She waves her pinky and smiles an amused, “Wish me luck!”
“Stay in past the normal twenty-eight days!” I call out as the door shuts. “Stay in for ninety!”
Troy walks up, calm as he dials the phone. “Jack? If I’m going to live here, we need bleach.” His smirk is adorable as he throws me a wink. “Yeah, send a team with gas masks. Alright, bye.”
“You really think you’re moving in with me?!”
“I don’t think I am, Marion. I am.”
I kind of hate that he called me Marion. Why didn’t he have the balls to call me Mar again, like I warned him not to?
“Oh Troy,” I smile, leaning back and hooking my hands over my flat tummy. “I am going to walk all over you.”
“Ya think so, huh?”
“I know so.”
He grins. “Can’t wait.” Throwing his phone in the air, he snatches it before it falls as he saunters to my kitchen. “Got any pizza?”
“Dancers don’t eat pizza!” Except when they visit you in a hospital room under extreme conditions. “Ever!”
“You could use a pizza, Marion. You look a little thin.”
“I’m supposed to be this weight, you ignoramus. Men have to lift me!”
“I could lift you with my pinky.”
With those muscles, he might be right. “My lines are part of what I do. Ballet is not just dancing, Troy. It’s art!”
“If you were a painting, I’d feed you.”
My head flies back on my neck. “What a weird thing to say.”
“Welcome home, babe.” He walks over and sits on the couch next to me, thighs bursting at the seams with strength.
“Excuse me, Troy, but I’m no dummy. You do not get as ripped as you are without a healthy diet.”
“I work out so much I can afford to eat pizza, that’s my trick.” He touches my nose, and smirks at me, our faces really close. His eyes travel over my face and he hums approval before returning to his phone. “Even got the number in my favorites. Hey Peter, it’s me, Troy. I need a veggie pizza with pesto and parmesan delivered to a new address this time.” He rattles off mine and locks eyes with me as he adds, “I’ll pay in cash when you get here. See ya soon.” Hanging up, he grins, those dimples absolutely adorable.
“You’re on a first name basis with that pizza place?”
“Nah. But that would be pretty funny if I was, right?”
I stare at him. “This is going to be terrible.”
He frowns, which for some reason makes him cuter. “Have any beer?”
“Girls live here!”
He heads for the kitchen, muttering with a laugh, “Not anymore.”
Chapter Seven
Troy
My face is shoved sideways into my pillow as I’m lying on my stomach, just waking up. Squinting at the blue sky out my open window, I exhale and remember where I am. It hasn’t settled in yet.
Jack had some furniture shipped over with my clothes. I’d sold it all before I moved in with him. He had no place to put it. Little did we know I’d be lacking a dresser again so soon.
I feel like a dick for needing him to buy one for me, but neither of us planned this. And he was right in his prediction.
Marion is not an easy woman to live with.
I’ve been here for six days so far, but she’s gone the opposite way I expected. Each day she speaks to me a little less. I’m not sure if she’s just not into me, or if she’s so interested she’s running in the opposite direction in order to create a challenge.
Marion’s idea of dealing with her broken leg, and the loss of a dream, is to watch sad movies and sleep most of the day. When awake, she’s more snapping turtle than ballerina. I laughed it off for the first few, but then it started goading me. I flat out asked her the other night what her problem was.
“I don’t want to be living with a stranger!”
“You don’t have a choice!”
“That’s fucked up!”
“I’m here to help you!”
“You’re not my friend!”
“You could change that!”
She flipped around on the couch and turned the volume up on her tragic love story.
Jack is who she wants.
But she’s on the road to even more heartbreak with that choice. Everyone knows what David would have to say about his buddy dating his daughter. He’d lose his shit, and they’d never speak again, no doubt. The possibility simply doesn’t exist.
I’m relieved in one thing: Jack endowed this roommate situation with the caveat that if she and I don’t have chemistry, then cool. I’m here to simply watch over her, ease the transition she’s going through. Get her groceries. That’s not too hard.
Especially since he had the cleaning crew scour the entire apartment. We’re living in relative comfort except for the screaming matches.
And the undeniably frustrating fact that I’m attracted to her, despite my better judgment. I blame the first impression. You really can’t escape those. We kind of hit it off that first day, or so I thought. The bickering felt like foreplay.
What an idiot I am.
Lying in my bed alone, I searched the internet and found footage of her dancing onstage. Couldn’t stop watching. Had to replay the videos again and again. She was like a feather who knew how to control the wind rather than the other way around. I’m in complete agreement with the reason for her sadness. It would be a tragedy if she never performed again.
So I get why she cries.
But I still hate it.
No man likes to see a woman cry. The sobs are from her heart and she lets loose at random, unpredictable moments.
They kill me.
A friend of hers came by our apartment two days ago—Logan Clark. I thought he’d hurt her feelings by the way she was wailing. I came running, and she bit my fucking head off. 1 We didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the day. I spent extra time at the gym working off steam. Had to take another shower and dry my fucking hair all over again. I hate that.
Marion is not an easy woman to be around, that’s for fucking sure.
Throwing my big feet onto the carpet, I run lazy fingers through my mop and rise up, naked, to hit the head.
The ballerina doesn’t wake up early. Clothes aren’t yet necessary. She won’t be awake until mid-afternoon, probably.
How long is that going to last? Sleeping the whole day is a waste of a life.
She’s grieving.
I get it.
And I need to stop thinking about her so much, get my mind in the game.
What’s on the agenda today? First, gym. Next, Trader Joes for groceries. Then come back home and research launching this thing. I’m learning algorithms surrounding marketing, something I’ve never tackled before. But hey, none of us fell out of the womb knowing how to talk.
As with anything, we study, learn, fail, learn some more, and eventually master what was once unknown. This applies to every little damn thing we do.
My motto?
If they can do it, so can I.
I just have to focus my energy with interest, desire, passion.
Not a reach.
I’ve never wanted anything more than bringing my idea to fruition. I really think it could help people. Wouldn’t mind making a living off of doing that.