by Ava Lore
Two extra guitars and a bass, one violin, and a set of bagpipes—set them up along the far wall, as gently as possible. I had no idea how bagpipes are supposed to be properly stored, but what the hell. Ah—a few small bags from the local drugstore. Excellent. All smaller trash—grocery receipts, candy bar wrappers, old pens and broken pencils—headed into the plastic bags. The condom jar went straight in without a second thought. I unearthed several cell phones—they went next to the pile of contracts, but the torn paperback books belonged on top of the papers full of poetry and music...and on... and on... and on...
“Um.”
The fog receded and I blinked, finding myself on my hands and knees, using a torn old t-shirt to wipe down the baseboards surrounding the loft. I looked up to see Carter hanging off the white ladder, staring at me as though he had never seen me before.
“Yes?” I asked him, annoyed. The baseboards were filthy...
His face was almost comical as he surveyed the suddenly emptied loft. Except for a few small piles in the corner of junk and trash carefully sequestered from the well organized space, it was remarkably livable now. Throw a few sheets on the bed, maybe install a bathroom and a lamp and you could live the rest of your days in this place. If you wanted to be a bohemian poet, that is. And sometimes I did.
He appeared to shake himself, though the expression of shock did not leave his features. “I, uh, I just wanted to tell you that rehearsal was over,” he said. “I thought you'd be up here drinking the beer...”
“Oh, you mean the fridge full of no beer?” I said. “I think you guys need to start cutting back. All I found in it was a mostly-empty pint of pineapple-coconut ice cream. I did find a ton of empty beer bottles, though...”
He blinked, shaking his head again. “Yeah... but why? Why would you clean the loft?”
I shrugged. “I was bored?”
A noise at the bottom of the ladder, and Carter looked down, then scooted over. Kent's head popped up over the lip of the loft. His face betrayed no surprise, but his eyes narrowed as he surveyed me, on my hands and knees, wiping away years of grime and caked-on cigarette smoke.
“Rebecca's cleaning is a compulsive reaction to stress,” he said mildly.
Carter turned and looked at him. “What? How do you know that?”
His mouth quirked. “She told me so herself.”
“Shit,” Carter said. “If I cleaned when I got stressed I'd have the cleanest house in the universe. It'd be, like, all Japanese simplicity and shit.”
“If your response to stress was cleaning, you'd be sober,” Kent said.
Kent wasn't watching Carter's face, but I saw the wince there. “Yeah,” he muttered. “And then we'd all be broke.”
Tension. Tension, tension, tension. If I could just get these baseboards clean...
“Rebecca.” Kent's voice cut through my thoughts and I was mildly amused to find that I had been reaching for the closest grime-covered bit of molding. Maybe I did have a bit of a compulsive cleaning problem, but so what? It was better than a compulsive drinking problem, or a compulsive fucking problem. I bet that Kent had a compulsive fucking problem, considering how much fucking stress everyone put him through. Well, I wasn't going to be that way. I would be useful. I would never be a rock star or whatever, but at least I knew how to get blood out of a carpet...
“Rebecca!” A hand alighted on my back and I about jumped out of my skin. Turning, I found Kent kneeling next to me, his hand on me. Warmth spread from where his broad palm touched my spine, slithering up and down my body, sweeping into places where it had no business going. I jerked away.
For the strangest moment, he looked contrite. “Sorry,” he said. “You just kept cleaning. Rehearsal's over, we need to go get your things from your sister's house.”
I swallowed around my dry tongue. “Oh. Right.” I shifted my gaze to Carter, who was staring at the two of us.
“How do you two know each other so well already?” he asked.
I felt my brows raise up to my hairline. “Excuse me?” I said, while, at the same time, Kent said, “I interviewed her for the job, remember?”
Carter looked between us, then shook his head. “Fuck,” he said. “I have a headache. I'm going home. I need to take a nap or something.
Immediately beside me Kent's whole body tensed. “You're going home?” he said. “For real going home?”
