“See, I’m taking over this guy’s lease,” he says. “I pay fifteen hundred a month for my half of the rent. Plus utilities. You know what a cheap bastard I am, right? I just don’t want to throw that money away over the next several months, and I don’t want to stick Sutter with my half of the rent and everything because that’s just shitty.”
“Sutter?” I ask.
“Sutter Alcott. My roommate,” he says. “Cool guy. Electrician. Owns his own company. You’ll like him. Anyway, I know you’re living in your Gram’s guesthouse, but you’re the only person I know who’s not locked under a lease, so I thought mayyyyybe you might want to help me out for a few months? As a favor? And in return, I’ll … I don’t know. I’ll do something for you. What do you want? You want a backstage pass to a Maroon 5 concert? You want to meet Adam?”
“You’re already on a first name basis with Adam Levine?” I ask, head cocked.
Nick smirks. “Not yet. But I will be.”
“I don’t know …” I pull in a long, slow breath. “What about Murphy?”
“We’ve got a fenced-in yard,” he says, pointing toward the back of the house. “He’ll love it here.”
“What about your roommate? Would he be cool living with a stranger?” I ask.
“Totally.”
“And you’re sure he’s not a serial killer?” I keep my voice low, leaning in.
Nick chokes on his spit. “Uh, yeah, no. He’s not a serial killer. Lady killer? Sure. Serial killer? No way.”
Our eyes hold and I silently straddle the line between staying put and saying yes to this little favor.
My cousin-slash-roommate, Maritza, recently moved out and got a place with her boyfriend, Isaiah, so it’s just Murphy and I in the guesthouse now. It gets quiet sometimes. Lonely too. And Gram’s on this travel-the-world kick lately. One week she’s home, the next week she’s in Bali for twelve days with her best friend Constance or one of the Kennedys.
A change of scenery might be nice …
“I’ll do anything, Mel. Anything.” He clasps his hands together and sticks out his bottom lip, brows raised.
Dork.
“Begging’s not a good look for you. FYI,” I say.
“Okay, then what’s it going to take for you to say yes?” His hands drop to his lap.
I try to speak, but I don’t know what to say.
“See,” Nick says. “You don’t even have a good reason to turn me down.”
He’s right.
I can’t blame it on the location because it isn’t out of the way. I can’t blame it on my dog. I can’t blame it on a lease. I can’t blame it on money because fifteen hundred a month is exactly what Gram charges me for rent, because free rides aren’t a thing in the Claiborne family.
But aside from all of that, I know Nick would do this for me if I ever needed him to.
Shrugging, I look him in the eyes and smile. “Fine.”
A second later, I’m captured in his embrace and he’s squeezing me and bouncing like a hyper child. With one word, I’ve unearthed a side of Nick I never knew existed.
“I freaking love you, Mel,” he says, hugging me tighter. “I love you so much.”
I expected to hear those words today … just didn’t think I’d hear them in this context.
“YOU, UH, NEED SOME help with that?” I slam the door to my work truck and approach the blonde chick balancing a couple of tote bags on top of two giant Louis Vuitton suitcases as a little pug on a leash circles her feet.
I suppose it’s in poor taste to decide you don’t like someone before you even know them, but in the first five seconds of seeing my new roommate, I’ve already confirmed she’s exactly what I expected—which is … she’s everything that’s wrong with L.A. girls these days and exactly the kind of person I don’t want to be shacking up with for the next six months.
For one, she’s an “aspiring actress” according to Nick. That says it all right there.
For two, she comes from some famous family, and me and the silver-spooned types don’t exactly mix.
And third? Who the hell wears high heels to move?
Melrose tries to maneuver up the cracked walkway to my bungalow, stopping every few steps to rebalance everything.
Her heels click along the pavement, her tits bouncing with each step, damn near spilling out of that fitted white top of hers. On top of that, she’s cradling her cell phone on her shoulder.
“Let me call you back,” she says when she sees me. At least I think she sees me. Can’t tell through those giant Chanel sunglasses hiding her eyes. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Or you could just make two trips,” I say.
She pulls her glasses down the bridge of her perfect nose, studying me.
First impression? Hot AF.
Second impression? High maintenance AF.
Third impression? This is going to be a piece of cake.