Page 4 of Personal Foul
I drop my hands to my sides, ready to defend myself if need be.
Instead, she seems to marshal her inner reserves. Closing her eyes, she draws in a deep breath and straightens her spine. “Fine.” She practically spits out the word. “I’ll clean your apartment.”
“Great!” Clapping my hands, I rub them together in a mixture of glee and satisfaction. This is going to be fun. “I’ll be sure to have your uniform for you tomorrow.” My mind spins with possibilities.
She shouldn’t be cleaning my apartment. I never expected her to agree to it. Maybe she hasn’t fully transformed from mousy little Charity the charity case. That means I need to make it untenable so she’ll tell me to go fuck myself.
Maybe we can get all the toxicity out that way and start over?
Worth a shot.
She blanches but manages to muster up a sneer. “A uniform? I’m sure my clothes will be just fine.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. This chick is the worst at understanding how blackmail works. “Given the parameters of our agreement, I’m not sure that’s really up to you, is it?”
I’ve managed to tone down my smile to more of a douchey smirk, which I know will only infuriate her more. Leaning closer, I put on my most patronizing tone. “You see, Chastity”—her eyes narrow—“I believe what’s happening here is called blackmail. I’m blackmailing you into cleaning my apartment by promising not to reveal your secrets. Right?”
She looks mutinous. “Right,” she grumbles.
Come on. Tell me to fuck off.
But she doesn’t.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. As for the uniform, don’t worry too much about it. It’s just a thing my family insists on.” That’s a complete lie, butshedoesn’t know that.
She narrows her eyes at me, but doesn’t protest further.
Pulling out my phone, I unlock it and pull up my text messages. “Why don’t you give me your number so I can text you mine. Then you can give me your class schedule, and I’ll draw up your cleaning schedule.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, merely stares at me with her arms crossed and her lips clamped together.
Yeah. She’s right on the edge of trying to rip my balls off. I love it. “Or you could tell me to go fuck myself and see what happens.”
I feel bad at the spark of fear in her eyes, but I squelch down the guilt and give her a wolfish grin. As I’d hoped, the grin provokes that fire again.
Dropping her arms, she lets her head fall back. “Ugh. Fine. I can’tbelieveI’m doing this. But fine.” She straightens and waves a hand at me. “I’ll do your laundry and mop your floors and dust your knickknacks. Happy?”
“Thrilled.” And I’m not even lying. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.
Actually I can. It was when I got paired up against Chastity at Eli and Jackson’s weekly game night. She gave me all her fiery sass, as though my very existence was an affront to her sensibilities.
Between my status as a football player and my family’s money, I’m used to people—women especially—falling all over themselves to stay on my good side. Having someone find me irritating and not bother to hide it is … unusual. And kinda fun.
Plus, since just being myself seems to aggravate her, getting a rise out of her is easy.
Sure, sure, I definitely lean into it when she’s around. Or at least when she and I are directly interacting and not just babysitting our friends while they flirt.
Sighing, she pulls out her phone and texts me her number. “How many days a week are you expecting me to come?”
I glance at her, eyebrows raised. “All of them.”
“You can’t be serious.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we just go over the fact that both of our sides are ongoing? If I’m keeping your secret every day, then …”
“Oh my god! You are the literalworst!”
Fighting back my laughter, I manage to keep it to a grin. “You have no idea.”
