Four Seconds to Lose
Page 26
Reaching up to squeeze Cain’s elbow, Storm murmurs, “Make sure you swing by. Soon. Everyone would love to see you.”
“I’ll be there for the wedding,” Cain confirms.
Storm’s shaking head tells me she disapproves. “Not soon enough.”
Cain’s head dips as he chuckles at her. It’s such a boyish gesture and so odd on him. I like seeing it. Storm must too, because she starts to giggle and squeezes his arm. Again. They touch each other an awful lot.
“Will you be working at Penny’s, Charlie?” Storm asks.
I nod.
“Well . . .” Her hand—again—slides up and down Cain’s arm. “I can say that you’ve lucked out. Cain’s a dream boss.”
I feel the heat crawl up my cheeks. I’d gladly replace my nightmares with dreams of Cain. But the words dream and Cain in one sentence stir nervousness in my stomach to the point where I’m afraid anything that comes out of my mouth will sound inappropriate. So I simply press my lips together and offer her a smile.
“All right already.” Cain shakes his head, with a look of sheepishness that just doesn’t fit his typical facade.
With a wink, Storm announces, “Well, I need to pick Mia up from her play date and start dinner. Enjoy the new place, Charlie.”
“I’m sure I will.” I watch her skirt and her hair swish in tandem as she strolls away, humming softly, thinking how nice she really is. That could be me, in a few years. In my new life.
With that, Tanner leads us into 1-D, jingling a large set of keys to get the door open. As I step in, I’m immediately hit with a blast of cool air and I can’t help but tip my head back and close my eyes, sighing.
Cain chuckles next to me. “A new owner bought the building two years ago and spent some money improving things, including retrofitting for central air.”
I feel myself frown without meaning to. A new owner? “I thought you own this complex?”
A sharp glare thrown Ginger’s way tells me that maybe she wasn’t supposed to mention that to me. Hmm . . . interesting. Another layer of mystery to the already puzzling Cain.
“The place was just remodeled,” Tanner cuts in, opening the oven and peering in as if expecting something inside. The apartment is pristine from what I can see—the energy-efficient labels are still on the appliances and the air smells of fresh paint and carpet fiber. I highly doubt any residents of the six-legged variety are allowed to stay.
“Jeez, when is my place being renovated?” Ginger chirps, poking her head into what looks like the bathroom, based on the tile wall beyond the door. “I think I need to swap with Charlie. You know, seniority rules.”
This place may as well be the Ritz-Carlton, compared to the dive I relegated myself to for the past month. The very idea that I don’t have to imagine a line of roaches doing the conga along my kitchen counter while I sleep lets the tension in my back slide out. But . . . “I think this place is a bit out of my price range.” A self-induced below-poverty-level one; but one, all the same.
Cain settles a sharp gaze on me. “How much was your last place?”
I hesitate. “Six fifty.”
“Huh, what a coincidence. Same here. Right, Tanner?” I almost laugh at the deadpan manner in which he says that.
“Yes, sir,” Tanner confirms too quickly, averting his attention to the light-switch panel on the wall.
That’s a load of bullshit, if I’ve ever heard one. Dear God . . . I’ve managed to get myself a pimp. Of course. I knew Ginger’s ravings about this guy were too good to be true.
Tanner holds up a key on a ring. “The place comes furnished. There’s a bed, couch, and kitchen table arriving shortly. All new. Part of the renovation.” Sure it is. “Thanks, Tanner. This is . . . perfect,” I finally offer with a gritted-tooth smile. It’s not Tanner’s fault. He works for a pimp, too.
He grunts in response and then proceeds toward the door. “Gotta get back to my burgers.” It’s a valid excuse to leave, and yet I’m getting the impression that the awkward man is more anxious for solitary time than he is about his food.
Cain turns to look at me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just couldn’t in good conscience leave you there. This place is cleaner. Safer.”
I bite my lip to stay quiet.
Cleaner and safer for whom? My future clientele? Could Ginger be flat-out lying to me? She doesn’t strip, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t secretly sell herself. Look what I do, secretly! At 650 bucks a month in rent, Cain’s going to want compensation somehow, and apparently it won’t be by having sex with him. Ginger could be lying about that too, though. Or just oblivious?
Something doesn’t add up. I guess I’ll have to take this day-by-day. I have a job at Penny’s and a decent apartment. For now. I’m going to make a lot of money, fast. I’ll stay, but when the first customer shows up at my door, I’m out. Until then, I have to stick to my plan.
