All of his posters and pictures and guitar picks and coffee-stained notebooks are still littered around the room.
It only takes a few more tries, but I manage to find my bracelet and the key that unlocks it, and a moment later, I’m corralling Murphy to his kennel and heading back downstairs to wait for my date.
The scent of men’s body wash mixes with steam and fills the stairway, which tells me Sutter’s taken his post-work shower, which I’m assuming is his thing. Part of me feels the urge to apologize for this morning. I can’t imagine starting your day with a lukewarm shower courtesy of some random girl who’s living with you is the best way to kick things off …
Now I kind of feel bad, but at the time I felt vindicated.
With a hand on my hip and my heels clicking against the hardwood, I go to the kitchen, following the sound of the slamming fridge door and the pop and hiss of a bottle of beer.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry—for this morning.”
He takes a swig, eyes dragging the length of me.
“But seriously, we need to get along and respect each other,” I say. “Otherwise the next six months are going to be—”
“—you should probably take that off.” Sutter’s voice is monotone and he takes another drink.
“What?” My face scrunches.
“He left.”
“Who left?” I ask.
“That guy,” he says, nodding toward the front door. “The guy that showed up in a three piece suit, driving a Maserati.”
“Robert?”
“Didn’t catch his name. Anyway, I told him to leave.”
My eyes widen. I could punch him right now. “Do you have any idea who that was?!”
Sutter shrugs. “Nope.”
“Robert McCauley,” I say his name slowly, enunciating every syllable.
Sutter shrugs again, like the name still doesn’t register.
“He’s a very important producer,” I say, lips numb and wavy. My hands are shaking. My voice too. “We’ve had this date planned for months. Why … why would you do that? What gives you the right?”
“I did you a favor.”
“No, Sutter. You did me a huge disservice.”
He shakes his head. “You’re doing yourself a huge disservice if that’s what you call a date. Guy just wanted some pretty young thing on his arm and some sex with a woman whose libido hasn’t peaked.”
“Fuck you.”
“Is that an offer?” He smirks and I could smack that perfect smile right off his handsome mouth. Sutter is almost too good looking and right now, even his face annoys me.
“Never.” My arms fold along my chest, tight. “Never in a hundred million years. And that’s a promise.”
Grabbing my phone, I decide to text Robert, but before I do, I need to know what Sutter said.
“What’d you say to get him to leave?” I ask.
His lips are pressed against the mouth of his Rolling Rock beer, but he doesn’t take a drink. “Does it matter?”
“I need to undo whatever the hell you just did, so yes. It matters. Tell me. Now.”
He heads to the sink, finishing the rest of his beer before rinsing the bottle out and dropping it in a recycling bin by the end of the counter.
I’ve never met such a civilized asshole.
“I told him he’s not good enough for you,” Sutter says, turning to face me. His hands rest on the counter behind him and he crosses his feet at the ankle, like we’re just having a casual conversation and I’m not standing here in a thousand-dollar dress in thousand-dollar heels and in hair and makeup that took my entire afternoon to perfect.
“Why would you say that?” My throat tightens. I’m so fucking confused.
Sutter straightens his posture, folding his arms across his muscled chest. “Because I know his type.”
Rolling my eyes, I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “You know nothing about me. You know nothing about him. You had no right, Sutter.”
“I know enough.”
Cupping my hand over my eyes, I suck in a hard breath. I can’t look at him right now, and my body is so heavy, my blood so thick and hot, I’m paralyzed into place.
“There had to have been more,” I say a moment later, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “He wouldn’t have just left because some random guy told him he wasn’t good enough for me.
Robert McCauley has an ego of steel and more confidence than George Clooney and Tom Cruise combined. It’d take a lot more than some cocky electrician telling him off to get him to blow me off.
“It doesn’t matter what was said,” Sutter says. “And stop asking because I’m not going to tell you. It was none of your business.”
I take a step toward him, hands shaking at my sides. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”
My gaze burns into his.
I don’t hate anyone, but if I did it’d be Sutter Alcott.
Chapter Six
Sutter
“You don’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell, man.” I say to my buddy, Kai, as he straightens the folded bandana he uses to keep his long, dark hair out of his face. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the tall brunette in the corner since she stepped foot inside my house.
Then again, neither have I.
“Watch and learn.” I take a swig of beer, holding my gaze on the tall brunette standing in the corner talking one of my friends. The rest of the gang is out on the patio and a few are hanging out in the living room. “What’d you say her name was again?”
“Meegan,” Kai says, emphasizing the long ‘e.’ His expression is crestfallen, but I’m doing him a favor. Kai’s a nice guy, but every other word out of his mouth is “dude” and his brain is way too baked to carry on a decent conversation with anyone, let alone a beautiful chick he’s trying to score.
Friday nights at my place are where my friends come to chill, to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city after a long week of busting our asses for not nearly enough money.
I’m pretty sure she came here with Raj and his girlfriend, Nahla, and I’m pretty sure she’s a work friend of Nahla’s.
