Life hasn't always been kind to me. I've had to make decisions I'd have preferred not to, decisions that were painful, decisions that made me who I am. So I wear my usual carefree, easy-breezy, go-with-the-flow attitude as body armour. I'm not coy and demure like most girls. I'm loud, I speak my truth and I try my best to be my authentic self. But that doesn't mean I don't have a vulnerable side or that my feelings shouldn't be taken seriously. I have hopes and dreams just like the next chick. And most importantly, I deserve respect. I can’t be with a guy who's ashamed of who I am.
"Don't let that moron get you down, Sadie." My friend's encouragement fills the room. "He's gonna regret this. You were right to finally break up with him. He treats you like crap and you’re way out of his league. When he's forty-six and his ankles are still hanging off the end of his twin-sized mattress as he jerks himself off under his Power Rangers sheet set while his mom watches the Young and the Restless at the other end of the hall, he's gonna say to himself, 'Sadie Nichols was the best thing that ever happened to me.' Meanwhile, you'll be running your own multinational company and you'll be married to some hot dude with an accent who'll give you pretty babies. Trust me."
A dismissive laugh comes out my nose. "You just nourish my ego with your bullshit. You know that?"
And I love her for it. As ridiculous as her hypothetical scenario sounds, I know she believes every word she's saying. That's why we're besties even though we're opposites in every way. I'm the carefree wildchild who goes wherever the wind blows. Nat fits the trope of the good girl rule-follower to a T. But I wouldn't swap her for anyone and I'm proud to say that she'd stick by me, too. She and I have been joined at the hip since the summer after fourth grade. We've seen a lot of shit together but we pull each other through it every time.
Tonight is no different.
I glance at the slinky red halter dress hanging from the hook on the bathroom door. We're about to hit the town and I'm gonna dance that fool Cobi right out of my system.
"You're a hot babe," she tells me. "He's a clown."
I bring my eyes back to my reflection. I am a hot babe, dammit. Shower cap and moustache remover and all. "This makeover will make me feel like a brand new woman. New hairstyle. Smooth legs. Groomed bikini line. This will be good for me."
"You're right, I guess," Nat says on a skeptical exhale. I can tell she’s still not quite a fan of the purple hair decision. "You were letting yourself go in that relationship...I didn’t want to say anything but the last time we were sunbathing, it looked like you were hiding a bearded lumberjack in your panties." She giggles wildly.
I laugh, too. "Well, if I'm lucky tonight, I will end the night with a bearded lumberjack in my panties." I dot some pasty green zit cream onto the crop circle of zits that just sprouted up on my cheek. Stress breakout. Thank you, Cobi. "If that jerk thinks I'll spend a second grieving over him, he's wrong. I am Moving. The fuck. On." I make the declaration with conviction.
"Yeah!" Nat hollers in support. "Cobi who?"
I snap my fingers, ‘sassy-tude’ on 100. "Already forgotten."
Out of nowhere, a curious little voice floats in through my cellphone speaker. "Mommy, why would Aunt Sadie want a bearded lumberjack in her panties?"
Natalie screeches and I hear the loud squeal of her brakes. "Headphones in, Thandi! Headphones in!" I imagine her flinging an arm into the back of her Maxima and gesturing at the iPad where the little girl is supposed to be watching her cartoons. Nat's attention comes back to me. "I’m gonna drop kiddo off at her dad's place and then you and me are gonna go to the Opal Lounge and dance and flirt and turn down every guy who tries to take us home. Just for the hell of it."
"I wanna go with you and Aunt Sadie,” Thandi whines. “I don't wanna go to my dad's house."
An exasperated sigh pours out of Natalie. "Why don’t you want to go to your dad’s house, Thandi?"
"He’s no fun. All he talks about is Bitcoin."
I snort a laugh.
After being engaged forever, Natalie and Alvin separated not long ago and are navigating the rocky seas of co-parenting. Their precocious little girl certainly doesn’t make it easy.
The timer on my phone goes off, telling me it's time to rinse off my hair dye and depilatory cream. "Keep talking while I jump in the shower." Yanking back the plastic curtain, I step into the narrow stall and twist the knob on the bathtub faucet.
