by Jami Wagner
“We’re out of bread,” she repeats.
“This isn’t my apartment though,” I say.
This time she looks up. She’s wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses I hadn’t noticed earlier. They’re cute on her.
“We are out of bread. As long as you are living here, you and I are a we, and yes, you do live here. Which brings me to my next topic.”
Shit. She’s going to bring up this damn job thing again, and there is no way I’m going to let her know I’ve tried and failed. She’d love to hear that. She’s always been jealous of me and the things I’ve been given in life, which is why she hates me, no doubt. Knowing I’m not getting something I want, she’d be gloating for sure.
“Oh, you have a single topic? I’d assume you have many what with all that bottled up silence you’ve given me the last couple days,” I say.
“Funny,” she says, but she isn’t laughing, and neither am I.
“An extra person means double everything, and I can’t exactly afford that, so you’re going to have to suck it up and get a job sooner rather than later, Tripp.”
“I will eventually,” I tell her. I hope that will be good enough, but of course it’s not, and now she’s off the couch and headed for the kitchen.
“I know you’ve been looking, and that is awesome, but now is the best time to just take what you can get.”
This hell just keeps getting hotter and hotter.
“And where do you expect me to do that?” I ask. With Winston’s help, I’ve gone to more places than I ever thought to look. If she has a better idea, I’d love to hear it. It’s doubtful, though, considering she doesn’t know me at all.
Her eyes go wide, and she smiles as if I’d said the exact words she wanted to here.
I’m pretty damn sure that’s the first time I ever made her smile. It brightens her whole face. She should do it more often.
I look away quickly.
“Well, so, I’ve been looking in the paper for jobs you might be interested in,” Lennox says, instantly reminding me why she annoys me too much.
She sets the paper between us on the counter. Shit. There has to be at least twenty circles on here. Has she seriously been sitting there all morning looking for a job for me?
“What about a coffee shop?” she asks.
I laugh. “No.”
She puts on “x” on one of the circles.
“A video store?”
“They still have those?”
“Yeah,” she says, a hopeful look in her eyes.
“No.”
Another x.
And so this process continues until every circle has an “x” and I’ve proved my point. She doesn’t know me even the slightest. When she mentioned being an evening janitor at one of the elementary schools and I didn’t even respond, I think she finally came to the same conclusion.
“You didn’t try to consider even one of these options,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her. The stony expression on her face reveals how I feel.
Irritated.
“I don’t want to get a job,” I say. Call me immature. I don’t care. Going from never worrying about money to having to think about it all the time isn’t easy. She’d never understand what it’s like to have something valuable and lose it. She’s never had to figure it out on her own.
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because I don’t need to.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I already have money,” I snap.
Kind of. In three years at least.
“Oh really?” she asks, tilting her head to the side before she crosses her arms and smiles. “Go to the store and buy some bread then.”
This is bullshit.
I just want my life back.
“You know what I mean.” I step around her for the living room and plop myself onto the couch.
“Actually, I don’t, because the reason you live here is some big secret.” Her voice is soft and her hopeful look is a dead giveaway that she wants me to clear things up.
Not going to happen. Lennox is the last person I want to know anything about me. I’m half-tempted just to pick one of the jobs she mentioned so I don’t have to talk to her.
“You need money, and money comes from a job,” she says when I don’t respond.
“I have zero work experience, Lennox. Who is going to hire me?” I sound like a jerk, but if she gets to be snotty, so do I.
“Hey, negativity isn’t going to get you a job. You have to want it to get it.”
“You do see the problem with that statement, right?” I ask.
“Come on, Tripp. You have to at least try.”
I don’t try to argue with her this time. I know she’s right. But I’m also done with this topic.
“Okay, well, as much as I want to keep this awesome conversation going, I picked up a shift today so I need to get changed and go,” she says.
I don’t say anything. She’s trying to help, but still, I just don’t want to deal with this.
Lennox disappears into her room for a few minutes only to reappear wearing jeans with holes down the front of them, an oversized shirt, and flats. She grabs her coat and purse off the counter near the door and turns to face me.
“At least look for somewhere that benefits you. A place that pays you money and also saves you money,” she says. “Some places give you discounts or free stuff when you work for them. I get free tanning, not that I tan, but I bet retail stores would give discounts. Or maybe even apply at a place you like to eat. Free food or even cheap food is always nice. I bet you’d like the job more that way.”
She doesn’t wait for a response this time, and when the door closes behind her, I let my grin stretch wide.
Why, Lennox Ashby, you’re a lot smarter than I thought you were.
I know just the place to find myself a job, and she’s either going to be proud or really pissed.
Lennox
“Thanks, have a good afternoon,” I say with a smile, grabbing the sanitizer bottle and heading to the room that now has a dirty tanning bad. I grab the goggles and drop them in the bucket to be sanitized later and then finish cleaning the room. When I’m done, I find my seat behind the counter and resume studying.
This is one of the reasons I love this job so much. The pay is decent, they are amazing at working with my class schedule, the job is easy, and I can study the entire time I’m here. I don’t necessarily want to work more hours, but it might be a smart idea if want to squeeze in more study time. Money and passing grades. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Plus, it’ll get me out of the apartment.
