I drop the box on the coffee table and look inside. Come on. Son of a…
“Hey, man,” Jessie says, coming around the corner. I look to the front door then back to Jessie. Where the hell did he come from? He casually lowers himself into the recliner and throws his feet up next to my box that holds my now broken Nintendo. I know it’s old as hell, but I love my old school game systems.
I stare blankly at him. “You owe me a new console.”
He chuckles lightly and lifts his head. “I don’t think you want us to start cashing in I.O.U.’s.” He gives me a sharp look.
Good point. The fact I’m standing here right now speaks volumes as to the uneven scales of our friendship. It still sucks I’m out a vintage Nintendo. “Maybe I can fix it. After it dries out.”
He smirks at me, resting his folded hands behind his neck. “Casualty of war, my friend. Right place, wrong time and all that.”
I grunt. “Hm. Yeah. Do I want to know what that’s about?”
He drops his feet and grins. “If I have to explain why I spent my afternoon chasing the hot neighbor around with a bucket of water, then your issues run deeper than I was aware of.”
I nod. No more explanation needed. That hippie chick was hot. Especially wet. “Which apartment’s hers?”
He points at the ceiling. “Next floor.” Slapping his hands on his knees, he pushes himself up and stretches. “You need help bringing up the rest of your shit?”
I’m pretty sure he just tried to intercept my interest in the neighbor, but I let it go. If he’s got dibs, I’m not about to step on his shoes. “If you don’t mind.”
I open the door to a nice round ass in cut off shorts. Jessie groans as he pushes past me. “Need some help?” he asks, his voice strained.
“Damn shoe just came untied.” She flings her long, damp hair behind her shoulder.
That’s a lot of hair.
She follows Jessie’s gaze, glancing back at me. Her big gray eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across her heart-shaped face. She stands up and I notice she has great legs. They’re a little on the short side, but they’re lean and toned—a runner’s legs. I’m usually more about T and A, which she has plenty of, but I find myself having a hard time taking my eyes off her calves. She offers me her hand and I snap my attention to her face. She has that natural look going for her. No make-up—she doesn’t need it. Her skin is tan, her cheeks holding a natural glow. And her lips. Her fucking lips are a work of art. Her upper lip is fuller than the bottom, and the way it curves up… I think it’s called a cupid’s bow. It’s amazingly kissable. I shake her hand and she lets her eyes fall over my wet and clinging clothes.
“I’m Lucy.” She points up, her other hand still in mine. “I live in 3B.”
“Park.”
“Yeah. I know.” She pulls her hand away and tucks a strand of golden hair behind a heavily pierced ear. She already knows my name? I eye her up and down as I wonder if she was asking about me or if Jessie was talking shit. “You haven’t changed your wet clothes.”
“All my stuff is down in the car.” I’m still watching her, mostly because she’s nice to look at, but partially because I’m trying to figure out if she’s got something going on with my new roomie.
Jessie clears his throat obnoxiously, drawing my attention back to him. He really doesn’t like me talking to Lucy. It makes me want to do it more if he’s going to be a dick about it.
“Let’s get your shit. I have to work tonight,” Jessie states and turns toward the steps.
Lucy moves out of the way. “It was nice meeting you, Park.”
I like the way she uses my name. Setting me apart from Jessie even though the sentence alone did that. “It was really nice meeting you too, Lucy.”
“My friends call me Lulu or just Lu.” She tucks that hair back again, but it stubbornly falls past her ear.
I cock my head to the side and step closer to her. “Are we friends?”
Her lips part and her eyes grow stormy. And then she laughs, a soft melodic sound that has the singer in me trying to match the key in my head. “Jessie was right—I need to stay far, far away from you.” She bounds down the stairs. “See you later, Jess.”
I throw a look at him. “What the hell was that? You told her to stay away from me?”
Jessie shrugs unabashed. “She’s too good to be one of your girls.”
