Say You Need Me

by Carrie Lomax

  “Yes, I am. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” Janelle picked up her handbag and walked out. Let him stay. Let him snoop. The only potentially embarrassing thing he might find was her vibrator. He could claim her or he could leave her alone, but he didn’t get to use her for sex and pitch help and then push her away on every other level.

  If Trent wanted a fight? Game on. This battle was going to be epic.

  * * *

  The sound started shortly after nine, right after Janelle stepped out of the bath. Low voices talking. Music swelled and fell, followed by the increasingly loud sounds of people having sex. Like Sean and Hannah getting it on, the vent connecting the two apartments served as a conduit to whatever movie Trent was blasting.

  In her bathrobe, with her hair dripping and her face free of makeup, Janelle propped her door open and rang the opposite bell. It chimed, loudly, but he didn’t answer.

  “Trent, could you turn it down?” Janelle used her fist on the door. No response. Not even an angry one.

  Janelle returned to her apartment, unfolded the couch and made up her bed, then lay in it. This was low, even for Trent. He fought dirty, she’d give him that.

  All the porny sounds being piped into her apartment started her imagining everything she was going to do to him if he ever saw reason. Janelle turned on her vibrator and gave it a good workout. She was in this to win it and confronting Trent with sex on the brain would only lead to throwing herself at him. Last time, she’d jumped him the minute he’d suggested sex, and it had been a mistake.

  An hour later, the movie was still playing and her vibrator had run out of battery. The situation wasn’t funny anymore.

  “Trent Mason, you are a flaming asshole,” she muttered, punching her pillow into a tent to cover her ears. Thirty seconds later, she was hot and couldn’t breathe. She lay there, listening to too-loud movie sex for another half-hour. Then Trent’s voice sneaked under her door.

  “Yeah, just got home. Gotta go. Bye, Aunt Susie.”

  Janelle flung her door open as he stuck the phone in his pocket and pulled out the key. “You weren’t even here, all this time?”

  Your outrage isn’t helping.

  Neither was Trent’s smirk. “Miss me?”

  “Not at all. My vibrator and I had a lovely evening.”

  That wiped the smile off his face like Windex took smudges off glass. For two seconds, Janelle would’ve sworn he was going to barge into her apartment and fuck her brains out, and if he did, she’d let him. Resisting his touch was a nice fantasy.

  Then one of his muscular shoulders lifted and fell in a half shrug, as if he couldn’t be bothered to produce a full one. He turned back to the door and spoke without looking at her.

  “Next time, come over and watch it with me. Bring your toyfriend.”

  The door banged shut behind him. She’d moved in barely seventy-two hours ago and this new door-slamming phase of their non-relationship was already getting old.

  With a little growl, Janelle stalked into her place. A moment later she emerged with a piece of paper, a marker, and a roll of packing tape. The sound of plastic and glue ripping off the reel echoed along the hallway. Satisfied, she stood back and admired her work.

  Score: Janie 2, Trent 1.

  Priya and Chaitu could fill her in on Trent’s reaction later.

  The next morning, Janelle found her sign crumpled and taped to her door. With her lower lip caught between her teeth, she smoothed it flat.

  Keep my employees out of this.

  Fair enough. Janelle added a black streak under her name and scribbled You’re loosing across the bottom. Then she took her shower, dried her hair, and dressed in a violet blouse and black trousers. In her purse was the check he’d brought over yesterday. In the car, she ripped it open and gasped.

  Twenty-two thousand dollars. It was more than they’d agreed to. She turned it over, heart fluttering, then spotted the message in the memo field. For services rendered.

  Oh. That. Asshole. The affront hit her like a boxer’s glove to the temple. “You can’t turn me into a prostitute just by cutting me a check, Mace. You might not have a problem with it, but I do.”