“Oh my gosh, this new guy is so hot,” Brandy says, dramatically dropping herself on the counter in front of me. She works over on the gym side but comes in to my area to chat occasionally.
“There is a new guy?” I ask, not really caring. Being one of the more popular gyms in town, they have a lot of employees, and they hire frequently. If I didn’t enjoy the time away from home now more than ever, I would have told Tripp to just come here. But I didn’t because, let’s face it, no matter how badly he needs to get a job, I have to have at least one thing in my life that I don’t share with him. Plus, he showed zero interest in any job this morning, so it would have been a wasted suggestion.
“Yep. Travis just hired him. Like not even twenty minutes ago. He walked in, they chatted, and now he’s filling out his new hire paperwork.”
“Good for him,” I say. Maybe I could ask Travis what about this new guy convinced him to hire him. I could use it to give Tripp tips. Not that he’d actually retain anything I tell him. I swear, it’s like talking to a wall. I don’t even get a nod half the time. The last couple of days have been better … kind of. Tripp has shown up to our joint class, and that alone has been huge. I just need him to get a job now. Shoot, it’ll probably take his fancy car running out of gas before it dawns on him why he needs a job.
Which brings me back to that big piece of information: What the h
eck happened to his money?
I hate being left out of the loop.
“Ashby.” Travis is waving at me. He’s a six-foot, forty-something-year-old man with three kids and the body of a twenty-year-old. His wife is just as dedicated to the gym as he is. Makes sense why they own it.
“Hey, Travis,” I say over the counter.
“Thanks for the referral. This guy is going to work out great.”
The what? I didn’t refer anyone.
“I think you have me confused with someone else.”
Travis shakes his head. “No, he said Lennox Ashby.”
Oh no.
Please no.
I stand slowly, my gaze searching for the tables near the smoothie bar.
I gasp. Loudly.
“I told you he was gorgeous,” Brandy says.
I march out of my perch behind the counter and over to the gym’s side. Brandy is hot on my heels.
What in the fresh living hell is Tripp doing here?
“What are you doing?” I ask as calmly as I can. I’m biting my lip from saying something worse. Get out. This is bullshit. Or, It’s official! You’ve lost your mind.
“I got a job,” he says, beaming.
I force a smile of my own, since I have an audience now with Travis and Brandy. “I see that. What I’m referring to is why you got a job here.”
I can’t believe this. Who hired him? Why would they hire him? He has zero experience.
“Um, you told me to,” he says with a chuckle. Brandy laughs, too, and I suddenly have the urge to turn around and shove her.
“I didn’t—”
“Hey, while you’re here, what’s our address again?”
Oh my God.
“You two live together?” Brandy asks. The shocked look on her face can’t be faked.
I pinch the brim of my nose and take the seat next to Tripp.
“Can I have a moment alone with my roommate?” I ask. Travis walks off like it’s no big deal, and Brandy follows behind him, looking over her shoulder until we’re out of view.
“I can’t believe this,” I say.
“Why? You said I needed to get a job and then when you mentioned getting something for free, I thought, hey, that’s smart. I like to work out, so …”
“Tripp.”
“Lennox.”
“I—” I start, but a tanner walks into the salon, and I stand up.
“We’ll talk about this later,” I say and start to walk away.
“Yeah, sure, but what’s our address?” he asks me again.
My chin drops to my chest. “137 South Lincoln, apartment 3,” and then I get back to work and fail miserably to not think of Tripp for the rest of my shift.
***
By the time I pull up to the apartment, I still don’t know what to say to him. I’ve run though my options, or option. He should find another place to work, but each time I think about it, I see his face when he said he got a job. It was like a kid at Christmas. Don’t get me wrong. I still don’t care for the guy, but I know what that feels like. The feeling of being discouraged your whole life, then finally prevailing. You did it. On your own. It’s a moment of self-confidence. Well, that feeling can be hard to come by, and if I ask him to get a new job, I’ll be taking that away. I don’t want to be that person.
I open the door, pausing. Last night when I came home, the lights were off, and I tripped over Tripp’s shoes and smacked my knee on the corner to the kitchen cabinet. I think it’s safe to assume I wasn’t his favorite person when I woke him up to let him know. But right now, his shoes are neatly placed in the corner where I told him to put them.
I set my keys and purse down on the kitchen counter and step into the living room.
No Tripp.
“Hey,” he says behind me and I jump back, nearly falling over my own feet.
“Jesus, Tripp, you scared me.”
He laughs. “Sorry.”
“I bet. You’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you?”
His laugh turns to a deep chuckle that immediately tugs at my lips.
“We should probably talk about the gym thing, huh?” He sounds so … cheery.
It’s nice, but weird.
“Yeah.” I take a seat on the couch and Tripp sits next to me.
“I’ll get a different job if you want me to,” he says. His voice is all friendly and understanding.
Damn it.