I expect a lazy stream of lukewarm water to come sputtering out like it always does but I get a long, wheezing echo from the depths of the pipe instead.
"Uh-oh..."
I wrap my fingers around the faucet and wrench it from right to left again. The sluggish groan of the rusty valve is all I hear.
Nat and Thandi are still arguing. "Sadie, you're supposed to back me up here. Are you even listening to me?" My friend's tone is heavy with irritation.
I mutter, frowning as I turn the knob yet again. "No water..."
This is not something you want to learn when every hair follicle on your naked body is doused in chemicals. An anxious, little shiver dances up my spine.
"What do you mean, no water?" Nat asks. I hear a hint of caution creeping into her voice.
I jerk back the shower curtain and stumble out of the grimy bathtub. "I mean, there's no water." A whisper of an itch begins to work its way up the back of my thigh. Another wave of mild concern laps into my consciousness.
"Sadie, that's not good," she whispers shakily, sounding considerably more panicked than I'm willing to admit I feel.
I reach for the tap on the sink. I twist it. Nothing. No water. My sense of urgency mounts. "Oh shit...it's starting to itch."
“Shit!”
That mild concern I mentioned earlier has now blossomed into full-blown panic as that whispery itch morphs into a roaring burn. Oh fuck! This cream is over processing. I need to rinse it off.
I yank down the lever on the toilet. The thing makes a loud gasping sound as all the water in the bowl is gulped down into oblivion. Not that I was considering washing myself with toilet water...Okay, maybe I was.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
“Don’t you have a water bottle or something?” Natalie suggests, her voice all jitters. I think her nervousness is only keying me up even more.
My damp soles move fast across the cracked tiles of the bathroom floor and out into the short, narrow hallway. I race into the tiny kitchen and yank open the fridge. There isn’t much in there. An empty pizza box. A leftover piece of cheese from taco Tuesday. A tub of chocolate cake frosting I swiped from work.
“Sadie? Are you there?” Natalie’s voice bellows through the phone.
I sprint back into the bathroom and hastily bring the device to my lips. “I’m coming over,” I announce as I grab my shimmery red dress from the hook.
"What?!"
I race for the front door as I shout out the declaration again. "I'm coming to your house, Natalie."
"Sadie, I'm stuck in traffic. Remember?"
I'm not thinking logically right now. Dear god, this thing burns! "I'll pick the lock…I'll break a window…I'll find a way!" A glob of depilatory cream slides over the ridge of my lip and into my mouth. Yuck!
"Sadie, it's a fifteen minute trip on your rollerblades.” She laughs shortly, a note of anxiety in the sound. "Hun, you'll be balder than Steve Harvey by the time you get to my house! You need to take that dye off. Now. And that hair removal lotion is gonna eat right through your skin if you don't wash it off."
She's right. But I’m too panicked and uncomfortable to problem-solve. I’m tipsy, too. And you know what I wish? I really wish I hadn't drank all that damn wine.
“Oh god oh god oh god." I try wiping the cream off with my party dress. The friction of the red sequins against my skin makes me howl in pain.
Now we’re all in full-on freak out mode.
“Relax, Sadie.”
"I can't relax. I'm being eaten alive!"
"Deep breaths, hun. Deep breaths."
; "Oh god. I'm too young for this."
"Stop panicking."
"Mommy, is Aunt Sadie dying?!"
“It’s so itchy!”
“Do not scratch it. No matter what you do, don’t scratch it.”
"Mommy, call 9-1-1!"
“It’s so itchy, Natalie. So itchy!”
Now, I’m jumping on the spot, fanning my crotch with my hand.
I hear Thandi crying, bemoaning my impending death.
"Oh god. Is this my karma? Is this my karma? I was a bitch to Cobi and now I'm getting eaten alive by hair remover."
"Sadie, stop freaking out!"
Hypocrite! “You’re freaking out, too!”
“Okay, lemme think. Lemme think. Lemme think,” I hear Nat say then she takes a steadying breath. “Can’t you go to one of the neighbor’s? Knock on the door?”
