The woman sneers, her spine straightening. “I’ve had it up to here with dickbags.” She motions to the top of her head. She’s on the short side, so it’s not very high. “Thanks for being so helpful and understanding with your insults and your assholery. That was exactly what I needed after this turdheap of a day, so really, much appreciation for your creative shit-slinging.”
“I’m just telling it like it is. Not my fault if the truth hurts.”
“Jesus, you really are an asshole, aren’t you? Too bad your personality is in direct opposition to your exterior.” She rakes her gaze over me on a huff. She almost seems irritated with herself for checking me out. As should I, if she’s riding my married teammate in his spare time. “And why the hell are you out here in your goddamn underwear? Who even does that?”
Man, she’s fired up, which would be semientertaining, except it’s seriously late and I’m pissed off from having been woken up. I don’t bother answering the underwear question, since it has no relevance to this conversation. “If anyone’s being an asshole, it’s you with all the noise.”
She looks at her phone again while scrolling through messages. This time she scans the card and punches in a code. My annoyance spikes when she gets the green light. I guess Rook really does have a sidepiece, which proves he’s not as perfect as he portrays himself to be.
The woman shoulders open the door and awkwardly drags her beat-up suitcase inside. “Thanks so much for your help. It’s nice to be welcomed so warmly to the building.” She shoots me the bird and disappears inside the penthouse.
For half a second I consider whether I should call someone, like our coach or maybe the GM, but I’m not sure there’s a point. Rook is all buddy-buddy with our coach, Alex Waters, since they played together in Chicago for a number of years. And Waters is tight with the general manager. Besides, Rook’s extracurriculars aren’t my problem. If he’s cheating on his wife, I sure as hell don’t want to be in the middle of it.
I turn off the TV—which I’d fallen asleep in front of—and hit my bed. I expect to fall asleep right away, since I’m bagged, but I find myself wondering what the hell is going on across the hall for a lot longer than is reasonable.
The next morning I wake up late thanks to last night’s hallway disturbance. I set a pot of coffee to brew before I grab the paper from the hallway. I don’t read books, because they require a time commitment and I can’t stay seated or focused long enough to finish one, but the newspaper is different. I can get all the basics from the sports section and scan the current events to keep up with what’s going on in the world while I eat breakfast.
My semidecent mood sours as I open my door to retrieve my morning paper and glance across the hall. Now that I’m not being woken up from a dead sleep, I can admit that I was a jerk, although I believe I had a reason to be. Especially if Rook is keeping a pretty pet in his team-issued penthouse.
I’m about to go back inside when I notice my neighbor’s door is ajar. My first inclination is to ignore it, since it really isn’t my problem . . . but then I entertain several possible reasons as to why the door is open:
The hot train wreck from last night got lucky with the code and ransacked the place.
Rook stopped by to make use of his sidepiece.
Rook’s wife somehow found out about his lover and decided to murder them both in the middle of the night.
If it’s option A, then someone in security is about to be out of a job. But if it happens to be option B, and I catch Rook in the act, I could use it to my advantage. If it’s option C and there are dead bodies in the penthouse, the hallway will eventually start to stink.
I slip the paper between the jamb and the door of my apartment to prevent it from closing all the way and pad across the hall. While I’ve seen a fair amount of blood thanks to on-ice accidents, dead bodies are a whole different story and something I’d rather not be subjected to. But in this case, a fresh body is better than one that’s been hanging around for a few days, so really I’m doing my civic duty.
I knock on the door, and it creaks open several inches. I wait a full fifteen seconds before knocking a second time. When no one answers after another half minute, I peek inside and take a look around. No pool of congealed blood stains the floor. No obvious body lying anywhere. So I don’t have to call 911 yet.
I listen for sounds of human occupancy, namely moans of pain or pleasure, but all I get is the whir of the air conditioner, so I call out, “Hello?” loudly. Still nothing. I really hope no one is dead. I enter the penthouse. It’s exactly the same as mine layout-wise, but it’s missing any personal touches, making it feel sterile, like a show home. Everything is pristine and untouched, so his guest hasn’t ransacked the place, and there’s no indication of foul play, although the latter might be more likely to be found in the bedroom, where the dirty deeds happen.
I shout, “Hello?” again but still don’t get a response, so I continue toward the bedrooms. I’m halfway down the hall when a door swings open and the woman from last night appears. She’s definitely in one piece. One freshly showered, towel-wrapped piece. A second towel is wrapped around her head. She looks a lot better this morning—less like last night’s strung-out head case and more like . . . sex wrapped in black terry. She’s athletic but curvy, the perfect balance of strength and femininity. Not waify and breakable. I’m annoyed by this observation.
“What the hell!” she shrieks when she sees me.
“The door was open.” I raise my hands and also my gaze from where the short towel barely caresses the top of her very bare thighs. I bet if she lifts her arms I’ll get a money shot.
She clutches the top of her towel, dragging it higher. Despite the internal battle to keep my eyes on her face, they dip down without my permission, checking for flash. I can’t decide if I’m disappointed by the lack of it.
“So you thought you’d let yourself in and creep on me while I’m taking a shower? What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” she yells while flailing her free hand.