  Her tires squealed a little as she drove out of the garage. He was trying to turn this into something shameful, the way he felt about his video. Too bad she was done with feeling ashamed. Cutting, witty retorts wheeled through her mind all morning as she worked. By lunchtime, she’d settled on one. Janelle made a quick stop at the bank. At the mailbox, she hesitated. Across the street was a shipping and packing store. Janelle grinned.

  Make him sign for it.

  Oh, yeah. Trent couldn’t scare her off her that easily.

  * * *

  Trent scribbled his name without thinking, preoccupied with the unexpected cease-fire with his new neighbor. He should be concentrating on nailing down the details on the other three pitches he was working on. Or onboarding the New York client. He trusted Priya and Chaitu, but they were young, this was their first big account, and he couldn’t afford mistakes.

  Instead, all he could think about was nailing Janelle. She kept him walking a razor-fine line between irritation and adoration. The woman refused to take a hint. He didn’t want a relationship. Not right now, not with anyone.

  Want isn’t the right word.

  Of course, he wanted to be with her, but he had other priorities. Janelle wasn’t the casual type. When she wanted something, she gunned for it with everything she had. But she had the wrong target in her sights. Technically, there was nothing wrong with renting an apartment near him. It was a free country and all. He could understand, obliquely, how being close to one person she knew in the area might have been appealing. If she’d told him about it…well, Trent couldn’t deny he’d have told her to find somewhere else to live. With her credit history that would’ve been difficult. He tossed the torn envelope onto the desk in his windowless bedroom and pulled out the single sheet of printer paper wrapped around a personal check.

  What the…?

  The check was for over five grand. She’d returned the bonus he’d included, plus some. The paper was an itemized list of everything he’d paid for since finding her outside the hotel in Las Vegas.

  Pink reading glasses.

  Lunch.

  Gin from the hotel mini bar.

  Vodka from the hotel mini bar.

  10-pack of condoms.

  At the bottom of the page, a handwritten scrawl. I said I’d pay you back. We’re square.

  Trent sucked in a breath. He’d never expected her to repay him. It was the kind of thing people said to make borrowing money easier, when they didn’t have a choice. He knew she didn’t have much—they wouldn’t have met if she hadn’t been broke and desperate. What kind of jackass did she think he was?

  The kind who fucks her and leaves her. Repeatedly.

  For the next seven weeks, this was his reality. Their ongoing feud, while entertaining, was as much a distraction as screwing her would’ve been. Trent suspected this was the point.

  * * *

  Early on Thursday, they bumped into one another coming out of their apartments. Trent wore a light t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes.

  “Morning,” was all Janelle said. “Out for a run?”

  Bet he loses the shirt after a mile or two. She sighed.

  He side-eyed her but fell into step. “No swimming pool in this building.”

  “True.”

  “Maybe you should’ve looked for a different apartment.”

  “A pool wasn’t the first item on my checklist. An affordable short-term lease was. In seven and a half weeks, I’ll have a landlord reference and better credit rating if I need to re-evaluate my living situation. Are you going to make me do that?”

  Trent responded to her pointed commentary with another sidelong, assessing glare. Janelle poked the call button for the elevator. He headed for the stairwell, then stopped short. “You really didn’t move in because of me?”

 
Poor man, so puzzled by the notion she had reasons for moving here exclusive of him. The elevator dinged open. “Believe me, Trent, you were a huge incentive, but, no, you were not the reason.”

  He caught the door as it closed. Janelle bit back a smile. “Thought you were taking the stairs?”

  “Thanks for holding the elevator,” he glowered.

  “I didn’t.” Oh, the hell with concealing her amusement. A grin took over her face. Janelle couldn’t help it.

  “I got the check. I’m not cashing it.” Trent’s glower transformed into an answering smirk.

  “It’s a money order. The funds are gone from my account no matter what you do with it. Frame and put it on the wall. Use it for toilet paper. I don’t care. It’s yours.” Janelle brushed by him, levity evaporated.

  He followed her out the building, a step behind. By the time they got outside, he’d found a retort. “A-plus trolling, Janie. Notch another point on that scoreboard you’re keeping, for now. You misspelled losing, you know. I’ll find a way to get you back.”

