Jesus.
Christ.
My face flushes but I manage not to flinch. “I do put myself out there. You’re not making any sense.”
“Do you though?” She crosses her arms, plumping her breasts above the collar of her shirt. Anabelle has obviously taken great pains with her appearance, spray-tanning herself to a golden perfection.
I return my gaze back to her eyes.
“You’re so passive aggressive, Elliot. I don’t think even you know what you want.”
“I am not. Just because I’m not out there hitting on every goddamn girl stepping in my path does not make me passive aggressive.”
The thing is, I know she’s right. I have been chicken-shit lately. If I wasn’t, I’d have already told her I’m starting to have feelings for her.
That it kills me not being able to wrap my hands around her waist when she’s standing at the sink, wearing that gray robe, hair pulled up atop her head. That I find her long, delicate fingers fascinating. That the sound of her voice instantly lifts my mood.
“Okay, you’re not.” Another shrug. “Cool.”
“Cool? What does that mean?”
“Oh my God, I’m not going to stand here all night and list the things you could be doing if you wanted a relationship! I don’t have the time. I just meant you could put yourself out there more. That’s it. Or maybe you don’t want a relationship and I’m wasting my breath, I don’t know. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Only because you’re giving me shit about my outfit.”
“Otherwise you never would have said anything?”
Her shoulders rise and fall, breathing hard because she’s gotten herself all worked up. “Maybe I would have mentioned it eventually.” She rakes both hands down her stomach, smoothing out the hem of her top. “Do you like this top on me or not?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Just fine? Ugh.”
It’s better than fine, actually. She looks gorgeous, and if circumstances were different, I’d tell her so. But, she’s my roommate, she hasn’t indicated she wants to change things anytime soon, and the last thing I want is Anabelle getting the wrong idea by me hitting on her.
Not when she’s living across the hall.
Not when I have to see her in that damn silk robe every morning.
“You look good.”
Really fucking good.
Hot.
“You’re sure I shouldn’t go change?”
“Nah. You look hot.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say that to begin with?”
“Because, you’re not sticking to the plan!”
Now I have her laughing, thank God. “I am the only one following the plan! I’m letting him take me out for free food! And to start, I’m going to order a bunch of appetizers and drinks, not eat or drink a single one of them, and make him pay.”
“Are you going out after your dinner?”
“Yes.” She picks at her navy blue nail polish. “For dancing, remember?”
“Seriously Anabelle? You’re going to let him wine and dine you?”
“I repeat: free. Food. Fake.”
She’s exhausting. “Is he coming here to pick you up?”
“No, I’m meeting him downtown. I thought it would be best—you know, no awkward goodnight walks to the front door, no fending off a goodnight kiss.”
I don’t even want to try imagining that scenario playing out on my fucking front porch.
“Can you do me a favor? Don’t lose sight of the fact that Rex bet one of his teammates he could fuck you for the chance at a bigger bedroom, okay?”
All the way from my bed, I can see her chest getting red. “Who would forget a detail like that? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“No. I just think you’re being too nice.”
“Disagree.” She sticks her forefinger in the air. “I sent Eric Johnson to my dad’s house already, remember? He won’t be bothering me again.”
“Bet he does.”
“Haha, very funny. Don’t you start with that betting crap.”
“I was joking. Lighten up.”
“Fine.” She relents. “It was a decent play on words, though I’m not too proud to admit it.”
“Should I get dressed and come with you?” I set the book down on my comforter, starting to rise from the bed.
Anabelle throws her hands up to stop me, waving them in the air. “Oh my God, don’t you dare! I do not need you hovering, Dad. He’ll know something is up.”
I beg to differ. “No he won’t—Rex Gunderson is a fucking moron. I’ve seen his brand of genius at work many, many times.”
“Still, don’t you dare show up.” She sends me an accusatory glare.
Not intimidated, I ignore her, thinking I might actually show up on her fake date—you know, scope it out, check out the situation. Make sure he keeps his fucking hands off her.
If I can’t touch her, he sure as hell can’t.
The last time Anabelle went out to party, I carried her semi-unconscious body through my door and tucked her into my bed to sleep it off. I’ve earned the right to be overprotective of her.
She’s my friend.
The thought makes me throw up in my mouth a little.
“Oh!” I say a little too loudly. “I have an idea before you leave. Should we have some kind of Bat Signal? In case you need me?”
“Sure.” My roommate rolls her eyes. “Or I could just text you like a normal person.”
“This whole revenge plot thing is becoming anti-climactic, seeing as you’ve forgotten what a tool this dude is.”
“Oh my God, twist my arm, we’ll have a panic word! What do you want the signal to be?”
I sit up on my bed, resting against the headboard. “How about ‘take me out to the ball game’ and I’ll be there within five minutes.”
“How unoriginal.”
“I was going to suggest ‘balls deep’ as a soccer reference but didn’t want to offend you.”
“As if I’ve never heard that zinger while hanging around my dad’s practice gym. Still, it was very considerate of you not to suggest it.” She laughs. Stops laughing. “Wait, what do you mean ‘be there in five minutes?’ That would mean you were close by.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just know I’ll be within five minutes away.”
“Elliot! Did I not just say I didn’t want you spying on me!”
“I won’t! I’ve decided to go downtown. Not in the same bar, I swear.”
She squints one eye closed. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because I’m full of shit and we both know it, that’s why.”
I grin, determined to find out where she is and make sure I’m in the area. I don’t trust Rex Gunderson, and neither does anyone else. I don’t want to just burn the bridge he has with Anabelle, I want to drain the lake beneath it and fill it with concrete.
Anabelle is spending the night out with a fucking loser.
“Can we just get this night over with please?”
“You are so bossy when you’re crabby.”
I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, stretching. “Having a roommate was supposed to be fun and not cramp my lifestyle.”
“It is fun—don’t be a baby. Get dressed and we can ride together since you insist on stalking me. I’ll even let you drive.”
I get to drive, drop her off downtown for her fake date from hell with a complete tool, and then lurk for the rest of the evening?
Awesome.
Exactly what I wanted to be doing on a Friday night.
Anabelle
I will admit, coming out with Rex Gunderson hasn’t been one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.
In fact, other than the fact that he’s ignoring me by replying to incoming text messages, I’ve had way worst dates.
We’re at a small restaurant in town, and even though I’m just wearing jeans and a black shirt, I’m still overdressed. This is more of a diner—a greasy spoon, as we call it back east—serving beer, burgers, and fried appetizers.
I push aside the napkins in the center of the table, clasping my hands, waiting for my fake date to put his phone down and notice me.
If Rex Gunderson is trying to win a bet so he can have sex with me, his effort is seriously lacking. How do girls find this behavior appealing?
He isn’t paying any attention to me.
He’s doused with cologne.
And he keeps referring to himself in the third person.
Annoyed, I tap on the table, nails clicking against the wooden top. “Are you almost done? I’m getting bored.”
“Yeah, give me one more second, babe.” He shoots me a toothy grin that’s meant to be charming. “Team bizness.”
I wish I hadn’t come out with him.
I’d give anything to be snuggled up on the couch with Elliot right now, watching a show or reading a book—something I haven’t done in forever.
Rex sets his phone on the table, seeming ready to finally give me his full attention. “So, this is fun.”
“Really? You think this is fun?” I lean forward. “Is this what you normally do with your dates?”
“Bring them here? Yeah. It’s the perfect setup. I can sit and watch the game”—there are flat-screen TVs everywhere—“and the ladies can sit and watch me. It’s a win-win.”