TRAGIC: Rook and Ronin, #1 (8 page)

Apparently stealing someone's frozen skinny meal is verboten in this place.

I have no idea what goes on in a photography studio, or how models act, or what they eat, or how they stay so skinny or what happens if they get fat.

But I can take a good guess.

I'm thin because I was born this way. I'm tall because I was born this way. I'm not all that smart, I mean I'm of average intelligence I suppose, but I can't do much with math. And I don't pretend that I can understand politics or current events or scientific studies that tell me to stop blow-drying my hair or talking on a cell phone. Pretty much everything I know I learned from a movie. I'm crazy about movies and if I was pushed to describe my dream life, it wouldn't be modeling. My dream has always been to go to film school and make cool movies. Deep movies that have so many layers to them, people have to watch them a dozen times to get all the little inside jokes and nuances.

As a girl growing up in America you'd think I had it all. I mean, they fill you up with that we're-all-equal bullshit your whole life.
You can grow up to be anything
, my foster parents used to tell me. Right before they sent me back into the system, most of the time. But what they never mention is that dreams require money to fulfill.

They should just tell you this at the get-go if you ask me. Just state the facts and forget the equality crap. Because the facts are the facts. If someone had sat me down in the first grade and drilled it into my head that life is difficult, more difficult than I could ever imagine, and that success is neither guaranteed nor probable, and if they'd have followed that up with a step-by-step approach on how to get past all the pitfalls I might encounter along the way… well, I might not have tasted the poisoned honey my ex was selling when he found me, lost and desperate after running away from the tenth or twelfth foster home, and greedily accepted it as tasty.

Downright delicious, even.

They do us no favors, talking us up about women astronauts and lawyers and whatever. Because the cold hard reality is that none of those things apply to you when you're poor.

Unless you've got someone looking out for you—and most girls have this in their parents, but not everyone has parents and even fewer have good parents—you're screwed unless you figure it out yourself. And in my case, I did figure it out, but I took the long road to get here, that's for sure.

I have very few assets. But the ones I have I plan on using to my full advantage. I'm thin, I'm tall, I have long legs, blue eyes, and black hair. My tits are bigger than most models I've seen, but they're not porn-star material. I have straight teeth, a bright white smile and well-defined cheekbones.

I might not have much, but I have this. I have looks. I have The Look, if these people aren't blowing smoke up my ass. I have what they want. So I'm not interested in Ronin's games or Elise's attempts at big sisterhood, or the cushy life they're giving me here.

Beauty is fleeting. I know someone important said that, but I have no idea who it was. I just know it's true. So I'm gonna grab this second chance with everything I've got and I'm gonna ride this wave until it spits me back out on the beach of bullshit.

Because I know better now.

I've seen what being poor and stupid and scared does to you. I looked at it in the mirror and I'm never going back there. And maybe Ronin is a nice guy, maybe he's nothing like my ex, but I can't take the chance. I have my own dreams and Antoine Chaput's photography studio is just one more stop along the way to get to the place in life where
I
want to be.

I grab my phone and two twenties from under my mattress. I have no intention of spending them, but it's stupid to leave home without a phone and money, so I'm not about to do that. And I leave the safety and seclusion of the studio and go back out in to the real world to get my own dinner.

No boys bother me this time.

The words don't get stuck in my throat when I meet the hostess in Cookie's. I say "I belong to Ronin" because I have to. This is what I do to get by for now. I order a salad because while I might've been born thin, eating hamburgers every night is a guaranteed way to pack on the pounds and when your body is your money maker, you don't screw yourself over like that.

I eat and watch people and when the waitress comes by to check on me I order some scrambled eggs and bacon to take home and stick in the fridge for breakfast.

When the order's ready I take my free food and walk back to the studio and crawl in bed, thankful that I have somewhere to sleep, a bit of food to hold me over, and a general feeling of secure well-being, even if it is only temporary.

Ronin Flynn never shows up with dinner and instead of making me angry, this makes me happy.

Because I had him pegged right from the start. Ronin is a player, a user, and a control freak. And I want absolutely nothing to do with him. I'm here to make money and that's all.

Chapter Thirteen - ROOK

I wake slowly in the morning. I can hear the birds singing and recall leaving the door open to get some air flow through the screen door last night when I came home from the diner. It smells like spring. The air is cool and the gentle breeze travels all the way down the hallway to my bedroom and flutters the clean white sheets.

I think this is the best moment of my life.

Like ever.

I've never had my own apartment, I've never had my own bed, and I've never woken up in such a nice place two days in a row. I roll over and sigh, content. The sheets are wrapped around my body and it feels good. They are expensive sheets, I think. They are soft. Softer than anything I've ever slept on before.

My eyes open and I spy my pack on the floor. All my clothes are dirty and I really need to do laundry. This place even has a washer and dryer and I almost giggle aloud at this thought. No laundromats for me. For now anyway.

I push that moment of caution away because what's the point of having all this good stuff if I can't enjoy it while it lasts?

My legs swing out of the bed and I gather up all my clothes and stick them in the stackable washer in the closet just off the bedroom. The breeze caresses my naked limbs and gives me the chills, but I enjoy it. The goose bumps travel up my arms and spread out to my whole body. I shiver for a second and then head to the kitchen.

And stop dead in the living room.

Ronin fucking Flynn is sleeping on the couch.

What is he doing here? My eyes track to the front door and I suppose it's my fault, I left it open. There's nothing but a screen door between this apartment and the terrace. My gaze wanders back to the sleeping man. He's lying on his stomach, his one arm tucked underneath him, the other falling over the edge of the cushion, and he's shirtless.