  Trent pulled his shirt over his head and took off in the direction of the nearby park. Janelle stared after him, longingly admiring the play of his tattooed muscles. Then she headed the other way for her morning walk. She wouldn’t want Trent to think she was stalking him. For a moment, she wished she could do it all over—the move, the apartment. It wasn’t working out the way she’d hoped. Another one of her dumb schemes gone wrong. But at least now, she knew they were headed in opposite directions.

  14

  He had to end the game.

  Trent waited until after his employees had left for the weekend before knocking on Janelle’s door. Soft music played from inside.

  Janelle peered through the crack. “I can turn it down if it’s bothering you.”

  Trent wondered when the last time he’d listened to music for pleasure. His life was airless, like his sleeping cell. No wonder Sean and Hannah had called him a monk. He’d been living like one ever since his discharge. Before that, too, only in a different context. Deployment in Afghanistan hadn’t exactly been luxurious.

  “Do you want to come over for a few minutes?” he asked, running his hand through his hair.

  Wary, she glanced at her laptop on the table. “It’s Friday.”

  “So?”

  “I’m going out soon. I was working on a new proposal. It came in today, due Tuesday, so I want to get ahead.”

  “Where are you going later?” he demanded.

  Her pretty face shuttered, and Trent’s body knew the answer before he’d finished the question.

  “Out. I have a date.”

  “You make fast work.” Raw jealousy streaked through him. Maybe you should give this a chance.

  “Have you changed your mind about dating me?” Janelle crossed her arms beneath her magnificent tits, framing them.

  “No.” Pride. He’d pitied her for it once, because he recognized it in himself.

  “Then it’s not your business what I do with my free time.” Janie’s pink mouth pulled at the corners.

  “So you’re not going to complain if I start seeing someone?” he demanded.

  “I’ll be hurt that you didn’t choose me, but it’s your decision. I knew it was a possibility.” She started to close the door. “If we’re done here…”

  Trent stuck his hand into the gap. “Tomorrow. Dinner.”

  “I have plans.”

  “Another date?” I’ll murder any man who sets hands on you. He wouldn’t, not really, but the thought was there and it wasn’t going away. At least she hadn’t slammed his fingers. Trent couldn’t fault her if she did. He had no right to both ignore her and prevent her from moving on.

  “Yes, in fact,” Janelle replied evenly.

  “Brunch, then.” Maybe they could find a halfway point to meet. Everything south of his waist sure liked that idea.

  “I’m working on my RFP.”

  “Sunday.”

  She was silent for a long minute. “I cook. And we eat on dishes, not paper plates.”

  “Deal.” He moved to kiss her, but caught himself. “Have fun tonight.”

  * * *

  Janelle might’ve been a little disingenuous in describing her plans for Friday and Saturday as dates. Hannah had invited her to meet some friends for drinks, and in the spirit of making new friends, she’d said yes. Then, Crystal had popped up on Facebook and asked to meet up in the city. She hadn’t hesitated to accept.

  Staying busy was crucial to avoiding the sit-home-waiting-for-Trent syndrome she could easily fall into. Janelle had made herself a promise to say yes to every invitation. So far, she’d kept it.

  Still, date implied she was meeting up with other men, and that wasn’t the truth. Her dishonesty had been spur-of-the-moment, but it had been a lie nonetheless. If her ploy to inspire jealousy had worked, Trent hadn’t shown it. Why would he? He’d dated an actively working adult film star. He wasn’t likely to get possessive, no matter how much she wished he would, at least a little bit.

  Sunday, she slept in, went for a run, and drank coffee over an actual paper newspaper. For a moment, Janelle suffered a pang of longing for the time she’d spent discussing the Sunday news with her parents, first as a teenager, then when she’d lived at home again for a few months. A call home soothed the vague sense of loss, especially when they offered to come and visit her soon.

