“Having a stalker is a problem,” Seth says.
“As is Knox bringing that asshole back into our lives,” I argue.
I walk around the bench to act as the spotter for Ethan.
“What’s your problem with Jax anyway?” Seth asks.
“He’s just not someone I like to spend time with.”
Seth tries to stop his smirk from forming, but I see it on his smug face anyway. Whatever is about to come out of his mouth, I’m not gonna like it.
“When I left, I heard music blaring from your apartment,” Seth says. “Rian was leaving for work, and she mentioned that Jax likes to walk around naked.”
I stare at him because this is Seth—he fucks around with people’s heads all the time. He has to be joking.
“He-lllll… o?”
I glance down to see Ethan struggling to get the bar up. Seth hurries over to help, but between Ethan and I, we get the bar back on the hooks.
“So it’s exactly what I thought then?” Seth picks up dumbbells.
“What?”
“This isn’t about whatever beef happened between you and Jax years ago. This is about Rian.” His cockiness grates on my nerves.
“Rian? What crack are you smoking?” I give Seth a what-the-fuck look that would make a lesser man piss himself.
“No crack. You’re upset about Rian seeing Jax’s schlong.”
“No, I’m annoyed because I hate the asshole and I don’t want to see his dick twenty-four seven.”
Seth coughs out, “Bullshit.”
Ethan doesn’t say anything. Can he see how uncomfortable I am? That I’m trying my hardest to seem unfazed?
“Okay, so if Knox walked around naked all the time, you wouldn’t have a problem with it?” I ask.
Seth huffs as he does some lateral raises. “I couldn’t give a shit. Hell, I had to see his naked ass the other day when I walked in on him fucking Leilani on the couch. I just grabbed my chips from the kitchen and went to my room. The naked body isn’t something to be ashamed about.”
Him and his fucking mouth.
“Come on. Why the hell would you move in with them otherwise? Time to face the facts,” Seth says.
I sit on the bench. “You’re delusional.”
“I don’t think I am. We’re your friends. Why would you be embarrassed to have a thing for Rian?”
The noose around my neck winds tighter and tighter, making it hard to swallow. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed to have a thing for Rian—if I actually did. I love her the same as you both do. Because she’s our friend and for her killer baking skills.”
Seth nods like, ‘yeah right.’
Ethan acts as if he’s concentrating on the reps, but his glimpses at me say he’s trying to decipher exactly how I feel about Rian.
“Just mind your own business and worry about your stalker,” I say.
Seth throws his towel at me and we continue our workout without any more talk of stalkers or women who can bake.
Later that night, after a dead night at Ink Envy, I walk into the apartment to find a half-eaten cake. Jax comes out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.
“Clothes aren’t optional around here,” I say.
He spots me eyeing the cake. “She’s a great baker, huh? Lemon is my favorite.”
“Lemon?” I mumble. “I fucking hate lemon.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Oh shit, am I already taking your place?” He chuckles and stalks off to his room.
Rian knows I hate lemon. Why would she bake that?
Chapter Three
Rian
I sit at the kitchen table, working away and waiting for my cinnamon muffins to finish baking. The paperwork from the Mathematical Society of America sits on the counter like a puppy starved for attention.
What would I do if I won the money? I don’t think I’d go back to school. My mom texted me twice this morning, asking if I’ve started the problem. She’s fooling herself if she thinks she wants me to win for me. She wants me to win because Johann has beat me at everything our entire lives.
A key in the door startles me and I bury my head in my project. Fractions are a bitch for kids to learn and the recipients of this textbook will be lucky if I don’t take out my frustration by making them harder.
“Hey, Rian,” Jax says.
I blow out a relieved breath into my papers.
“Were you expecting a burglar?” His arms slide out of his jacket and he hangs it on the hook by the door.
I take a moment to soak him in, see him in my space. We only met briefly the other morning, so it still kind of feels as if a stranger lives with me. Even so, he’s not the one I was worried was going to walk through that door. But I can’t be honest about that with Jax.
I stand and bury my head in the fridge. “No. I was working, and you startled me when you came in.”
“Grab me a beer while you’re in there?” he asks. The sound of chair legs sliding along our wooden floor rings out.
I twist off the top of a beer and hand it to him.
“My own personal waitress. I could get used to this.” He grins.
I sit back down. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
He sips his beer, his gaze on me the entire time he rests the bottle on his lips and lowers it back down. I glance up a few times.
“So what’s your story?” he asks. His approach leaves something to be desired, but he seems genuinely interested in the answer, based on the fact that his eyes haven’t strayed anywhere but my face.
I place my pencil down and lean back in my seat. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything you want to offer.”
He sips his beer again. Most women would probably be drooling from having Jax’s attention. His dark hair and five o’clock shadow, the definition of the muscles in his arms—it all works to make him more than appealing. So although it feels nice, it’s obligatory. We’re sharing a bathroom now.
“I write math textbooks for elementary grade levels,” I say.
He nods and sips his beer. “So you’re like genius level, or math just gets you all excited?”
“Definitely not genius level.” My gaze veers to the stack of papers by my purse, where the contract for the contest sits.
“You probably got some perfect score on that ASS test,” he says.
I giggle. “You mean SAT or ACT?”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “I never took it.”
“Why not?” I relax back into my chair and push my work to the side.
He downs another gulp of his beer. “I wasn’t meant for college. That shit only gave Phillips a hard-on.”
I nod, not sure if I should ask more questions or not.
“Boyfriend?” he asks.
At first, I think the question is rude, but mostly because my two good friends are now in serious relationships, which makes me wonder if I’m going to end up as a cat lady cliché. But I’m allergic to cat hair, so I’d have to be a bird lady or fish woman. Which sounds even worse. I imagine myself in a tank while my fish swim around my head or having birds resting along the lengths of my arms, their tiny claws digging into my skin, and I shudder.