“But you’re in her league?” I let my eyes rake over his disheveled hair, ripped jeans, and worn Vans. He fucking looks homeless and he’s judging me.
“Not even close.” He shakes his head slowly. “This is non-negotiable if you want to live here.”
I cross my arms over my chest and grin at him. “You’re serious.”
“Yes. Promise me you won’t touch her.”
I raise my brows and cough out a laugh. You have got to be shitting me. “Do I need to swear on a bible or something?”
Jessie’s eyes narrow and he moves closer, his voice dropping. “Look, man. I’m dead fucking serious about this. She’s my friend, she lives in the same building, and she’s sweet. I won’t watch you treat her like shit. I want you to promise me you will not touch her or you can’t stay.”
I laugh again as I rub my forehead. I should be insulted—fuck that—I am insulted. But I can’t deny I’d hit it and quit it. And I need a place to stay—especially for as cheap as he’s offering. There is no way I’m going back to the house I was subletting for the summer.
“Calm your ass down. I’m cool. I promise, I won’t touch the hot hippie chick in 3B. All right?”
He steps back and noticeably relaxes. “All right. We’re good.”
I follow him down to my car and look sideways at him. “So, you and her got something going on?”
He grabs a box and barks out a harsh laugh. “No. She’s just a friend.” He turns to face me and tucks the box under his arm. “Now her roommate, Bree? That’s mine. You can’t touch her either.”
I smirk at him. “Objectifying women? How 1950’s scumbag of you. Is there any girls in this building you’ll give me your permission to touch?”
He looks up like he’s thinking. “1A, 2C, 3A, and 3D.”
I reach in for my duffle bag. “What’s wrong with them?”
He shakes his head and walks back inside, ignoring my question.
***
Turns out 1A is the landlady. She’s in her sixties and smells like cat piss due to the at least eight cats residing in her apartment. 2C is a forty year old divorcee with a thirteen year old son who tried to shoot me with a pellet gun. 3A is a lesbian and not interested in a threesome. I checked. 3D has a revolving door and I’m pretty sure those weren’t cold sores on her lip.
I slam the door and glare at Jessie. “You suck.”
He grins widely at me as he slips on his shoes. “You got a hot date tonight?”
“Herpes never go away,” I hiss.
He shivers, but then doubles over with laughter. “I don’t know why you want to try to hook up with someone that lives in the same building anyway.”
“Convenience. And what are you talking about? You’re hooking up with that Bree girl.”
“Yeah, but I’m dating her. Not just fucking her.”
I cringe. That’s a concept long forgotten for me. He might as well be speaking a foreign language. I’d probably understand it better. “To each his own, I guess.”
He looks at me for a few seconds and nods. “I guess.”
3
Lucy
It’s Saturday. That means we have Saturday Breakfast. I stretch and yawn as I try to decide what I want to make. Jessie keeps his fridge fully stocked and his window permanently unlocked for me.
I brush my teeth and braid my hair so it doesn’t end up in the food—again—and make my way down the fire escape to Jess’ apartment. He’s sprawled, face down in his bed, one leg hanging off the side, and snoring loudly. I tip toe past as quietly as possible, heading to the kitchen. I start the coffee immediately. I need a dose of
caffeine before cooking.
With the sweet nectar brewing, I peer inside the refrigerator and start plucking items out. I can’t decide between omelets or French toast, so I choose to make both. The sink is full of dirty dishes. Of course. I’ll have to tackle those before I start. And they aren’t even rinsed.
“God damn it,” I mutter to myself, irritated with Jessie. “I get up early to make you food and you can’t make sure there are clean dishes to eat off of.”
Movement out of the corner of my eye causes me to jump and drop the onion in my hand. Park’s leaning against the door frame, clad in only a pair of plaid pajama pants, and watching me with an amused expression. He rubs his face with both hands. “Oh, my God,” I breathe. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He grins and pushes off the wall. “Sorry. I heard someone moving around and came to investigate.”
