He thought I was in here riding dick into the sunset, but I had barely more interaction than a handshake since the first day I’d moved in. “Not little at all.”
“Yes! Sabrina’s going to get some. Sabrina’s going to get some.”
“Did you not hear the part where he ran away after? Pretty much sprinted away. Maybe his relief over not living with a porn star got the better of him.”
“Nope, it was that delectable ass of yours.”
I rolled my eyes and smoothed down another label. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“Come on, during junior year? You’re going to pretend you don’t remember.”
I covered my face with my hand. “Can we not bring that up?”
“They need to bronze those shorts and put them under glass in the president’s office.”
“In my defense, I was very drunk.”
“No defense needed. They’re probably still talking about the dance-off even after all this time.”
“God, I hope not.” Back in college, with confidence levels at an all-time high, I might’ve let my liquid courage fling me up onto stage for a dance contest I’d had no business entering. College Me had a fearlessness I could only look back on in awe, not believing we were the same person. But she hadn’t been hit with the dings I’d faced since walking across the graduation stage, pumping my hands overhead.
“It might be a slight exaggeration, but there’s certainly some ass fans out there. The bounce. The curve. The way you could bounce—”
“Can we please stop talking about fans of my ass?” I jumped up, snatching my phone off my desk chair and shouting back so I didn’t have to hear anymore.
Life had changed a lot in six years, but I could always count on Cat to not let me forget that once I’d been fearless.
That was why she got the first dibs on sheets after I was finished with them. Not that she needed them with the size of her paychecks, but it made me feel better to show her how much I missed her.
Right at that moment, movement from the corner of my eye sent me down the plummeting embarrassment carnival ride.
Hunter stood in the hallway, frozen, staring straight at me.
Rushing forward, I closed the door and banged my head against the wood. I snatched my phone off my desk and took Cat off speakerphone. “Hunter heard you,” I hissed.
“Trust me, he doesn’t need to be told what he already knows.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“No, I hate you.” Now he was going to think after one kiss I couldn’t stop thinking about him and I was telling my friends all about what happened—which was precisely what was happening, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
Unable to contain my laughter, I shook my head. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! When are you coming to visit me?”
“I have no clue. Every cent I have is going into producing the design samples. And anything left over goes to my moving out fund. Maybe after New Year’s.”
“That’s so far away.”
“Ms. Fancy Pants Translator, you could always come visit me.”
“As if they’d give me more than twelve hours off. I swear, this place would collapse if I took a full week off.”
“The curse of doing your job well.”
“You’re telling me. But I promise when you visit, I’ll take a couple days off.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Half days.”
“The last time I visited, you had me sitting in your office all day and I felt like I was with my mom at Bring Your Kid To Work Day. All I was missing was a juice box and coloring book.”
“I’ll make sure I have both this time you visit.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I bet I didn’t feel like your mom when I took you out that night.”
“My shoes never turned up?”
“Nope, neither did my dress.”
“That poor taxi driver.”
“Don’t worry, he had his fun. That night is why I always wear boy shorts and have a camisole in my clutch.”
“You’ve lost your clothes since then?”
“Once or twice.”
“Be safe, Cat.”
“You know me.”
“I know, that’s why I’m saying, ‘Be safe.’”
“I’ll do my best. They’re calling to wrangle a client. Got to go. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I ended the call and finished up my shipping bonanza, taking extra care with the packaging to avoid leaving my room. Not like I had a roommate I’d kissed, who was wandering around out there, who’d heard me gossiping about him. Not at all.
I stacked all the packages together. Developing the ability to teleport to the lobby without Hunter seeing me would be handy right now, but both his office and bedroom doors were closed and the rest of the apartment was quiet, unlike what I dealt with every single night. Why couldn’t he be this courteous when I was trying to get some damn sleep. Maybe I’d become nocturnal.
After dropping off the packages, I was starving, and the linguine shrimp scampi wasn’t going to make itself.
Music drifted from Hunter’s room like always—but not at earsplitting levels. Not the type of level meant to drown out the existence of other people. Was it that hard to be alone with himself that he always needed the music playing? At least he wasn’t lying in wait for me to leave my room, or maybe he was hiding from me, afraid he’d made out with a Stage 5 Clinger. Either way, I needed to eat, and I’d have to face him at some point. I glanced over my shoulder and then down at myself. Maybe I should change. Put on something a little less “changed into my PJs directly after a shower and worked for three hours before tearing into the kitchen for food” and a little more “person who intends to leave the house at some point this week.” But why pretend to be someone I wasn’t?
Hunter had seen me before. There was no genie going back in the bottle on this one.
I turned on my boy band playlist and gathered up my ingredients and set the pot down on the stove. Every noise sent my gaze darting down the hall.
My goal in life was to have enough money for a house with a kitchen half as nice as this and a stove with a pot-filler spout. A door closed and I jolted. Was that his bathroom door?
I filled the pot and cranked up the heat, adding a little bit of oil and a lot of salt to the water. More than I meant to when I jumped at a sound behind me before spotting that one of the oranges had rolled off the shelf. There might have been a little nervousness about seeing Hunter again.
After seasoning the shrimp, I melted the butter and garlic in the copper pan I’d been afraid to use for my first few weeks here. The heavenly scent of sautéing garlic in butter was one of my favorites. I added the shrimp and waited for them to pink up, tossing them in the pan.
This recipe felt decadent, but it only took a few minutes. That was my kind of luxury.
The water boiled, and I slipped the fresh linguine inside. Less than ten minutes later I had a plate of steaming seafood deliciousness topped with enough parmesan that my lips would burn, but I kept eating.