"My neighbors?"
"Yes, your neighbors."
Well, duh! Of course.
I don’t waste another second. Tossing my phone onto the couch, I clutch my skimpy red dress over the front of my naked body. Then, I yank the door open and race down the hall.
Yes, I get it. I’m running around my apartment building naked. But in my defense, I think I have a fairly nice ass so in some ways, this could be considered a public service. Anyway, today, my neighbors get to judge for themselves because basic human decency is the last thing on my mind right now.
I'm vaguely aware of Natalie’s voice calling after me as I skate right past Mr. Dudley's door. I decide not to bother him because he had his eardrums blown out in Vietnam and he can’t hear a thing. Plus, he moves like a sloth and time is really not on my side at this point.
I don’t knock on Kim and Joe’s door, either. As usual, they’re probably holed-up in their one-bedroom screwing like rabbits. Nothing short of a fire alarm or the postman showing up with Joe’s social security check will get those two out of bed. So they're definitely not an option.
Heading for the stairwell, I take the steps two by two up to the top-floor penthouse. Ethel’s apartment. Yup, I’m bringing the drama to her front door. That’s where it belongs.
Y'see, the sweet, little old lady upstairs? The one who walks with a cane and wears periwinkle knitted cardigans and chitchats with the pigeons in the alley out back as she feeds them?
Yeah, she's a slumlord, a deadbeat rent-collector, a no-good landlord. As owner of the building, it's her responsibility to make sure that her rent-paying tenants have running water. She failed in that responsibility. Now, my dermatological health is in serious jeopardy and it's all her fault.
Pounding my fist into her door, I holler her name. “Ethel! Ethel! Open the door!”
No answer. But I know she’s in there. I can hear her striking a lazy tune on the keys of her grand piano.
You heard that right—the woman has a grand piano.
This building is a dump. The place is barely habitable. On the ground floor is the dirtiest restaurant in town. It blows my mind that the county hasn’t shut it down yet. Next to that is the laundromat where all the sketchies hang out and do god knows what. I live on the second floor. There are two other apartments aside from mine and they’re all in terrible condition. Cupboards falling apart. Paint peeling off the walls. Moldy bathtubs. All the hallmarks of a hovel.
Yet, on the top floor, Ethel lives in a mini-palace. With her grand piano.
I’ve only ever caught glimpses of it by peeking over her shoulder when she cracks the door open to snatch my rent check from my fingers on the first of the month. But from what I’ve seen, the place is breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers, gold-leaf crown moulding and ivory drapes with little golden tassles at the ends. Meanwhile her tenants live in squalor.
Well, today a peasant is storming the gates.
I flatten my palm against the door and bang again. The piano-playing stops and I press my ear to the door, dancing in place to distract myself from the burning itch prickling at my skin. I hear footsteps approaching and the subtle creak of the floorboards. Then, there’s a pause, a hesitation on the other side of the wood.
Nuh-uh. My skin is on fire. She’s not getting rid of me so easily.
I lean back and position my grimacing face right in front of the peephole so she knows I mean business. Look—the rent is cheap, so I’m not expecting Buckingham Palace but this dump is my home and I deserve to live with at least the minimal comforts. Clean, running water isn't too much to ask. “Ethel,” I say loudly, hoping to mask my desperation beneath my menacing scowl. “I’m not going anywhere until you open this door.”
More silence.
My leg bounces frantically. I rap my knuckles against the door again. “Ethel. Open up. Open up. Please.”
Nothing.
"Oh god, lady. Open the fucking door," I moan under my breath as I round my shoulders and press my knees together, my body beginning to close in on itself like a crocus flower.
Slowly, I begin to accept my fate. This is how I’ll die, wilted and lifeless with oozing wounds on Ethel’s thick, Persian welcome mat.
No Sadie. You can't just give up! You have to fight!
Since when do I back away from a challenge? I’m the type of girl who keeps clawing away until she gets exactly what she wants. Why should this be any different?