My face scrunches up as I look away. He’s asking it, Lennox. Not you. Let him do it. You want this. Say yes. Say it. Just say it!
“No, you don’t need to do that,” I say.
Damn mature attitude.
“I should have asked before I took the job. I was just thinking about how I actually found something and how—” He shakes his head. “Either way, I should have asked. But I also thought it would be easier in a way. We can carpool. Save us both money.”
Oh, sweet Jiminy Cricket. This guy is for real. He went from hating a job to finding something positive. Shit, am I rubbing off on him already?
“All right, look, if we’re going to do this, live together and work together …” I pause. I can’t believe I’m saying this. “Then we need to get along. I have a lot I’m working toward, and I can’t have you messing it up because you don’t like me.”
“Agreed, but you also have to learn to talk to me like I’m an adult and not a child. I don’t know a lot of things about paying bills and shit, but I’m not an idiot, Lennox.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“Fine. So we’ll make this work?” I ask.
“It won’t be easy, because you’re still the most unreasonable woman I know, but yeah, I’ll give it a go,” he says with a simple shrug that says, “heck, why not?”
“You can’t say crap like that.”
“So you want me to pretend?” he asks.
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I say and head for my room.
A civil conversation with Tripp is hard to find, and we’ve had three in the last week. Still, I can’t stand him, but I am glad he got a job. Perhaps he isn’t a lost cause after all.
Chapter Six
Lennox
I’ve always had a routine. I wake up. I shower. I get dressed, brush on some makeup, and pull up my hair. I make my bed. I check my schedule for the day and arrange my books in my backpack in the order I’ll need them. Then, I head into the kitchen for my glass of orange juice and eat breakfast, which is usually two hard-boiled eggs. After that, I check my emails on my computer to make sure my professors didn’t change up their day and cancel a class. I’m organized, and I like it. I’m almost certain it comes from my whole fear of losing everything I have. So, by consistently doing the same thing, I don’t have to worry about anything.
I’m not sure how to take the new interruptions in this routine.
The moment I step into the kitchen to go for my OJ, I find Tripp leaning against the counter, a pair of red gym shorts hanging low on his hips as he drinks from the bottle of said orange juice. I’d be mad about this, but the whole no shirt thing he’s doing has gained my full attention. He’s got a lean, solid chest and a six-pack that has clearly hypnotized my vision. And his arms … holy shit. I don’t even know what to say about them except that. Holy shit.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and I snap my attention to meet his eyes. He starts to say more, pointing at me with the orange juice bottle. I cut him off; his smirk means he’s tempted to embarrass me by mentioning that he caught me checking him out.
“Did you just drink all my orange juice?” I ask.
“Yeah. You should buy more.” He holds up the bottle. “I’ve always been a no pulp kind of guy, but I won’t lie, this shit, pulp included, was good.”
“You can buy the next bottle,” I tell him.
“Lennox, do you not remember why I’m here?” He pauses like h
e’s waiting for my answer, but then shakes his head. “The whole, ‘I don’t have money’ thing.”
“You’ll get a paycheck eventually by actually working at your job,” I say with a smile.
He rolls his eyes and tosses the empty bottle into the trash. “I need to get to class.”
I can take the hint. He doesn’t like to talk about his situation, but he was the one who brought it up. However, in light of our whole agreement to get along, I just nod. Besides, when he finally does buy a bottle of orange juice, I’ll make it a point to drink it all before he can. Maybe right in front of him, too.
“You’ll be in class with me today, right?” I ask when he’s just about to his room.
“Yeah,” he says without turning around. Which is probably a good thing, since if he had, he would have caught me checking out his backside and … holy shit.
His door closes, and I let out a long sigh.
It’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever seen a guy without a shirt, but this is Tripp. He’s always been good looking, and now here he is, in my apartment, half-naked and smirking at me. I used to hate that smirk. It’s starting to grow on me.
He needs a place to live, Lennox, not a girlfriend.
Speaking of girlfriend, I haven’t seen Sydney since Tripp moved in. Actually, now that I really think, I haven’t heard or seen her for a few weeks now.
I peek around the corner and down the hall to Tripp’s room. This is probably another question he’d dodge if I asked him.
I open the fridge and look at the empty space where my juice usually sits. Today, I’ll make an exception to trade a hot body for OJ, but tomorrow, he might not get off so easy.
***
I arrive at class earlier than everyone else, which isn’t unusual. I set out everything I’m going to need, and then I pull out the requirements to win the journalist program scholarship. They pick three students a semester, and almost anyone could qualify. Entrants don’t have to be a full-time student, and they don’t have to maintain a certain GPA. They just have to be some type of English major, and I’m guessing the three-page letter on why the entrant deserve to be chosen, along with the mini essays the program has everyone write during the semester, are the deciding factors. They probably look at GPA. Involvement with school activities is mentioned but not required. Professor Turner is on the committee to choose the winners. Maybe I should schedule another appointment with him and pretend it’s because I just want to make sure I’m on the right track. Then, while I’m there, I can see if I can get any more information on the kind of students they’re looking for. I have to get a spot. My whole plan for next semester depends on it.