I pick up the onion and toss it on the counter. “It’s Saturday,” I explain as I start water to wash the dishes—purposely turning away from his bare chest. I really want to take a look at his tattoo, but I keep my eyes on the building suds.
“Okay…?”
I flip my braid off my shoulder, glancing back at him quickly. “I make Saturday Breakfast. It’s a tradition.”
“Tradition? Jessie’s only lived here for what? Seven, eight months?”
I shrug. I’m not sure. He was already here when I moved in six months ago. “Every Saturday since we met. That makes it tradition.”
“All right.” He moves behind me, reaching into the cabinet for a coffee mug. His hips brush mine slowly. I can feel the heat coming off his body and smell his cologne—something crisp and clean, with a hint of smoke underneath. He steps past me, placing his hand on my back as he grabs the coffee pot, slowly filling his cup. I don’t breathe until he steps back. Without another word, he walks out as quickly as he appeared.
By the time I have breakfast started, Bree’s falling into a kitchen chair. She props her long legs on the table. “New guy’s hot,” she says in way of greeting. I smirk knowingly at her. Yeah he is.
“Jessie still sleeping?”
She beams at me and moves to the sink. “Not for long,” she whispers. Filling a cup with cold water, she bounces out of the kitchen. Jessie’s shout is followed by Bree’s shriek and I shake my head, laughing.
“What are you smiling about?” Jessie asks, stalking toward me. He shakes his wet hair, flinging drops of moisture on my face, and I slap him with the dish towel.
“Quit or I’m not finishing breakfast.”
He relents quickly, backing up several feet. “Fuck that. I’m starving. Finish my breakfast, woman.”
I raise a brow, readying myself to cuss him out when the buzzer sounds. He looks at me questioningly. I shrug. “Whoever it is isn’t here for me. This isn’t my apartment,” I remind him.
We both hold still, the spatula in my hand raised between us, as we listen to the door opening and closing. Park comes back into the kitchen—now fully dressed—followed by a guy in a black wife-beater that shows off a full sleeve of an intricate tattoo. His hair is the color of the blue raspberry slushies Bree’s always drinking. He’s pretty, even though I don’t think that’s the look he’s going for.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” Jessie says, nodding at the new addition.
“Not much.” His hazel eyes rake over me and he smiles at me with a mouth full of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Hey.”
“Hi. I’m LuLu,” I say, introducing myself because Jessie’s too rude to think of it.
“Chase. Nice to meet you.” He grins widely at me and I can’t help but return it.
I turn back to the stove and gesture at the pan. “I made plenty,” I say. “Grab plates.”
“You did my dishes?” Jessie asks.
I chuckle, nodding. “Yeah. I had to or we’d be eating off the table.”
He puts his hands on my hips and leans over my shoulder. “What’d you make me?”
“French toast and cheese omelets.”
“Damn,” Chase sighs. “I wish that I had Jessie’s girl,” he sings loudly.
Shaking my head, I glance back at him and laugh. Jessie releases me and pushes a plate at Chase. “She’s not my girl.” His eyes flick to Bree standing in the doorway and I press my lips together. That’s where all his affection lies, but she hasn’t allowed him to claim her as his girl yet.
“Bree, my African princess,” Jessie coos. “This is my new roommate, Park. And this is Chase. We all went to school together.”
“I already met Park,” she informs him.
Jessie frowns and crosses his arms. Park leans into him. “Don’t worry man. I just introduced myself after I found her walking around our apartment.” He holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I swear I didn’t touch her.”
Bree picks up a plate and holds it out for me to fill. She winks at Jessie. “He did shake my hand.”
He growls at her. “The death of me,” he murmurs.
I hand her back her plate and she skims her fingers across Jessie’s bare stomach. “Your turn.” He takes the dish from her and places it on the table, then picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder, carrying her out of the room.
Park raises a brow at me and I shrug as I hand him a full plate. Chase laughs. “So,” he says, “you single?”
Before I can respond, Park shakes his head, his eyes locking on mine. “She’s hands off. Jessie’s house rule.”