Carter shot him an irritated look. “Yes, of course I'm going home. God, I'm not a kid any more.”
I practically heard the words vibrating in Kent's throat—Then stop acting like one!—but I jumped in.
“You had a hard night last night,” I told him. “Don't worry, Kent and I will take care of it. There's really not much to take care of. I got it all to LA in two garbage bags, so...”
I trailed off, suddenly feeling very shabby and silly, but Carter just shrugged. “Okay, thanks Mrs. Girlfriend. I'll see you at home.” He smiled. “In fact, I'll give you the grand tour.”
I smiled back. “Thanks.”
“Right, lates,” he said, and disappeared below the lip of the loft and within seconds I heard the door open and close as he left. And then Kent and I were alone. Without meaning to, I looked at him and our eyes locked.
My whole body vibrated with his nearness. He knelt on the floor next to me, and I had a sudden vision of him leaping across the space between us, his lips crashing into mine, his hard, seeking hands invading every inch of my body, whether I wanted them or not... and of course I wanted them. I thought of his rough, calloused fingers moving inside me and a wave of dizziness swept over me.
His eyes burned. He had eyes that burned, cold blue-green fire.
I half expected him to reach for me—after all, there was a mattress not ten feet away. A really gross mattress, and we'd make it grosser, but that didn't matter. I wanted to hold his cock in my hand and see his blue-green eyes slide closed as I stroked him into a frenzy—
In the column of his throat, his Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes suddenly snapped shut as he whipped away from me and moved to the ladder. “Let's go,” he said. “Your shit isn't going to pack itself.”
The heady air of possibility dissipated and I had to take a deep breath before I replied. “Right,” I said, my voice only shaking slightly. “Let's get going.” And I followed him down the ladder, hoping he was watching my ass as I came down, but when I reached the bottom I found he had picked up my bag and was holding it out to me, the straps clutched in his hand in such a way that I could take it from him without touching him.
Licking my lips, I grabbed it, keeping my distance, and, without a word, we left together.
Chapter Six
We rode to my sister's apartment in silence, and I had no idea what to expect when we got there. The bluetooth kept ringing, first showing up Sonya's name on the dash display, and then Manny. Then Sonya again, and Sonya again, and then several names that I didn't recognize, and with each one Kent wound up tighter and tighter.
He drove the car like a man who had a death wish, and with each rev of the engine I became more and more attuned to his mood and body. His hands on the steering wheel, his glowering blue-green eyes studying the road ahead, his thighs tightening and relaxing inside his suit pants...
It was weird, but I hadn't yet seen him out of a suit. What kind of rock god wears suit pants as his regular attire? I had to wonder, but it didn't matter. All I could think about was how much I wanted him to take those pants off.
I was going crazy. I'd never—ever—been so nuts about fucking a guy before. My hands fiddled with the door, brushing against the window controls on my side. There were small bits of something stuck in the small gaps between the controls and the armrest, and I started to pick at them with my thumbnail, gently prying them out of their home and letting them fall to the carpet where they would be easier to vacuum up later.
Not that I'd been hired to be the maid of the house. But, I mean, you might as well do what you can when the opportunity presents itself.
“You fidget a lot.”
Kent's dark voice cut through my reverie—again. I looked up. He was watching the road, gunning the engine as he wove in and out of traffic while his jaw clenched tighter with each call that came buzzing through. He cut off each one as soon as he read the name, and I could feel him working himself into a towering rage.
Thank god we were nearing Rose's apartment. He'd calm down once we got out. Maybe.
As for myself, I was starting to realize that yes, this was very real. I was about to pack my things for the second time in as many weeks and move to completely different circumstances. The thought scared me a little, but also thrilled me. Leaving it all behind... that's what I'd wanted to do when I left San Diego. And now I was doing it.
“Stop picking at my car.”
I started and realized I'd been excavating crumbs from the door handle again. “Sorry,” I said.
He just grunted. “What's got you all worked up?” he demanded, as if no one except for Kent Hudson could have a problem that was bothering them.
