She disappears into her bedroom. “Yes!”
“Fine! Sorry for the fucking ears attached to my head,” I shout back. “Jesus, Stevie.”
The door slams shut.
We’re on day three of these new living arrangements, and up until now, things have been uneventful. We made one public appearance at a local restaurant for lunch, allowing the paparazzi to capture a few photos of us eating out on the terrace. Otherwise, Stevie has kept to herself, spending most of her time alone in her bedroom while I tackle errands and avoid Rudy’s incessant harassment about whether Stevie and I have consummated our eternal love yet.
I send Rudy a quick text, filling him in on the new water feature in my bathroom, and he shows up with deli sandwiches from the farmers market an hour later.
The cleanup crew and plumber are already here, dealing with the mess upstairs, as my insufferable agent barrels through the front door and tosses a plastic bag at me. “Did you two crazy kids fuck in the shower and burst a pipe?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Why?”
“Why not? You have a hot chick living with you. The math is mathing.”
“No. Why are you the person you are?”
He ignores me, strolling over to one of the kitchen barstools and plopping down, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite. “Honestly, Stevie is great,” he says through a muffled chew.
“She’s a huge pain in the ass and is making my life hell.”
“Isaidgreat.”
I flip him off. “Try living with her.” When his eyes twinkle with consideration, I backpedal. “Delete that.”
“Listen, you’ve been a thousand times more obnoxious since she came into the picture, and I appreciate that. Way more fun for me.”
“Sorry my usual brand of emotional detachment is such a bore.”
“Apology accepted. You’re making progress, Lex, and that’s inspiring.”
“Remind me why I hired you.”
“Really? I will, but you know I’m an overachiever.”
Sighing wearily, I make my way over to the island and pull out a barstool, two seats away. I send Stevie a quick text that there’s food.
Me: Food.
“So, the bathroom,” Rudy prompts, flicking crumbs off his designer blue jeans. “What actually happened?”
My eyes close, and I briefly recall the moment when we were entangled on the wet floor, her breasts visible through the thin material of her top and my mind going to a place it hadn’t dared travel in a long damn time. “Stevie doesn’t know how to use a wrench.”
He frowns. “I’m assuming there’s no underlying sexual meaning there.”
“No.”
His nose wrinkles with disappointment.
Stevie appears at the base of the staircase, newly dressed in a black lacy thing, her dark hair air-dried and spilling over her shoulders in chaotic waves. She sends a timid smile to Rudy. “Hey.”
“Hey, gorgeous. I brought you a sandwich.”
Her smile widens with a slight beam as she makes her way over to us, avoiding my eyes. She ruffles around the bag for the extra sandwich that’s wrapped in paper and leaking with vinegar. “Thank you. This is really sweet.”
She’s about to retreat back upstairs with her meal, but I stop her, a sudden pang of guilt pinching in my gut. “You can eat in here.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”