“How about over here?” Ginger says, her hands gesturing to the long wall in my apartment. The living room is small and yet she’s managed to make the movers lift, drag, and drop the soft, gray microfiber couch to five different spots. All it has taken her are a few winks, “my-what-big-arms-you-have” touches, and a slice of her homemade peach cream pie. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is seconds away from asking the blond guy back to her apartment to “move” her bed. I’m certain, by the way he’s dogging her around, that he’s hoping for the same thing. The woman is almost as deceptive as I am.
Ginger hasn’t left my side all afternoon. She insisted on going grocery shopping with me, doing laundry with me, waiting on furniture with me, unpacking with me. Either she’s lying and she really is hoping I swing her way or that whisper I caught from Cain to her earlier was a directive to not let me out of her sight.
I follow the movers, begrudgingly handing them a thirty-dollar tip on account of Ginger’s demands, and stay a few minutes to look out over what she told me is called the commons. Beads of sweat instantly form on my skin from this crazy Miami summer heat, and I remind myself to be thankful for the air conditioner in my apartment. It’s almost six and Tanner is out there—his plaid shorts showing off those knobby knees—spraying a flaming hibachi with a two-handed children’s water gun. He looks absolutely outrageous but quite content. The air smells of burgers again. I’m guessing Tanner is one of those bachelors with a very uncreative meal plan comprised of grilled meat.
I’m still watching him when an apartment door across the way opens and a dark-haired man strolls out.
My breath hitches.
Cain.
He doesn’t look my way, so he doesn’t see me as he strides quickly past Tanner with a half-salute, seemingly in a rush to get out of there. When I glance back to the apartment he left, I find China leaning in her doorway, in the tiniest, tightest pair of short shorts and tank top, watching his retreating back, her hair tousled, a secretive smile softening her features.
She turns to go back into her apartment but stops, her stony eyes locking on mine. A wide smirk of satisfaction spans her face and I assume she has figured out that I saw Cain leave her apartment. Stretching her arms over her head, she slowly turns and saunters back inside. I’m instantly hit with an image of a cat, gratified after devouring a can of salmon and ready to mosey over to bathe in a patch of sun.
“I’ll be there for the wedding,” Cain confirms.
Storm’s shaking head tells me she disapproves. “Not soon enough.”
Cain’s head dips as he chuckles at her. It’s such a boyish gesture and so odd on him. I like seeing it. Storm must too, because she starts to giggle and squeezes his arm. Again. They touch each other an awful lot.
“Will you be working at Penny’s, Charlie?” Storm asks.
I nod.
“Well . . .” Her hand—again—slides up and down Cain’s arm. “I can say that you’ve lucked out. Cain’s a dream boss.”
I feel the heat crawl up my cheeks. I’d gladly replace my nightmares with dreams of Cain. But the words dream and Cain in one sentence stir nervousness in my stomach to the point where I’m afraid anything that comes out of my mouth will sound inappropriate. So I simply press my lips together and offer her a smile.
“All right already.” Cain shakes his head, with a look of sheepishness that just doesn’t fit his typical facade.
With a wink, Storm announces, “Well, I need to pick Mia up from her play date and start dinner. Enjoy the new place, Charlie.”
“I’m sure I will.” I watch her skirt and her hair swish in tandem as she strolls away, humming softly, thinking how nice she really is. That could be me, in a few years. In my new life.
With that, Tanner leads us into 1-D, jingling a large set of keys to get the door open. As I step in, I’m immediately hit with a blast of cool air and I can’t help but tip my head back and close my eyes, sighing.
Cain chuckles next to me. “A new owner bought the building two years ago and spent some money improving things, including retrofitting for central air.”
I feel myself frown without meaning to. A new owner? “I thought you own this complex?”
A sharp glare thrown Ginger’s way tells me that maybe she wasn’t supposed to mention that to me. Hmm . . . interesting. Another layer of mystery to the already puzzling Cain.
“The place was just remodeled,” Tanner cuts in, opening the oven and peering in as if expecting something inside. The apartment is pristine from what I can see—the energy-efficient labels are still on the appliances and the air smells of fresh paint and carpet fiber. I highly doubt any residents of the six-legged variety are allowed to stay.
