Roommates (Soulmates #1) (12 page)

Flashback: Ethan

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Aaron Schwartz was talking about dick sucking lips in the locker
room. I always had a suspicion that he didn't have a mom based on the
distasteful way he talked about women. I found out later it was true.

Anyway, I had just set my lacrosse gear down on the bench
between us so I could undress and hit the showers.

"You know who has killer DSL that I'd love to try on?"
he asked no one in particular.

A few guys murmured, egging him on. Not surprisingly, it was mostly
the guys who were the least likely to find themselves with a pair of lips
around their dick anytime soon.

"Jenny Layne."

I felt the hair on my neck stand up.

"You don't mind me saying that, do you Fitz?" he
asked. "I mean, it's not like she's really your sister."

I raised my eyebrows and threw my shirt in the bottom of my
locker. "Actually, I do mind."

"I thought you'd be more offended by what a nerd she
is," he continued. "I mean, why does she hide that banging body under
those thick sweaters, anyway?"

I raised a finger at him. "Leave it alone, Schwartz."

He ignored me and put one of his shoes up on the bench to untie
it. "I was fucking wanking to the thought of her last night, and as soon
as I imagined pulling that high ponytail up and down my dick, I busted a nut so
big it was hard to imagine her being able to swall-"

I pushed him back against the lockers, the force of the impact causing
the whole row to shake. "Don't fucking talk about her like that," I
said. "She's too good for your sick fantasies."

"Whoa, whoa." He raised his palms between us.
"How do you know she wouldn't like sucking my dick? You should let her
decide for herself-"

I punched the locker next to his face.

"See what she says when I ask her to Homecomin-"

I laid my forearm against his throat and used the weight of my
body to choke him hard against the lockers. "If you so much as look at
her, I'll cut your fucking balls off and empty them down your own goddamn
throat."

Apparently, some of the guys were telling me to lay off right
about then, yelling at me about how Aaron was changing colors and shit.

But I didn't hear them. I couldn't hear anything over my anger,
and hearing him degrade her like that- hearing him talk about her perfect pink
lips- made me fucking snap in a way even I didn’t see coming.

I kept my eyes on his until there was nothing left in them but
fear. And when his hands finally dropped from my shoulders, I let him go.

He slumped to the ground gasping for air and burst into tears as
soon as he caught his breath.

Then he called me all sorts of names.

But I didn't care.

Better me than Jenny.

He was too scared to tell the truth about what set me off when
we got called down to the Dean's office, too. And I sure as hell wasn't going
to repeat the garbage he'd spewed about her.

So it was my incomplete word against his.

I still maintain that he got what he deserved.

And I think the Dean was inclined to believe me.

Unfortunately, the black bruise across his skinny pale throat
was enough to get me expelled.

It was probably the best and worst thing that ever happened to
me.

Besides her, of course.

Chapter 23: Jenny

I woke up to the smell of a man.

It was the sweet smell of sweat mixed with something musky,
something that made me think of the kind of rippling abs I associated with
black and white cologne commercials.

Except I wasn't dreaming.

My eyes popped open.

I didn't know where I was.

Where was I supposed to be?

New York. A couch… Oh my god I was in Ethan's bed.

I lifted my head slowly and turned it the other way,
establishing that I was, in fact, alone in Ethan's bed.

Had something happened?

I twisted around to look at the door. It was cracked open. I
could hear him in the kitchen.

Fuck.

I sat up too fast, my brain sloshing inside my skull so hard I
was afraid I might have internal bruising.

Why was I hungover in Ethan's bed?

Oh right. The incident. The tears. The bottomless margaritas.

I scooted up against the pillows and pulled the comforter up
around me. I was in my underwear. My pajamas were thrown across the end of the
bed. Neatly.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to remember what happened. I could
recall leaving the restaurant, the shock of the cool evening air as it hit my
face.

And then nothing.

What was it about the walk home that made it so hard to
remember? I assumed that was an affliction that wouldn't stay with me after
college.

But here I was again, clueless as fuck. Did he drive us? Surely
not. He was shitfaced, too. Right?

So we must've walked. Or taken a cab?

Ugh. I hated the idea that I was walking around New York so out
of it. Thank god I was with him.

Or so I was inclined to think. Shit. Normally, I didn't give a rats
about the way home being fuzzy, but I minded this time.

Had I made an ass of myself?

Or kissed him again?

Not that I was put off by the idea, but not remembering wouldn't
be okay.

I looked around his room, taking a moment to appreciate the view
from the bed.

There was a closet to my left with mirrored, folding doors. A
few strings of Mardi Gras beads hung off one of the door handles. A massive flat
screen hung on the opposite wall, nearly blending in with the dark blue color
scheme.

I leaned forward and stretched my fingers until they made
contact with my pajamas. Then I slid them towards me and pulled my top on first
before wriggling into my bottoms while I tried not to think about my bare ass
tossing in his sheets all night.