I force my eyes back up to her face. “I’m not creeping on you. I knocked twice and said hello three times. Like I said, the door was open, so I was checking to make sure there weren’t any bodies that needed removing.”
“Bodies?” She makes a face. “Are you serious with this—” She shakes her head and waves a hand in the air, like she’s erasing my words, or maybe trying to erase me. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. There’s obviously something wrong with you. You need to leave before I call the police.”
Man, she gets worked up fast. Although I suppose I can see why she might not want a strange man in here while she’s naked and wrapped in a towel.
I raise my hands in a show of surrender and take a few cautious steps backward down the hall toward the front door so she doesn’t make good on that threat, but I can’t resist needling her. “Maybe I should be the one calling the police. You show up here in the middle of the night and make yourself at home like you own the place, but I know the guy who’s supposed to be living here, and he’s not even in town.” This is half bullshit. I have no idea if Rook’s in town or not this weekend. For all I know, he’s hiding out in one of the bedrooms.
“How do you—” She slashes a hand through the air while advancing on me as I retreat toward the front door. “You know what? I don’t need to explain myself to you. You’re the one breaking into my apartment.”
“It’s not your apartment.” I nearly knock a lamp off a side table as I back my way through the living room.
“Oh my God! Get the hell out! I’m in a damn towel. I was in the shower. There are no bodies, as you can damn well see.” She motions around the spotless, mostly empty room, still advancing as I get closer to the door.
“Maybe you were showering away the evidence.” Now I’m messing with her. I don’t know why. Possibly because she’s so worked up. Maybe because I’m irritated that Rook seems like this golden boy, when he’s just another asshole. “Who are you here with?”
“No on
e. I’m here alone, just like I was last—” She clamps a hand over her mouth but drops it just as quickly. “I have company on their way here right now. You need to get out.”
I step back through the threshold so I’m in the foyer and not the apartment anymore. “I was checking to make sure you were alive and hadn’t been turned into a knife block. I’m also not the least bit interested in taking advantage of the fact that you’re alone.”
“You made that quite clear with the boner-killer comment last night, but thanks for reiterating it.” She pushes at my shoulder, aggressively this time, so I fake stumble back a couple of steps. “And why the hell would the door be open in the first place? I closed it last night, right after you were done insulting me.”
“Did you see yourself last night? You were Queen of the Hot Mess Express.”
“Do you ever shut up?” she shrieks as she shoves me with even more force. I have to admit, she’s pretty strong for someone so small.
This time I stumble for real and bump the edge of the glass-top table. The giant vase of flowers threatens to tip over for a few seconds. Thankfully, it stays put. I don’t feel like explaining a pile of broken glass to security. I straighten and run a hand down my chest, an action she follows raptly, like a hungry puck bunny. Maybe she’s a legit stick chaser. “You’re welcome for making sure you weren’t murdered in the night.”
“Buy a pair of pants!” She slams the door, but it doesn’t close. Instead it bounces back open. “And a shirt!” She flips me the bird and slams the door a second time.
It bounces open. Again.
I smile and wave as she reappears. The towel has unraveled from her head and fallen to the floor, revealing a tangled mass of long . . . powder-pink hair? It had been tucked into a beanie last night, so it was hidden.
She grabs for the door, and the towel wrapped around her torso loosens, sliding down her body, which means I get a glimpse of a pair of nice perky tits before the door slams a third time.
“Nice boob job!” I yell at the closed door.
This time when it opens, a middle finger appears in the narrow gap. “They’re real, asshole.” The finger disappears, and the door slams again and remains closed.
She seems too feisty for Bowman. Too bad I have a moral compass. Otherwise she might be fun to play with.
CHAPTER 3
JERKS INC.
Stevie
“What a jerk!” I say to my boobs. I drop the arm barred across them, as it’s no longer necessary to protect my nipples from being visually molested. Despite his size, and the fact that he’s a virtual stranger, I didn’t feel particularly threatened by his unexpected presence in the apartment. Maybe because of his ridiculous underwear?
Anyway, my boobs are very much mine and also very nice. Every single boyfriend I’ve ever had whom I’ve gone past second base with has pretty much fallen in love with my chest—which hasn’t been a ton of guys because that’s not how I roll. Apparently I have great boobs and nipples. Guys are oddly enthralled with them.
I press my face against the door so I can look through the peephole. The jerk is still standing in the foyer, wearing a stupid grin. He scratches the inside of his leg near his junk, mutters something I can’t hear, and swaggers to his apartment door. I get to check out his fine, fine ass and incredibly defined back.
It’s so unfair that someone with a personality so lacking is this ridiculously good looking. He bends to retrieve his newspaper before he disappears into his apartment.
After I get dressed, I check the cupboards for food. There is literally nothing, apart from a bag of noodles and four tea bags, which makes grocery shopping a top priority. I don’t really want to leave the apartment, but I don’t seem to have much of a choice.
I’m poised to open the door when my phone chimes in my purse. Joey has messaged relentlessly since I found him with his man unit lodged in someone else’s vagina. It’s the typical “Oh shit, I got caught” BS: I’m so sorry, babe, it was an accident; it didn’t mean anything; we can work this out.