“Jeez, when is my place being renovated?” Ginger chirps, poking her head into what looks like the bathroom, based on the tile wall beyond the door. “I think I need to swap with Charlie. You know, seniority rules.”
This place may as well be the Ritz-Carlton, compared to the dive I relegated myself to for the past month. The very idea that I don’t have to imagine a line of roaches doing the conga along my kitchen counter while I sleep lets the tension in my back slide out. But . . . “I think this place is a bit out of my price range.” A self-induced below-poverty-level one; but one, all the same.
Cain settles a sharp gaze on me. “How much was your last place?”
I hesitate. “Six fifty.”
“Huh, what a coincidence. Same here. Right, Tanner?” I almost laugh at the deadpan manner in which he says that.
“Yes, sir,” Tanner confirms too quickly, averting his attention to the light-switch panel on the wall.
That’s a load of bullshit, if I’ve ever heard one. Dear God . . . I’ve managed to get myself a pimp. Of course. I knew Ginger’s ravings about this guy were too good to be true.
Tanner holds up a key on a ring. “The place comes furnished. There’s a bed, couch, and kitchen table arriving shortly. All new. Part of the renovation.” Sure it is. “Thanks, Tanner. This is . . . perfect,” I finally offer with a gritted-tooth smile. It’s not Tanner’s fault. He works for a pimp, too.
He grunts in response and then proceeds toward the door. “Gotta get back to my burgers.” It’s a valid excuse to leave, and yet I’m getting the impression that the awkward man is more anxious for solitary time than he is about his food.
Cain turns to look at me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just couldn’t in good conscience leave you there. This place is cleaner. Safer.”
I bite my lip to stay quiet.
Cleaner and safer for whom? My future clientele? Could Ginger be flat-out lying to me? She doesn’t strip, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t secretly sell herself. Look what I do, secretly! At 650 bucks a month in rent, Cain’s going to want compensation somehow, and apparently it won’t be by having sex with him. Ginger could be lying about that too, though. Or just oblivious?
Something doesn’t add up. I guess I’ll have to take this day-by-day. I have a job at Penny’s and a decent apartment. For now. I’m going to make a lot of money, fast. I’ll stay, but when the first customer shows up at my door, I’m out. Until then, I have to stick to my plan.
“How about over here?” Ginger says, her hands gesturing to the long wall in my apartment. The living room is small and yet she’s managed to make the movers lift, drag, and drop the soft, gray microfiber couch to five different spots. All it has taken her are a few winks, “my-what-big-arms-you-have” touches, and a slice of her homemade peach cream pie. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is seconds away from asking the blond guy back to her apartment to “move” her bed. I’m certain, by the way he’s dogging her around, that he’s hoping for the same thing. The woman is almost as deceptive as I am.
Ginger hasn’t left my side all afternoon. She insisted on going grocery shopping with me, doing laundry with me, waiting on furniture with me, unpacking with me. Either she’s lying and she really is hoping I swing her way or that whisper I caught from Cain to her earlier was a directive to not let me out of her sight.
I follow the movers, begrudgingly handing them a thirty-dollar tip on account of Ginger’s demands, and stay a few minutes to look out over what she told me is called the commons. Beads of sweat instantly form on my skin from this crazy Miami summer heat, and I remind myself to be thankful for the air conditioner in my apartment. It’s almost six and Tanner is out there—his plaid shorts showing off those knobby knees—spraying a flaming hibachi with a two-handed children’s water gun. He looks absolutely outrageous but quite content. The air smells of burgers again. I’m guessing Tanner is one of those bachelors with a very uncreative meal plan comprised of grilled meat.
I’m still watching him when an apartment door across the way opens and a dark-haired man strolls out.
My breath hitches.
Cain.
He doesn’t look my way, so he doesn’t see me as he strides quickly past Tanner with a half-salute, seemingly in a rush to get out of there. When I glance back to the apartment he left, I find China leaning in her doorway, in the tiniest, tightest pair of short shorts and tank top, watching his retreating back, her hair tousled, a secretive smile softening her features.
She turns to go back into her apartment but stops, her stony eyes locking on mine. A wide smirk of satisfaction spans her face and I assume she has figured out that I saw Cain leave her apartment. Stretching her arms over her head, she slowly turns and saunters back inside. I’m instantly hit with an image of a cat, gratified after devouring a can of salmon and ready to mosey over to bathe in a patch of sun.