I kept my eyes on the door and lifted one of his pillows up to
my nose.

It smelled so good.

Was that just cologne or was it pheromones? Because if it was
the latter then it wasn't my fault I was attracted to him. It was out of my
control. I wondered what I smelled like to him, what it would be like to have
him drop his face to my neck and breathe me in.

Perhaps there was still some alcohol in my system.

I set my feet on the floor and walked into the bathroom,
flicking the light on as I raised my face to the mirror. My skin looked
thirsty. I smeared some lotion under my eyes- just enough to give my skin a
drink and wipe yesterday’s mascara smudges away.

Then I used some of Ethan's mouthwash because brushing my teeth
seemed too vigorous an activity for someone in my condition.

He didn't see me right away when I opened the door. He was
buttering toast- with no shirt on. Had I touched his chest last night? To not
remember that would be an even greater sin than if I had.

I leaned against the door frame, letting the smell of coffee wash
over me like the irresistible paws of a thousand kittens.

"Morning, princess," Ethan said, lifting his eyes for
a moment. "How did you sleep?"

"I'm not sure sleep is the word for what I was doing."

He lifted his chin towards the set table. "Help yourself to
some painkillers."

"Just the breakfast I was hoping for," I said, taking
a few steps to the closest chair.

He'd already put out two glasses of orange juice on ice. The one
across from me was half drunk.

Kinda like myself.

I threw a few painkillers in my mouth and washed them down
before taking a seat.

"Tequila, eh?" he said, the corner of his mouth
clearly amused at my condition.

I pulled one knee up in front of me. "Bottomless margaritas
seemed like such a good idea yesterday."

"That's how they get you," he said. "The problem
is that it wasn't great tequila."

"How can you tell?"

"Cause when it's great tequila you wake up speaking Spanish
with a mustache and no hangover to speak of."

I laughed. "I'll take a regular hangover, thanks."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that," he said,
whipping some crème in a bowl, his muscular arm cocked and flexed beside him.

I scrunched my face. "Why?"

"Cause being able to grow a nice thick mustache would
probably really increase the roles you could go up for."

"Perhaps. But only in shows I'm not trying to be in."

He laughed and spooned a dollop of crème on top of each of the tall
coffee glasses in front of him.

"Those are fancy," I said.

"They’re Irish."

"Does that mean there's whiskey in ‘em?"

"Just a drop," he said. "To take the edge
of."

"You're the expert."

He nodded. "And don't you forget it."

"So you feel like crap, too?"

He walked around the counter with a coffee in each hand. "Would
it make you feel better if I said yes?"

“A little.”

"I've felt better, yeah," he said, returning for the
matching plates of eggs and toast.

"Thanks for doing this," I said, nodding towards the
delicious looking spread.

He pulled his chair out and sat down. "Don’t mention it."

"And with your special eggs and everything."

He smiled.

I picked up a fork. "What is it about being hungover that
makes a buttery breakfast look so divine?"

"It's a mystery."

I stabbed some eggs and tried not to admire the way his Adam's
apple moved as he swallowed his first bite of toast. "Speaking of
mysteries…"

"Yeah?"

"Did you drive home last night?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head.

"We walked halfway and then got a cab."

"Right."

"The car's in a twenty four hour garage. I'll have to go
pick it up this afternoon."

"I see." I tore a corner off my toast.

"Anything else you want to know?"

I raised my eyes to look at him.

He took a sip of his Irish coffee and licked some crème off his top
lip.

I felt an ache in my guts.

It was the only ache in my body that actually felt good.

Chapter 24: Ethan

She had that sexy bedhead thing going on like crazy.

If only she felt as good as she looked.

"Well?" I asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Well what?”

"You want to ask me whatever question is obviously burning
the tip of your tongue?"

She swallowed. "When you got up this morning-"

I squinted at her.

"Where exactly did you get up from?"

I smiled. "The couch. I got up from the couch."

She pursed her lips.

"Disappointed?" I took a sip of my Irish coffee.

"So nothing happened?"

"Oh, something happened all right."

Her lips fell apart.

"I decided after the day you had that you deserved to get a
good night’s sleep."

She tore a piece of her toast off with her teeth.

"And frankly, I really should've let you take the bed from
day one so I apologize for that. From now on, I'll take the couch."

Her eyes grew wide. "You don't need to-"

"I do, actually."

"Well, you won't be inconvenienced for long.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Cause as soon as I sober up, I’ll have to head home and-"

I craned my neck forward. "Wait- what?"

"I only came for that audition and I blew it-"

"Please stop using that string of words to describe what
happened."

"Sorry. I didn't get the part. Whatever," she said.
"At least if I go home, I know Brandi's mom will give me a job at the
salon, and as soon as I have enough money to come back and really make a go of
it-"

I shook my head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Are you
serious?"

"What other choice do I have?"

"Stay here and make another opportunity for yourself."

She sighed.