“Damn,” Chase groans. “Always the hot ones.”
“What did you just say?” I ask incredulously. One side of Park’s mouth lifts in a smirk and he shrugs, his eyebrows lifting with his shoulders.
“Oh, man. This omelet is freaking good.” Chase kisses the tips of his fingers. “Screw Jessie. Run away with me right now.”
I don’t know if he’s being funny or trying to change the subject. I flip the switches, turning the burners off and stomp out of the room.
“Oh, shit,” I hear Chase trill.
I bang my fist against Jessie’s door. “God damn it, Jess. Get your ass out here, now.”
Bree opens the door, pulling her shirt down over her flat stomach and smoothes her hair. “What?” Jessie hisses from behind her.
“What does it mean I’m ‘hands off’?”
He blinks, rubbing his forehead. He moves past me, heading back to the kitchen. I stay right on his heels. “Thanks a lot,” he whispers loudly. Park smiles behind a forkful of food and Chase chuckles, both amused with Jessie’s discomfort.
“What does that mean?” I ask again.
“I think it means he told his friends they aren’t allowed to hit on you,” Bree offers. She sits down next to Chase and starts eating. They all watch me and Jessie like we’re putting on a live show. This isn’t dinner theater. Or breakfast—whatever.
I glare at his back as he turns away from me and pours a cup of coffee. He’s taking his good old time and it’s just pissing me off more.
“What is your problem with your friends talking to me?”
He finally faces me and sighs. “I’m trying to look out for you.”
I raise my hands, palms up. “I never asked you to do that. Who I date is my decision. Not yours.”
He steps toward me, jabbing a finger toward the table. “He doesn’t date, Lu. He fucks and forgets.”
Park sits back and sets his fork down, but he doesn’t say anything. Bree glances from him, to Jessie, to me, her brown eyes wide.
“You already said something to me. What I choose to do with your warning is my decision. You can’t run every guy off.”
“The shit I can’t.”
“You’re an ass.”
“You’re naïve.”
I close my eyes and clench my teeth together. “I am not as stupid as you think I am,” I grind out.
Park folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side as he watches our back and forth. I avoid eye contact because I don’t want him to think this is about him. Because it’s not
. This is about me. And Jessie thinking I’m an idiot.
“I never said you were stupid.”
“No, you just implied that I’m not intelligent enough to make decisions for myself.”
“I know these guys. You don’t.”
“Hey,” Chase calls, offended.
Jessie ignores him as he steps closer to me. “Think Jared, but ten times worse.”
I grind my teeth to keep from saying something I might regret later.
“Listen to him, Lucy,” Park drawls. He pushes his chair back slowly and picks up his plate. He pauses beside me. “Good French toast,” he adds before moving through the doorway.
I don’t miss the use of my full name. His way of making it clear we aren’t going to be friends? I’m not sure.
I skip out on breakfast and go for a run.
4
Park
I open my eyes to a head full of blonde hair hovering above me. Shit. That feels good. I glance around quickly, trying to remember where the hell I am. It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded. Everything is pink. Everything. From the walls, to the sheets, to the curtains.
And then I remember the hot-ass, stuck up girl in the pink sweater from last night. After Jessie made me out to be a fucking predator of all things female, I decided to prove him right. As soon as this chick turned her nose up at the sight of me, I knew she was the one. I smile as I tangle my fingers into her hair, urging her on. She picks up the pace and I grit my teeth.
It didn’t take long to have her bent over her bed screaming my name. She went from “fuck you” to “fuck me harder” in less than an hour. That has to be some kind of record. I chuckle. It isn’t even a challenge anymore.
What the hell is her name? Something with a P. Parris or Page. Penny?
I tap her shoulder, signaling for her to move her head or get a mouth full. She sits back on her heels and grins at me. She’s not nearly as pretty as I thought she was last night. But her hand keeps moving and I decide I don’t give a shit what her face looks like because she has a truly amazing talent.