In a professional capacity?
For some stupid reason, anxiety and a little bit of sadness squeeze my throat. Dustin's right. I shouldn't complicate things.Weshouldn't complicate things. But what's complicated about two old friends talking about cats? Nothing, that's what.
Exactly. Very professional. This is team building, right?
Right. Where am I going?
Why are my hands sweating? Am I a hormonal teenager? Regardless, I give him my address and gently scoot Huey from my lap. If Dustin is coming over, I need to do a quick tidy-up and warn the roommates. Or whoever's home.
Luckily, my room isn't a trash pit. It never is. I quickly make my bed and fluff my pillows for that classy-but-lived-in look. My bathroom trash needs to be emptied, and it wouldn't kill me to run some glass cleaner over the mirror. That won't take me very long. If I time it just right, I might be able to take a quick shower before he gets here.
Scurrying to get my chores taken care of, I poke my head out of my bedroom and assess the common area. The kitchen is a wreck, but it's always like that. And I refuse to be the house mom. At least the coffee table is mostly clear. I shove old take-out containers (most likely from Ricky) into the trash and hustle back to my room for shower supplies.
Chancing a glance at my phone, I see his "on my way" text from about fifteen minutes ago. I still don't know where he's staying. I assume somewhere in Manhattan, so I've got either thirty minutes or over an hour. In another stroke of luck, the hot water blasts out of the showerhead immediately, and I get to work.
Sometimes, an everything-shower is exactly what a gal needs to feel human. With my deep conditioner in my hair, I work on shaving my legs. I briefly consider shaving my pubic hair but decide against it. It's natural. It's normal. And he's already fucked me once—not that I think anything is going to happen! It's definitely not. Nothing is going to happen.
This is going to be a very friendly, very platonic, old-friends get-together where he meets my cat. That's all. Extremely casual. I repeat that as a mantra in my mind as I quickly towel off and slip into my favorite dress. The plunging neckline, fluffy skirt, and lavender fabric always make me feel like a queen.
Checking the time, I smile and hoist my bag of laundry from the bathroom. It wouldn't hurt to start a load. Plus, if anything unprofessional starts to happen, I have the built-in excuse of needing to switch it over to the dryer. But like I said, nothing is going to happen. This is just insurance.
"What up, B?" Ricky saunters out of his room, can of spaghetti rings in hand.
"Oh! Sorry, am I being too loud?" I whirl around, heart pounding in my chest. "Wait, can you hear the washer and dryer from your room?"
"Nah, you're all good." He sniffs and slam-dunks the empty can into the trash. "You look fancy. Going somewhere?"
Shit. "Uh, no. I'm having a friend from work over for a little bit."
"Cool. She hot?" He grins.
"Yep." Honestly, there's no need to explain thatDustinis a man. Ricky will be Ricky. "You, uh… you working tonight?"
"I'm always working, B. I'm up forty thousand yuan as we speak. Should be closer to eighty by the time the floor closes. And then next week? Oh, I'm gonna be livin' large." He rummages around in the kitchen cabinets until he pulls out another can of spaghetti rings.
"Forty thousand… what is that in US dollars?"
"About five grand, give or take." He wrenches open the pull ring and slurps the sauce directly. Yuck.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I see Dustin's here. I scamper to the door and smooth my hair down, fluff my skirt, and adjust my cleavage. Perfection. Sweeping open the door, I plaster what I hope is a sultry smile on my face.
"Hello, Dustin." I lean against the door frame.
"Hi—wow.Hello."His piercing blue eyes sweep over my frame and linger on my cleavage. "You look… incredible."
"This old thing?" I huff out a laugh. "Just kidding. This is my favorite dress and I never get any chances to wear it, so… yeah. Come on in; it's bonkers cold out."
He follows me in and just like I had hopedwouldn'thappen, Ricky is still lurking around the kitchen with his canned pasta. "Sup, I'm Dustin."
"Hey. Ricky." My weirdest roommate gives Dustin a once-over. "B was right—you are hot."
"Oh, my god," I mumble. Leave it to Ricky.
"She said that?" Dustin smiles. "What else has she said about me?"
"Nope! Not doing this. Thanks, Ricky—I'll take it from here." I blast him with my most charming smile and usher Dustin to my room, where my chunky boy lies sleeping on the freshly made bed. His little orange belly is on full display and I honestly can't think of a time when he's looked cuter.
"That's a good boy." Dustin nods approvingly. "So, uh, Ricky?"