For a brief moment I thought about telling Kent that I was just nervous about the job, but for some reason I told him the truth. “I'm a little nervous,” I said. “I'm starting a whole new life for the second time this month.”
His brows rose at that as he cut off a semi and zipped us onto the off-ramp. “Oh?” he said. “That's right, you said you hadn't been in LA very long.”
“Like a week,” I said. “It's hard to get an apartment in the middle of the month. No one's lease is up.”
“There are always rooms for rent.”
“Not any rooms Rose would let me rent. All the places I could afford are in really bad neighborhoods. Actually, forget I said that. I don't have any money, so all the places I could afford would cost me a knife fight with a hobo for rights to claim a bridge.
Kent snorted at that. “You'd have a hell of a time living under a bridge,” he said.
“Well, duh.”
His mouth quirked, very slightly. “I mean, how would you keep it clean?”
My eyes widened. A glimmer of humor? From Kent Hudson? Manny's joint must have made the rounds.
I sniffed at him. “I'd find a way. Bleach does wonders.”
He shook his head as he turned off onto the major street that ran past Rose's apartment building. “Rebecca,” he said, “don't you think that bleaching your bridge spot might be a bit counterproductive? Wouldn't it burn your lungs out while you slept?”
I crossed my arms. “Better than sleeping in bird shit,” I said.
He actually laughed. “Whatever floats your boat.” We reached Rose's apartment complex, and he wheeled the car wildly through the parking lot as I gave him directions to her building. By the time Kent parked and I got out my knees were shaking, and not just from unbridled lust and pre-orgasmic tremors caused by a car so sexy I could suddenly understand those internet weirdos who marry inanimate objects, like their blenders or a highway overpass.
Once I got out of the car, however, I realized I was very nervous. I lifted my chin and tried not to show it. “This way,” I said, and led him to one of the ground floor units. Pulling out the spare key Rose had given me, I opened the door.
“Hello?” I called into the empty apartment. It was a courtesy, nothing more. Rose worked late every day of the week, and on the weekends. I'm pretty sure some days she didn't even sleep. I honestly didn't know how she did it. Just thinking about it exhausted me.
So, as always, there was no answer. I opened the door wide and stepped inside, flipping on the lights.
Kent entered behind me, so I was able to hear the low whistle that escaped from between his lips. “Wow,” he said, looking around.
“Wow what?” I asked him as I trudged over to the couch where my meager worldly possessions sat. Half of them were still in their original garbage bags. Just the two. I didn't have a third hand to help me when I'd hauled them up here.
“I'm just impressed at how clean this place is,” he said. “I thought Rose worked full time. Is this your doing?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it wasn't in the best shape when I got here a week ago, but it wasn't too bad. You know, since she's a lawyer she works all the time. She's never here.” I started gathering my precisely folded dirty clothes and stuffing them back into their bags. There was really no point in separating them out—I'd worn most of the clothes I already owned and I didn't have any coins for the laundry and I really didn't feel comfortable asking Rose for anything else.
“Mm,” he said. “I work all the time and my place is a pit.”
I stuffed my laptop and power cord in between a couple of soft shirts. “That's because you have better things to do than clean,” I told him. I had hobbies once, but most hobbies require resources.
“I don't know,” he said. “Most of the stuff I do feels pretty pointless, honestly.”
I looked up, surprised. He was so tall, especially from my spot here on the floor next to the couch. He loomed in the dim twilight—I hadn't realized it was so late. The worn carpet under my hands made me think of rug burn and all the delicious ways one could get it.
Licking my lips I turned back to my task, standing up and surveying the apartment to see if I'd left anything.
I suddenly, horribly, realized how much I had lost in the past few years. I had no books and no movies with me—some of them were digital, sure, but well-worn copies of favorite books and old DVDs that had been given to me as gifts by well-meaning relatives who snapped up the fullscreen editions of everything—those were all gone now. I'd sold them off dozens at a time for money. Food, rent, my boyfriend's weed and MDMA habits... all of that gone down the drain. I'd spent some of it too, on alcohol, before I'd realized I was heading down the path of the barflys in the bars I tended.