But I’ll confirm that in two point five seconds.
Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I strut in her direction and hand it over. Her dark eyes land on me, then the beer, and back again.
“What’s this?” she asks, angling her body toward me. There’s a flicker in her gaze, a twitch on her lips.
“Exactly what it looks like.”
She takes it from me and twists the cap. “I don’t normally drink beer.”
“Sutter,” I say.
“Meegan.” She smiles, taking a small sip. Her eyes don’t leave mine, not for a second.
“You came here with Raj and Nahla, right?”
“I did. I work with Nahla. I dragged her to a party last weekend so I’m returning the favor,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. The least she could’ve done was take you some place where strange men wouldn’t blatantly hit on you.”
“Is that what this is?” she asks.
“What else would it be?” My thumb picks at a loose corner of my beer’s label, but I keep my sights on her.
I mean seriously. She’s a pretty girl, seems smart enough to carry on a conversation. Surely she knows that when any man approaches her with an alcoholic beverage, it’s akin to saying, “You’re hot. Let’s get drunk and fuck.”
The front door opens and I lean forward to peek through the living room toward the entry where Melrose is standing and taking in the fact that the house is crammed with strangers. But it only fazes her for a second and then she heads to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.
“Is that red moscato?” Meegan asks, pointing. She’s standing so close to me now, our arms are practically touching, but it appears I’m now going to have to fight a bottle of wine for her attention. What is it with girls and their fucking dessert wines?
Drink the real shit for crying
out loud.
“It is. Want some?” Melrose turns to her, lifting a brow.
“Please.” Meegan places her beer bottle on the counter before helping herself to my cupboards, trying one after another until she locates some stemware I didn’t even know existed—must be something Melrose brought.
The girls pour their glasses and clink them together before taking swigs.
“Long day?” I ask Melrose.
“Yeah.” She exhales, leaning against the counter, her pink fingertips pressed lightly against the glass in her hand.
“You should probably go relax or something,” I say, eyes pointing to the ceiling since her room happens to be directly above us.
“What does it look like I’m doing right now?” she asks, taking a generous gulp.
“What do you do for a living?” Meegan asks.
How the hell she’s taking more interest in Melrose than me is blowing my goddamned mind right now, and if this continues I’m going to be picking my jaw up off the floor here soon.
“I’m an actress,” Melrose says, offering a humble smile.
“I thought you looked familiar!” Meegan’s face lights. “I’ve seen you in something … I just know I have.”
Melrose rattles off her entire IMDB summary and Meegan nods as she bounces on her heels.
“Yes! Yes, that’s it!” Meegan says. “That’s so crazy. You’re like a micro celebrity or something. Can we take a selfie?”
I squeeze my eyes tight to keep them from rolling.
All respect I had for Meegan just … evaporated in the last twenty-three seconds.
Gone.
Just like that.
“Has anyone ever told you, you look like Jennifer Lawrence?” Meegan asks. “But, like, you’re way prettier.”
Melrose bats her hand. “Stahp.”
“Do you ever worry people will confuse the two of you?” Meegan takes another drink of wine, stepping closer to Melrose. I might as well not exist, an invisible voyeur to the lamest conversation I’ve ever witnessed.
Melrose shakes her head. “I’m so not there yet. I’m still booking small roles. My name isn’t even on anyone’s tongue yet. But if that day ever comes? I’m not worried. I think we’re different enough.”
“I love how humble you are.” Meegan tilts her head, like she admires Melrose. Like she wants to be her instant best friend. “And you’re so talented, oh my gosh. You’re going to be huge one day, I just know it.”
Melrose’s gaze travels to me before returning to Meegan who can’t stop gushing over how wonderful Melrose is despite the fact that these two are perfect strangers.
Whatever’s happening right now is unreal. Girls don’t do this. Girls fight like cats, claws out and ready to pounce. They stalk each other. They give backhanded compliments. They’re not supposed to be getting along right now, not like this.
“Anyway, enough about me. What do you do?” Melrose asks. Her mouth curls at one side. It’s not a smile, it’s a smirk. She knows what she’s doing. She knows I was about to do my thing with Meegan and now she’s fucking cock-blocking me.
This must be retribution for that date with the wrinkled dick guy the other night, but honestly, I was only doing the right thing. I don’t care what anyone says, a balding, gray-haired, Maserati driving prick who looks like a melting Oompa Loompa only bags girls like Melrose because they have money, and they only want girls like Melrose for one thing and one thing only—I don’t care what she says.
It’s disgusting, really.
And it hits a little too close to home … something I wasn’t willing to share with her that night because it’s none of her goddamned business.
Someday she’ll thank me.
Someday when a bunch of actresses come forward about what a fucking sleeze bucket that guy is, she’ll look back and remember the night I saved her from his wrinkled balls and hair plugs and she’ll whisper a silent thank you—to me.