Gripping my dress over my tits with one hand, I ball up my other fist, ready to explode into another round of banging. That’s when the door swings open. Caught off guard, I jerk forward. My big toe catches on the edge of the doormat and I go hurtling toward a wall of taut, tanned flesh.
Strong hands fly out and catch me by the shoulders right before I slam straight into his chest. On my startled inhale, his scent invades my belly. Something subtle but rich and absolutely mouth-watering. A frisson rolls across the surface of my skin. This man has muscles. Many muscles. Muscles that bulge against his smooth, sun-bronzed skin. My gaze climbs an acre of man-chest and the thick column of his throat to his lips. Full, red, smirking lips.
When I finally look up into his eyes, his dark irises are glinting with mirth. He holds me at arm's-length and his gaze moves over the mess that I am—shower cap, zit cream, party dress clutched to my chest like body armor.
His lips start moving and exotic-sounding words pour from his mouth. "Well hello there, good looking," he says teasingly through a lazy smile. His smooth accent only seems to heighten the impact of his sarcasm.
"You're not Ethel!" It's the only thing my frantic mind can think to say right now.
His hair is sexy. Messy. The kind of disheveled that comes from rolling around in the sheets for hours on end. He rakes his fingers through the silky black strands. “No, I'm not Ethel. And you..." he takes a step closer, lowers his face to mine. "...have got a wee bit of yogurt on your top lip.” He reaches out and swipes it away.
Fire blazes across my skin, following the trajectory of his big, thick finger.
No, I'm not talking about sexual chemistry or passion or any of that good stuff. I'm talking about agony. Pure, blinding, fiery agony. Like he just sliced my flesh open with a rusty razor blade. A shrill noise tears free from the back of my throat.
The man startles, looking alarmed as my hands fly out and shove against the steely muscles of his chest. He falters a half-step as I push him out of the way. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” I apologize as I squeeze through the small space in the door and duck into the apartment.
Before he can ask what the hell I'm doing, I sprint down the hall in search of the bathroom, leaving my dress in a pile on the floor as I go. I can only imagine what he’s thinking as I hop over the threshold and skid across the cold, tiled floor.
I throw a glance over my naked shoulder and I meet his confused stare. "I'm sorry," I offer again, slamming the door behind me.
Chapter Two
Xavier
Well, nothing in the Airbnb advert prepared me for this.
There's a naked stranger in the bathroom and I strongly doubt that she’s sane. I’ve been pacing the long, dim ha
llway from the living room to the bathroom door for—let me check my watch—forty-five minutes. Yes, forty-five minutes she's been holed up in there, banging around. Meanwhile, I've been out here trying to work out the appropriate response to a situation like this.
The palace keeps a crew of etiquette consultants on payroll. I never quite understood why. Frankly, it always seemed to me like just another frivolous expenditure. But right now, I could use some professional guidance for figuring out what to do.
I press my ear to the door and listen. All I hear is the spray of water hitting the glass door of the shower stall and a series of low, muffled, feminine groans. I can’t tell if those are sounds of pain or pleasure but my cock twitches saucily anyway. Hell no, buddy. You are not about to get hard right now.
And I’m really in no mood for company tonight. I came to this place for peace and quiet. Alone time.
Just a few minutes ago, I was busy with some very pressing matters, slouched over the piano, trying to decide whether or not draining the entire contents of Ethel’s liquor cabinet was a legitimate means to satisfy my hydration requirements for the day. Now, I’m stuck here having to deal with this madness.
I should have listened to my gut and ignored the knock at the door when I heard it. The banging just wouldn’t stop, though so I got up from the piano bench with the intention of telling whoever it was to bug off. But I wasn’t prepared for the curvy little tornado that came storming through the door and nearly knocked me to the ground.
The girl has a hell of an arse, though. Shut up, cock!
A loud bang echoes from behind the closed bathroom door followed by a high-pitched girlish squawk. Oh, fuck. She’d better not accidentally dismember any of her limbs while she’s up to whatever the hell she’s up to in there.
The Blue Collar Bachelors Box Set: The Complete Blue Collar Bachelors Series Page 82