Even when I'd finally landed a good job at a trendy bar, somehow all my money still managed to be eaten up and sucked down the drain. There was never enough to go around. I'd been struggling for years, I realized, bits of me falling away until my entire life could fit into two trash bags. I hadn't even left much behind when I left, and I'd been too upset to realize how little I actually had at the time.
Shit, I thought.
Lost, I cast about the room, staring at the clean surfaces, the well-polished woods and the cleaned baseboards. I'd even scrubbed the walls down and cleaned the cabinets, but other than that I'd left nothing behind except the absence of dirt and filth.
"I... I don't think I have anything else to get," I said after a moment.
Kent made a noise that I couldn't really place. "Not even a toothbrush?" he asked me incredulously.
I snapped my fingers. Of course, the bathroom. "Thanks," I said. "I'll go through there, too..." I felt stupid even having to be reminded.
I turned my back on him, unable to look this rich, successful man in the eye. He was only a few years older than me and he had somehow clawed his way to the top. I didn't even know which way the mountain was. I was the biggest loser in the universe compared to him, and he knew it. Maybe that was why he liked to put his hands on me—he knew I'd be easy prey. A young woman with nothing could be swept off her feet easily.
The thought made me ashamed, and yet I knew if he approached me again I would open my legs up and just go to town on whatever part of his body he wanted to stick into me.
I walked briskly away from him as his phone rang for the fiftieth time. The bathroom was through Rose's bedroom, and I practically ran the last few feet to the door so I wouldn't look at the bed by accident, as though it had some sort of magical power.
Once inside the bathroom I grabbed my toothbrush, which was brand new and had the name of Rose's dentist on it. A free toothbrush, in other words, just like the last free toothbrush she'd given me, which I'd used to scrub the grout. I probably needed to take better care of my toothbrushes.
Looking around Rose's now-meticulous bathroom, I realized I'd almost forgot my make up. That would have been a disaster. I'd never be able to go out in
public wearing no make up and still convince people that I was Carter Hudson's girlfriend. Frankly, I wasn't sure how I was going to do that now. I still didn't look anything like the other women who had applied for the position. Maybe Kent just liked his women dumpy.
The thought was so depressing for the both of us that I almost cried. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I grabbed the few pieces I had, all acquired at the drug store. Pressed powder, mascara, eyeliner, a small shadow trio, and my lipstick was in my bag. All that was left was my razor.
Turning toward the bathtub, I leaned in and grabbed my little pink disposable razor from the side. I'd probably have to think about getting another one soon, if I could afford it...
It hit me then: I was going to be able to afford it! The thought almost made me laugh, that I should get so excited about being able to buy a new razor without having to worry about the few bucks it would set me back, but there it was.
Still, I was going to have to wait until my first paycheck. No big. It would last until then. I turned, ready to go out to the living room.
Kent stood in the doorway, one elbow casually propped on the frame above his head, watching me.
I ground to a halt, nearly dropping my things. "Holy shit!" I said. "You scared me." I tried not to look at the way his shirt pulled tight across his rock hard abs.
He shrugged, glancing around the bathroom, as if to say he didn't care. He probably didn't. I scowled at him. "I don't need help getting a toothbrush, you know," I told him as haughtily as I could manage.
His blue-green eyes pinned me. "I needed to use the facilities, as they say."
"Oh." I blushed red hot, my ears burning. Of course. "Sorry," I said. "I'll just, uh, get out of your way..."
I waited for him to move aside so I could squeeze past him, but he was completely still. He didn't move a muscle. "Is this really all you have, Rebecca?" he asked me.
I nodded. "Yeah. I travel light. You know, like a monk. Very few worldly possessions and all that." I hoped I didn't sound as pathetic as I felt, but judging by his face, he didn't believe me.