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It’s a solid question. When I answered the door, I didn’t introduce myself or say anything. I just grunted and let him in. You know, like a typical overbearing caveman.
“No,” I tell him now, knowing full well this doesn’t answer his question.
My less-is-more approach is working wonders to make him sweat. Ronald’s eyes flick to the door and his cheeks flush the same red as his nose.
“Uh … roommate, then?”
I shrug.Think what you want, Ronald. In fact, think your WORST.
This is all very unlike me. I’m usually Mr. Nice Guy, but we all know where he ends up in stories, so I’ve donned the Mr. Not-So-Nice-Guy suit for tonight. And, what do you know? I actually like the way it fits.
Ronald glances at the door again, then slides his phone out of his back pocket.
I stand. “I’ll check on her.”
Ronald nods eagerly, like he can’t wait to get out of here. I cross the room, walking closer to him than I need to as I head to the hallway. Towering over him brings me more joy than it should. Especially when he shrinks back into the couch.
Be afraid,Ronald.Be very afraid.
He doesn’t need to know that physical violence is something I wouldn’t condone. Better that he think I’m capable of anything. Anything at all. And maybe, when it comes to Chelsea, I am.
Except when it involves being honest about my feelings, that is.
I knock on Chelsea’s door until the hair dryer and singing stop. She opens it a crack—enough for me to see she’s got on a silky robe and still-damp hair.
I forget why I’m standing here for a moment.
Chelsea gives me a pointed glare. Right—she’s still irritated with me.
“Yes? I’m trying to get ready for mydate, Mason.”
Ronald currently has his head swiveled our way, watching this exchange. Might as well give him something to watch.
I prop my arm up the doorway and lean slightly toward her. “Ronald is here, babe.”
I’ve never called Chelseababe. Have I ever called anyonebabe?I don’t think so. And I vow right here and now never to do so again. I feel like I need to wash my own mouth out with soap.
Chelsea’s eyes, which I’m happy to see had been roving over my flexed arm resting on the doorway, snap to my face. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice I called herbabe.
“Now? He’s herenow?”
“Yep.” I lower my voice, glancing back toward the living room. “And I wouldn’t make him wait too long. He seems nervous, like he’s ready to bolt.”
“Why is he so early? I mean, a few minutes is one thing but …” She trails off, and her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Did John tell us different times? He did, didn’t he?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
Holding the silky robe tight at her neck, Chelsea sticks her head out the door, leaning past me so she can see the living room. The floral scent of her shampoo—and the tiny undercurrent of skunk—fills my nose. I don't even mind the skunk anymore.
The heat of Chelsea’s body so near mine has me wanting to wrap my arms around her and drag her back inside her bedroom, away from Ronald.
Be cool, I tell myself, though cool is the last thing I feel.
My blood is a hot, bubbling cauldron.
“Sorry!” Chelsea calls in a bright voice, giving Ronald a little wave with the hand not holding the robe closed. “I’ll be right out. I must have had the times mixed up.”
I don’t miss the way Ronald’s eyes widen when he sees Chelsea. His eyes go down to her robe, then jerk back up quickly. Good move on his part. If he stared any longer, I would have forcibly thrown him out of the apartment.