And maybe we could work it out, but if we did, then what? I’d spend the next however many months feeling insecure, wondering what he was doing when I wasn’t home or if he was being faithful when I visited my family in LA. I can already see how that would play out, and it definitely wouldn’t be good for me. I wouldn’t feel good about myself if I got back together with Joey after walking in on him like that. I suppose now at least I know exactly where my line is.
I’m relieved, sort of, when my brother’s name appears on the screen instead of Joey’s.
“Hey.” I put him on speakerphone and flop down on the couch.
“How are you this morning? Everything go okay last night?” RJ’s parental-style concern is as endearing as it is annoying with zero caffeine in my system.
“I’m fine.” That’s a lie, but the truth is an entire therapy session, so we’ll leave it at that. “You were right about the lock being tricky, but I figured it out. The guy across the hall thought I was trying to break in.”
“Which guy?”
“Uh, the super-buff one?” I wasn’t paying attention to the apartment number last night, and I’m too lazy to get off my ass and check.
“Most of the people up there keep to themselves, but if any of them give you problems, tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”
“It’s fine. I was making a racket because I was entering the code wrong at first.” I leave out the part where the guy insulted me and broke in this morning because I really don’t need my brother knocking on his door, making a scene.
“What about the douche ex? Has he tried to contact you?”
Only about a million times. “He’s messaged. I haven’t responded.” I change the subject because I can feel my eyes pricking with more stupid tears. “Where’s the closest grocery store and coffee shop around here?” If I use Uber Eats, I could avoid leaving the apartment altogether until Monday morning, but that would be a waste of the limited funds I currently have available.
“There’s a coffee shop on the first floor, and the grocery store is down the street. Sorry there’s nothing in the penthouse, but you can use online delivery. The concierge will bring everything up for you.”
“Isn’t there some kind of fee for that? Besides, there’s not much point in filling the fridge when I’ll be moving out as soon as I find a new place.”
“You don’t need to find somewhere else, Stevie. I’ve already cleared it with management and explained the situation.”
“Are you sure?” As much as I don’t want to mooch off my brother, not having to search for another apartment or foot the rent bill on my own would alleviate one of my many stresses.
“Positive. I’ve got your back, Stevie. And don’t worry about grocery-delivery fees. My card is already on file with them. I’ll send you my log-in and password; then you can order what you need.”
“You’re doing more than enough by giving me a place to stay, and you already helped with furniture and stuff; you don’t need to pay for my groceries too.” I feel bad that I’m twenty-four years old and not self-sufficient, especially since RJ has been making millions of dollars since he turned twenty. Being fresh out of graduate school means my bank account is going to be light until I get a paycheck from my first-ever career-related job. On the upside, the salary and benefits are really great; on the downside, I’m working at the same clinic as my cheater ex.
“You don’t need to worry about money when you haven’t even started your job yet. Let me help. I can afford to take care of my family, so give me the chance to do that.”
He has a point, since he makes eleven million a year. Racking up a credit card bill is another stress I don’t need on top of everything else, so I concede. It’s ironic how his fame and money are both a blessing and a curse in so many ways.
The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of unanswered text messages and voice mails from Joey, many pints of Ben & Jerry’s—courtesy of online grocery shopping—and several boxes of t
issues. By Sunday night, my second suitcase still hasn’t made it back from its trip to Alaska, but I ordered a bunch of clothes with express shipping—compliments of my brother’s credit card—so at least I don’t have to start my new job naked.
My stomach is in knots on Monday morning as I get ready for work. I pack snacks even though I’m too nervous to eat, pour a to-go cup of coffee, and make sure I have my key card before I slip on my shoes. A newspaper sits in front of my door when I open it, which seems odd, but I kick it into my apartment. Maybe it’s complimentary or something.
As I pull the door shut behind me, the one across the hall opens, and out steps my jerkwad neighbor. Just like our first interaction, he’s wearing only boxer briefs. This time they’re a black-and-white checker print. A set of flags crosses over the peen pouch with the words FINISH LINE right over his junk. It’s physically impossible not to look at his crotch. I force my eyes up, dragging slowly over his ridiculously cut abs on the way to his annoyingly attractive face.
He pauses when he notices me, eyes roving over my casual yoga-style pants and plain golf shirt in what feels a lot like silent judgment. It’s probably the same way I assessed him but with less drooling and more disdain. When he reaches my backpack, his lip curls in a loathsome sneer. “Are you a student?” He says it like it’s some kind of horrible disease.
I arch a brow and self-consciously adjust the strap. I could invest in a tote bag or something, but backpacks have better weight distribution and don’t cause shoulder misalignment. “Good morning to you too.” I head for the elevators without so much as a second glance in his direction. What a prick.
I’m grateful when the doors slide open almost immediately. I step inside, hit the lobby button, and fight with myself not to check to see if he’s still standing there. I lose the battle half a second before the doors close fully. He’s scratching the space between his navel and the waistband of his underwear. I roll my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief when the elevator begins its descent.
A Favor for a Favor Page 2