And then I realize I'm naked.

"Shit!"

He stirs and I make a break for the bedroom. It's one thing to let him see me naked half hidden in darkness and quite another to be fully illuminated by the bright morning sunshine. I wrangle the sheet around my body and then head back to the living room, wistfully looking at the washer that contains every single article of clothing I own.

"Ronin!" I say loudly.

Nothing except a half-muffled snore from him. Lord, this man has the most perfectly chiseled and muscular back I've ever seen. Both hands pull up and go under his face, like he's blocking out the sunlight, and this gives me the perfect opportunity to study his flexing biceps. The muscles are thick and hard-looking near his shoulders. They curve down, dip into a little valley, and then climb once again.

I lean down and smell him.

"Why are you sniffing me?" he asks groggily.

"Uh—"
Because you smell delicious,
the inner Rook says. But luckily the outer Rook says, "I'm checking to see if you're drunk. Why are you sleeping on my couch?"

He peeks up, opening one eye in my direction, squints, and then croaks out some words. "I love your outfit." He grins, winks, and then drops his head back down into his arms.

"Are you leaving?" I ask, frustrated and confused at the same time. "I mean, why are you here?"

"I told you I'd come back with dinner. But when I got here, the lights were on and you were in bed. I only sat down for a second to think up a rational excuse to wake you up, but I guess I fell asleep." He raises his head again, grins sheepishly, and then rolls over on his back, tucks his hands behind his neck, and flashes his perfect body at me as he closes his eyes, probably confident that I'll be checking him out.

I do check him out. It's quite hard not to notice that he's got the perfect six-pack abs and that absolutely adorable fuzzy happy trail you see on a shirtless designer jeans model. Hmmmm… maybe he
is
that model? "You have no shirt on."

Yes, after all that gawking, I finally manage the obvious.

He opens the one eye to look at me again. "Neither do you."

"I just put all my clothes in the washer. If I had known you were out here, I'd have saved an outfit to wear."

"Oh," he says, sitting up suddenly. "So you have to be naked until the clothes are finished?" He stands and we are only inches apart. He is so close I can feel the heat coming off his body. His hands find my hips under the bunched-up sheet and he sways me a little. "I'm still tired. Come with me." And then he takes my hand, leaving me scrambling to make up for the loss of one limb holding up my sheet, and tugs me back to the bedroom.

"Wait!" I say, resisting before we walk through the doorway. "What're you doing?"

"Going back to bed, Rook. It's early. Way too early to get up and worry about clothes." He tugs me to the bed and sits down. "Sleep next to me for a few more hours."

Holy crap. What do I say to that? "Uh," is all that comes out. He takes my indecision as a signal, which it is, if I'm being honest. Regardless of all those feminist she-nis thoughts I had last night lying here alone, this morning his self-serving idea sounds like a well-thought-out plan. So he pulls me the rest of the way down and I'm sitting next to his prone body.

"Lie down, come on. I won't bother you, I promise. Let's sleep for a little longer."

I give in. I'm weak, what can I say? He's hot, and not just in the looks department, he's got a heat radiating off his body that is calling me. It wants to wrap me up and it's been a while since I had that kind of affection, so I sink into the bed next to him and his arms open and then settle against my stomach.

I close my eyes. Because this feels good. This feels better than good actually, this feels perfect. He tucks his face down into my hair and takes a deep breath.

I smile because he just sniffed me.

"I'm just checking to see if you're drunk, ma'am."

I giggle a little.

"And if I wasn't so tired, I'd check you for drugs as well. Pat you down until I found your hidden stash."

"I'm naked, remember?"

"Awwww, come on, Rook! I'm trying not to think about that. Be good now, or I'll break my promise and bother you all up. Make you all bothered…" His voice trails off, already giving in to the call of sleep.

My entire body releases four years of tension and fear. And I snuggle against his chest.

And fall asleep thinking this is what people mean when they say they are content.

Chapter Fourteen - ROOK

When I wake I'm alone, but I can hear the TV out in the living room blaring a baseball game, so I know I'm not really alone. I smile at this. He's still here, watching baseball in the living room. Like he belongs here.

Maybe he does belong here?

Rook, stop it. He's a player, he's a user, and he's probably got a million girls strung out all over this city. That's why he left last night and that's why he came back so late. And then you went and let him sleep in your bed and act like he's your boyfriend.

This has got to stop.

I roll off the bed, still clutching my sheet to my body, then pad over to the laundry closet in the hallway.

"I already took care of it." Ronin calls out.

"Took care of what?" I ask, peeking around the corner to see him. He's kicking back on the couch, feeding himself peanuts and drinking a beer. "Sheesh, comfortable much?"

"You know what the best part of living next to the baseball stadium is, Rook?" he asks, ignoring my snarky remark.

I shrug and simultaneously listen to the
Charge!
organ music on the TV and the fans outside in the stadium as they go wild.

He points to the bag of peanuts in his hand. "Baseball park peanuts at home." He grins a huge, wide-eyed, baseball-is-awesome-and-so-are-peanuts grin.

"You went over there to get peanuts?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I got a guy."

I laugh. "What? You have a peanut guy? Like a peanut dealer, who stands on the corner and sells peanuts from the curb as you drive by?"

"Nah, that's stupid. He delivers them to the freaking door. Anyway," he says, waving a hand at me. "I folded your laundry for you and do you know what I found out?"