Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Then don’t go,” I told her. “I’m not kicking you out.”
“If we’re going to be roommates, we should talk about things like trash and dishes,” she straightened, all business.
I nodded, though I couldn’t care less. “Let’s talk about rooms.”
“Obviously, I get the big bedroom because my stuff is already in there,” she said. I marveled at the fact that she could go from homeless beggar to queen of the mansion in sixty seconds flat.
“Hang on.” I raised a finger. “The bigger bedroom is mine.”
She stared at me. “But my stuff is already in there.”
“Then move your stuff,” I said.
“Okay…” She took a breath. “Then I get both of the other bedrooms.”
I shook my head. “I need an office.”
“Well, I need a place to practice new hairstyles.” She rearranged that tight ass on the seat cushion.
“Practice at work,” I said.
“I work at work,” she snapped. “I practice at home.”
“Who are you going to practice on?” I allowed myself to be distracted.
“I have wigs,” she said defensively.
The waitress brought our drinks and took our lunch orders. There was still enough civility between us to share a meal.
“What if we split the third room?” I suggested when we were alone again.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Like, I could have a desk and a computer in there, and you would have your wigs,” I elaborated.
She considered that and finally nodded. “What about food and cleaning and stuff?”
“Like I said, I work a lot,” I explained. “We don’t have to eat together.”
She blushed. “I wasn’t…” She fiddled with the paper straw wrapper, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t mean that we would be…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“Okay.” I swallowed. The tension had just shot up at the mention of family dinners. Were we both imagining some kind of domestic bliss, where one or the other of us cooked and we sat down to enjoy it together? Sure, I wanted to get into her pants, but I wasn’t suggesting that we get married. “I was thinking we could split the refrigerator. And I would get the top shelf and you could take the bottom shelf, or something like that.”
“Good,” she agreed readily. “I do like to cook, so you could help yourself to leftovers if you want.” She glanced up at me casually.
“Okay.” I nodded. Homemade leftovers sounded really good.
We finished our lunch in some semblance of civility. Our conversation was polite but awkward. Every time I thought we had things ironed out, one of us would stumble across a too-intimate subject and the tension would flare up. She only picked at her salad, while I ate only half of my sandwich. I knew from experience that the best way to conquer this type of anxiety was to just kiss her. But that was out of the question now that we were going to be roommates. It was a shame that the most beautiful girl in this town was going to be both out of bounds and close to my bedroom. I decided I must be crazy.
When I got back to work, I put in a few hours on the drug case. I was getting nowhere fast, and everyone knew it. The chief swung by my desk to ask for an update. I laid on a layer of bullshit about going back to the drawing board and reinterviewing witnesses, but he could tell that the case was going cold. At least we hadn’t had another overdose recently, so maybe I had spooked the culprit.
I stared at the desk phone after my boss had left, thinking about Lindsey. After a moment’s hesitation, I put in a call to her idiot landlord, my soon-to-be seller. He answered the phone tepidly, having no idea who was on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey, this is Jason White,” I said.
“Hi,” he said again. “The tenant should be out by tomorrow. I can get a crew in to clean it, and we can go to closing next Monday.”
“I’ve come to an arrangement with the tenant. She doesn’t have to move.”
“Fine, whatever. As long as she’s not my problem,” he said.
“She’s not anyone’s ‘problem,’” I snapped. “You should have some more respect for your tenants. They’re people too.”
“Whatever,” he yawned.
“It’s not my business,” I began, feeling rage in the pit of my stomach, “but if you keep hustling and cheating, you’re gonna get caught.”
“I haven’t done anything illegal,” the landlord said.
“Whatever.” I hung up.
10
LINDSEY
Ilooked around Ava’s studio apartment. From where I sat on the bed, I could see the closet in one corner and the kitchenette in the other. The door to the bathroom was planted in the middle of one wall, next to a set of stairs that ran up to the apartment entrance. It must have been the tiniest of tiny basement apartments.
“Where did you find this place?” I asked.