“We need to establish rules,” she says once she’s swallowed.
My gaze drifts down her body, drinking in all the exposed skin. Yet again. She’s smooth everywhere, and she has definite curves. She’s no stick-thin woman with fake blonde hair and face filler like the women I’m used to dating in L.A.
Robyn, my most recent ex, is gorgeous. Constant yet natural-looking spray tan, long legs, breast implants and a shaved chin—as in she had plastic surgery a couple years ago and they shaved the bone of her chin so it isn’t so pointy. She truly is beautiful, yet also horribly insecure thanks to every other woman in the Southern California region who looks just like her. “There’s always someone prettier and younger than you,” Robyn complained to me more than once.
That shit is exhausting.
Stella is all natural. Full breasts, full hips. Narrow waist, nice legs. Pretty face, dark brown hair, brown eyes full of anger, making me think she might want to murder me in my sleep. Which is risky considering I live with her now.
Hopefully I can lock my new bedroom door.
“What sort of rules do you want to establish?” I ask her.
She finishes off the protein pack in an impressive amount of time, then grabs the pale blue Hydro Flask sitting on the counter and flips the top up to suck water out of the straw. “We definitely need boundaries, for one thing.”
“What sort of boundaries are we talking about?”
“Well, the refrigerator is a good place to start.” She opens the fridge once again and waves a hand at the contents within. “See all this? It’s mine. You can’t eat it or drink it.”
I nod once. “Noted.”
She slams the refrigerator door and then opens the cabinet doors to the left of the fridge, revealing a fairly meager stockpile of food within. “You can’t eat this stuff either.”
“You’re pretty stingy,” I point out, which earns me a dirty look once she closes the cabinet doors.
“I’m saying that you should buy your own food and I’ll buy my own food. We don’t need to share,” she explains slowly, like she’s talking to an imbecile.
“Sounds good.” I’m not trying to make this difficult, yet it feels like everything that comes out of my mouth annoys the shit out of her.
Huh. Maybe this means I annoy the shit out of her.
With an irritated sigh she marches out of the kitchen and I follow after her, nearly bumping into her when she comes to a stop in the middle of the cramped living room. “I’ll share my TV with you.”
“Gee, you’re so generous and giving, Stel,” I say sarcastically.
She glares at me from over her shoulder. “I rarely watch it anyway, so have at it. Just keep the volume at a decent level when I’m here, and I won’t complain.”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV,” I say with a shrug.
“Really?” She sounds surprised. “What about sports?”
“I usually go to a bar and watch a game with friends.” I pause. “And I usually only watch football.”
“So you don’t watch basketball?” I shake my head at her question. “Baseball?” Again another negative. “Huh.”
I don’t bother asking about that huh, figuring it could lead us down a path of no return.
“You can sit on my couch too if you want. Or the love seat.” She stumbles over the use of the word love, which I find amusing, but I keep my face impassive. Again, she’s so incredibly generous, letting me sit on her furniture so I don’t have to sit on the floor, but also again, I keep my mouth shut, and follow her down the hallway.
“Don’t leave the seat up,” she says once she enters the bathroom, turning so she can face me. I remain in the hallway. No way can the both of us fit in that tiny space without being a little too close for comfort. “I don’t want to fall into the toilet at night.”
“I was raised with women, not cavemen.” I stand up straight and salute her. “My mother and sister broke me of that bad habit a long time ago.”
Her lips twitch, as if she’s holding back a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Okay, this is your towel rack.” She points to the one that has a thick, bright pink towel hanging from it. “Caroline left you a few towels that you can use, including a hand towel and a washcloth.”
“Are all of them—pink?” I brace myself for her to say yes.
“Yes.” She nods, and this time she does smile, as if it pleases her to make me miserable. “Fuchsia isn’t your color?”
“Didn’t figure it was my sister’s color either, but I’ll survive. It’s temporary, right? And besides, real men aren’t afraid of pink.”
She rolls her eyes but continues on, pointing out the drawer I can use, and the two shelves in the tiny medicine cabinet that are all for me. There’s a small closet at the end of the hallway that’s for linens and a few extras, including a vacuum, which she recommends I use on occasion. I nod and smile and agree with everything, wishing she’d offer me a glimpse into her sanctuary, but her bedroom door remains firmly closed.
“Oh, and one last thing.” She whirls on me, so fast we nearly bump into each other. We’re still in the hall, and the lighting is dim since there’s no direct sunlight streaming in. Her expression is serious, those big brown eyes meeting mine as she says, “No overnight guests, please.”
Is she trying to dictate my dating life? Not that there’s anyone I want to bring home right now. Well. Maybe her. But talk about awkward if we’re still living together and everything falls apart. So that should be a no go. “How about guests who stay for a couple of hours?”
Her lips get tight. I watch them literally disappear before my eyes. “If I’m not here, maybe.”
“I can’t bring a date back to the crib then?” I raise my brows.
She rolls her eyes. “Who even says crib anymore?” She nudges me out of her way with her shoulder and heads back out toward the kitchen.
“Me,” I call after her, my gaze locked on her perfect ass. If those shorts were any shorter, I’d see a hint of cheek. “I say crib. Because this is my new crib. Carter and Stella’s crib. Has a nice ring to it, huh?”
She doesn’t say a word, just disappears into the kitchen with a huff, and within seconds, she slams the fridge door extra hard.
I whistle as I walk back to my new bedroom, and collapse on the surprisingly comfortable bed.
This ought to be an interesting few months.
Seven
Stella
“Sooooo….” Eleanor draws the word out, her big blue eyes extra wide and full of excitement as she studies me. “Give us alllll the deets.”
It’s Tuesday night and we’re at a bar that’s up the street from my apartment, smack in the middle of downtown Carmel. It’s happy hour, and we’re all huge fans of happy hour and the carne asada nachos, so we’re sharing two giant plates and a pitcher of beer. Not our usual drink of choice, but we make an exception for Milligan’s.
And happy hour.
It’s a Monday night and we’re crowded around a small table. Eleanor, Sarah, Kelsey and Amelia—who just broke up with her asshole boyfriend and is in need of extra care this evening—and me. Part of the reason we’re here is for Amelia in the hopes of cheering her up. We think she’s past the weeping stage, thank God. That particular stage feels as if it’s gone on forever.