“I’m an accountant at a staffing agency,” Meegan says. “Super boring. But I’ve taken some acting classes though, sort of dabbled a little. Nothing serious.”
“Oh, yeah?” Melrose nods toward the living room. “Want to go sit down?”
I must be made of cellophane because neither of them so much as glance in my direction, extend an invitation to join them (not that I’d need one in my own home), or seem to care that I was talking to Meegan first.
The girls leave to the next room, taking a seat together on the sofa and squawking away like two excited little birds.
Dragging my hand along my jaw, I glance toward Kai, who’s seated in the back of the kitchen at the table, thumbing through his phone.
“So that’s how it’s done, dude?” he asks, chuckling as he shakes his head.
“Shut up.”
“Want some ice for that ego, dude? I think it’s going to bruise,” he says.
I ignore Kai’s stupid comment and head outside for some fresh air so I can try not to think about the fact that she got me again.
She fucking got me again.
Chapter Seven
Melrose
“Sleep well last night?” I’m brushing my teeth in our shared bathroom, the door open, when I hear the shuffle of heavy feet making their way closer.
A moment later, a shirtless Sutter with the sexiest bed head I’ve ever seen stands in the doorway, resting his palm against the jamb.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he says.
“I’m sorry?” I play dumb, narrowing my gaze as I meet his in the mirror’s reflection. “Not sure what you’re referring to?”
“Meegan,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “You cock-blocked me.”
“Ohhh,” I say. “That.”
Sutter presses his back against the doorway before folding his arms. His face is etched in a hard scowl, and I wonder if he went to bed that way.
Probably.
“It was the least I could do after you sabotaged my date with Robert McCauley,” I say, dabbing my mouth on a towel and placing my toothbrush back in the cup. Squeezing past between Sutter and the doorway, I turn to face him when I reach the hall. “I told you, don’t mess with me, Sutter.”
“I wasn’t messing with you. I was saving you from making a huge mistake.”
“God, you must really think I’m dense,” I say. “I’m not falling for that. You didn’t do it out of the kindness of your heart because I’m not entirely convinced you have one. You didn’t save me. You were just trying to be a dick for some reason. I don’t know—you must get off on it or something.”
He stares at me, not saying a word. I don’t know if I’ve pissed him off or if he’s letting my words sink in and not responding because he knows I’m right. Either way, I couldn’t care less.
Turning, I head to my room, only as soon as I twist the doorknob, Sutter clears his throat.
“You really think sucking wrinkled dicks is what’s going to launch your career?” he asks.
Facing him, my mouth pulls down at the sides. “I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t just say that.”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Truth hurts.”
“The truth?” I release and incredulous laugh. “The truth is that I had a date and you sent him away because … I don’t know … because maybe you want to sleep with me? And you’re jealous that someone twice your age has more game than you do?”
Sutter smiles.
It’s a beautiful, perfect, arrogant smile, one that makes me momentarily forget how much I can’t stand him right now before swiftly remembering.
“Do you honestly think some sixty-year-old man wants to date you for any reason that isn’t related to sex?” he asks. “Do you honestly think his intentions are honorable? Or do you think he just wants some pretty little thing to show off to his friends? Some hot new starlet to take under his wing until he’s bored and ready for a new one?”
“He’s a well-respected man in the industry,” I say. “He’s got a great reputation and he’s alw
ays been nothing but courteous and respectful anytime I’ve been around him.”
Sutter slow claps. “Sounds like a real stand-up guy. I take back everything I said. It’s perfectly normal for guys like him to bag girls like you.”
“What the hell do you mean by girls like me?” I ask. I can’t tell if he’s insulting or complimenting me.
“Do I really have to explain that?” His palm slashes through the air.
I nod, waiting in silence.
“You know, girls like … girls that look like sex on legs,” he says.
“Sex on legs?” I echo his words. I’ve been called a lot of things but never that. “What does that even mean?”
His eyes skim above my head, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts, trying to find the right words to say to get him out of this corner he’s backed himself into.
“You think I’m sexy,” I say the words for him, since he appears to be struggling. Our gazes lock. “Unfortunately for you, I’d take a wrinkled dick over whatever you’re selling any day of the week.”
His jaw falls before curling into a smirk, and he drags his hand along his lower lip before saying, “Sweetheart, you’d be so lucky.”
I roll my eyes.
“Rejection is a jagged little pill,” I tell him, “but it goes down a lot easier when you try to convince yourself you never wanted it in the first place.”
With that, I leave him in the hall, slamming my bedroom door and twisting the lock, checking the knob to ensure that this one isn’t broken and he’s not going to be “accidentally” busting in here three point five seconds from now.
Taking a second to compose myself and wrap my head around that little fiery exchange, I locate my phone on the dresser and fire off a text to Nick with trembling hands.
ME: You owe me.
NICK: ???
ME: Your fucking roommate.
NICK: ???
NICK: Everything ok?
ME: Nope.
P.S. I Hate You Page 64