  Shopping accomplished, Janelle debated fashion choices. Too sexy and there was a not-insubstantial chance they’d fall into bed without having the hard talk they needed. But if she put in no effort after pretending to go out on dates, she was sending him the message she wasn’t interested. One untruth was bad enough.

  Janelle settled on a pleated skirt that fell to her knees and a lace blouse worn over a bra. It wasn’t quite sheer, but the bra was visible if you looked hard. Trent rang the bell a minute after she’d wrapped an apron over her clothes, concealing the sexiness.

  He’d dressed studiously casual in jeans and a t-shirt that outlined his biceps and hid nothing of his ridiculously defined pectoral muscles. Intentional? Just a little. Plus, he’d brought flowers. Janelle hated the way her heart pitter-pattered at the sight. “Pretty. Thank you.”

  “Not as pretty as you.”

  Janelle turned away to hide her smile, searching for a glass large enough to hold the bouquet. “Aren’t you full of compliments today.”

  “It might be the first one I’ve ever given you,” he said. His mouth quirked up ruefully.

  Janelle found a vase and ran the tap to fill it. “It’s not. But it’s the first time you’ve brought me flowers. My neighbor might be a romantic after all.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Janie.” Trent leaned against the counter. Janelle remained behind the granite barrier, chopping and boiling water. It was safer there. Silence stretched between them as she popped open a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. “I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

  “Yeah? Do you concede?” she asked without glancing over her shoulder.

  “What am I conceding, if I say yes?”

  Janelle bit her lower lip. Her hands gripped the countertop, her stance wide. The battle, sure, but the battle was about how he kept trying to shut her out. She wasn’t having it. “That you care about me enough to let me into your life.”

  The words came out in a whisper. Hot embarrassment flooded her as he stood there, watching her. Janelle picked up her wine glass stirred their dinner before it caught fire.

  “Is that why you came here?” he asked quietly when she turned back around.

  “No. I came here for me. To make contacts and get more experience. If I’d stayed in Florida I wouldn’t have been as motivated to make this work. I’d have fallen back into my old habits.” She swallowed. Better to get it over with. “I also came because I want us to…give it a try. If it’s not working, my sublet is up in seven weeks. I’ll move out, and you can take over the studio like you’d planned to. But if it is, we could…” Her ton
gue was like a dried-out sponge. “We could figure out the next step. Together. I’m not asking for forever or hearts and diamonds. All I want is a few weeks to see if what we have works in the real world.”

  Say something. Janelle ran water over the dishes in the sink, but he didn’t speak. “If you want me to leave you alone, all you have to say is say so. I’m not here to force you into something you don’t want. After the New York pitch, I thought your objection was the distance. So, I eliminated the distance problem.”

  “Unilaterally,” he countered.

  “If all you wanted from me was sex, say so.” Janelle stirred dinner a little more forcefully than necessary. A shrimp fell out of the pan. She picked it up and tossed it back in, burning her finger in the process. She stuck her finger in her mouth, wishing he’d say something, even if it hurt.

  “I can’t give you what you want, Janie.” Regret laced his voice.

  Janelle plucked the wine glass he was swirling, but not drinking from, out of his hand and handed him a beer. She poured the contents into her own glass. Another useless piece of information to cling to: Trent didn’t like wine.

  “I told you from the beginning, I don’t do hookups. I get attached easily.” Janelle carried two plates to the table.

  “On the day we met, you were running from a hookup.”

  “I did something foolish, but it didn’t change anything fundamental about me. Maybe, if Kyle had been a decent human being, I’d have gone through with it and convinced myself it was okay. But having sex once in a while with no affection or expectations? I can’t do that. Not with him. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

  “I can’t keep my hands off you, Janie. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.” Trent spoke to his beer. The food sat untouched before them.

  “You’re doing a damn good job of it right now,” she complained, stabbing her dinner without raising her fork to her mouth.

  At last, he looked up. “It’s torture. You should’ve stayed in Florida, where you were safe.” He pushed his food away.