"What happened to no Plan B?"

"I'm not abandoning the plan," she said. "I'm
doing what I have to do to make it work."

"I don't get why the hell you would leave when you came all
the way here-"

"Cause I can't just show up with an empty wallet and start
sleeping in your bed. I'm, like, the biggest imposition ever."

"You're not." I leaned back. "I want you
here."

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"I've never done shit for you," I said. "Giving
you a place to stay while you pursue your dream is the least I can do."

She narrowed her eyes at me.

"Really. It's my pleasure."

"But I'm totally cramping your style and-"

"In a good way."

One corner of her mouth curled up. "I don't even have a
lead."

"You’re a lot closer to your next lead if you stay here than
you are if you go back and start spending the day spray tanning the local bridge
club."

She bit her bottom lip.

"Honestly, I wouldn't offer if it wasn't okay."

She leaned back in her chair and drank some of her Irish coffee.
"I tell you what, I could get used to those."

"They're easy to make. I can teach you."

She scrunched her face. "I bet they taste better when
someone else makes them."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

"Why do you care so much?" she asked, stabbing a clump
of eggs with her fork.

There was no way I could tell her the truth. Where would I even
start?

Because I've always cared? Because you make everything I like
about this world seem within reach? Because making you laugh just once is
enough to keep me smiling for a week straight?

Cause you're the hottest chick I know, and just knowing you're
using my body wash gets me off even more than fucking other women?

She raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

"Cause if you leave now, that asshole wins."

Her eyes turned down at the corners.

"You can't give up just because you got a no."

"You mean just because I got assaulted."

I flinched at the thought of that creep looking at her mouth.
"Fuck that guy, Jen. You're not here for him. You're here for you. And you
haven't even been given a real chance yet." I sighed. "I just don't
want you to leave before you get one."

She pulled another knee up and hugged them both to her chest.

"There's a thousand people getting a shot in this city
every day, and one of those shots has your name on it."

"You think so?"

I nodded. "I know so."

"You're not so bad," she said, scooping some crème off
the top of her coffee and sucking it off her finger.

I felt a twitch in my groin. "Sorry to disappoint."

She shook her head. "You've never disappointed me."

"Thanks."

"And I like thinking I could never disappoint you."

“You won’t.” I raised a finger towards her. "Unless you
give up and go home."

She dropped her head and rested her chin on her knee.

"What do you say?" I asked. "You gonna give Plan
A another shot?"

"I'm going to think about it." 

"What's there to think about?" I asked, stacking her
empty plate on mine.

"Money for one-"

"What do you need money for?"

She craned her neck forward. "To live? To eat?"

I furrowed my brow. "You think I'd let you go hungry?"

"No but-"

"I have plenty of money to feed us both, I assure
you."

She pursed her lips.

"Even if you need to eat the occasional designer
handbag."

She smiled.

I picked up the plates and walked over to the sink.
"Besides," I said, turning on the tap. "You'd do it for
me."

She laughed. "What? If you were a starving artist and
showed up on my doorstep?"

"There are no starving artists here," I said.
"And you've got to stop thinking of yourself that way if you're going to
impress anyone in this city."

"What do you mean?"

I wiped our plates down with a soapy sponge. "I mean this
city is full of bullshitters."

"What city isn't?"

"No, I mean bullshit is like a currency here. And the cost
of living is high."

She squinted at me. "So I have to spend my bullshit like
it's burning a hole in my pocket?"

"Let me put it another way," I said, rinsing the
plates. "Have you ever heard that saying you have to fake it till you make
it?"

"Of course."

"Well, that's what you have to do," I said. "The
people you're trying to impress want confidence and magnetism. Stage
presence."

"I know that."

"It's not enough to know it. You have to carry yourself
like you're on a red carpet all the time."

She cocked her head.

"So you ooze star quality instead of vulnerability."

"I don't want to come across as a diva."

I pulled a dishtowel from under the sink. "You don't have
to be a diva. You just have to keep your chin up."

"Uh-huh."

"So everyone you come across can tell you're the next best
thing."

"Right."

"Then they won't be asking themselves if you're right for
the part. They'll be thinking- can I afford to miss my chance at giving this
future star her lucky break?"

"Mmm. I don't know."

"Trust me," I said, drying the plates. "I know
what I'm talking about. Half my job is about live performance."

"Is that so?"

I stacked the dry plates next to the sink. "The only reason
I have the sickest job in New York is because I bluffed my way to the
top."

"I'm listening."

I leaned on the counter and looked at her. "I got my first
job with a bullshit resume and a twinkle in my eye."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'd never made a drink for anyone but myself, and I'd only
submitted my application for a bartending license two hours earlier."

"I get what you're saying, but maybe you're luckier than I
am. Or more charming."

I shook my head. "No. The only difference is that I didn't
think I had a Plan B."

"Plan A or bust then? That's your advice?"

I shrugged. "You got a better idea?”