his breakfast, he cleans the two pans he used, dries them, and replaces them to their rightful home.
“Sorry about last night,” I finally apologize with my mouth full. “I’ll scrub that scuff off your door.”
He doesn’t respond, shifting his attention to his plate as he begins to eat his breakfast.
“You don’t like bacon?” He points his fork at my plate.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
His eyes bounce to mine with horror before he swoops up my bacon and slips it between his deliciously full lips. “And you don’t drink coffee?”
“I love coffee. But I don’t drink hot coffee. I’m waiting for it to cool down, then I’ll add some ice. And creamer. Lots of creamer.”