“No way. Three years? You’re exaggerating,” I accuse him through narrowed eyes.
“I wish I was, girl scout. Trust me, if I knew a clean hooker, I would hire her over you in a heartbeat to go bang some sense into him.”
“I thought men couldn’t go a few days without humping someone or they’ll explode.”
“We can’t, usually,” Malcolm agrees. “Nash is loyal to a fucking fault. His head is all messed up, and I don’t know what else to do for him.”
“So, you’re recruiting me to be his servant-slash-whore because that’ll make him feel better?”
“How about you start by just trying to be his friend and go from there, yeah? And keep this and the real reason you’re here to yourself. No need to give him another reason to spiral.”
“Fine,” I agree, jerking the cash from his hand. “Not like I really have a choice unless I want to move again, right?”
“I think we’re finally on the same page,” he replies. “Since he probably won’t open up if you knock, I’ll give you my spare key to his apartment.”
I look at the gold key in his hand in complete disbelief. “You want me to just barge into his place without his permission?”
“Yes,” Malcolm agrees. “Don’t worry. I took all of his guns and big knives, so he probably won’t attack you. It’s not like he has the energy to put up a fight.”
“He ‘probably’ won’t attack me? Seriously?”
“Just say I hired you to clean and cook for him. Tell him that I’ll come kick his ass if he has a problem with it.”
“This is going to be a train wreck,” I mutter to myself.
“Like you’ve got anything better to do?” Malcolm huffs before he starts to walk away. “I’ll be calling you or dropping by once a week to see if you’re making progress. My phone number is in your contacts if he gets worse or you need anything.”
“Being a blackmailing dick while looking like Jesus really should be a crime!” I yell at his back.
“Good thing it’s not or I would be serving a life sentence!” is his gruff response.
Chapter Five
Nash
* * *
The smell of smoke hits my nose seconds before the screeching of the fire alarm goes off.
What the fuck? Is someone trying to burn down the apartment complex?
I actually made it to my bed before I passed out last night, so I push myself up to a sitting position. After the room stops spinning, I throw my legs over the side to stand up and stagger out of the bedroom in nothing but the navy-blue sweats I’ve had on for so many days I’ve lost count to try and find the source of the smoke.
It immediately hits me that I must have wandered into and passed out in the wrong apartment last night. There’s a girl in the kitchen surrounded by dark smoke struggling to push up the small window over the sink. Things get stranger as I glance around the living room. The furniture is the same as mine, but there’s no trash or old beer bottles strewn all over the tables, counters or piled up on the floor like I left mine yesterday.
Hoping I can slip out of the apartment without the girl seeing me, I pad barefoot quietly across the floor to the door. My hand has just wrapped around the knob when she exclaims, “Hey! You’re awake!” at a volume that should never be used unless someone’s being murdered.
Without turning around, I mutter, “Sorry I crashed in your bed.” I’ve got the door open and I’m halfway out when a small hand grabs my elbow to stop me.
“Wait! Where are you going? I’m making you breakfast. I promise not all of it’s burnt!”
Good god, she’s even louder standing right behind me. I turn around to ask what kind of twilight zone I fell into, but then I get a good look at her. She’s almost short enough to be classified as a midget and is so lean she probably doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her sandy blonde hair is pulled back, leaving only a row of thick bangs across her forehead. Her triangular face is either small or just looks tiny thanks to all the bangs and a large pair of black-rimmed glasses that take up more than half of it. The ocean blue eyes looking up at me from behind the glass look huge and also familiar, along with the smell of fruit and flowers…
“I’m Lucy, your…” Her button nose wrinkles, and then she suddenly staggers backward several steps in her bright pink flip flops that match her oversized shirt with a giant smiling cupcake on the center of it. “Whoa, buddy. Ever heard of deodorant?”
I not so subtly sniff my underarms and find out she’s right. I fucking reek like month old gym socks. Before I can respond to her insult, the pixie-sized girl dashes away, only to return with a bottle of what I assume is air freshener. She sprays me down with the shit until I taste the ‘clean linen’ scent on my tongue.
“What the fuck?” I shout at her as I try and wave the smell away from my face.
“You smell like garbage, dude! I thought it was all the trash you kept scattered about the apartment, but now I know it was you.”
“This is my apartment?” I ask in surprise.
“Ah, yeah.”
“You cleaned it?”
“Yep. Took all morning and four garbage bags, but I did it,” she says with a big smile, her hands braced proudly on her hips as she surveys the living room and kitchen where smoke is still lingering around a pan of what looks like used to be biscuits.
“And who the fuck are you? A trash fairy sent to break in and clean my shit?”
“Ha! You’re funny! I’m Lucy, your neighbor from downstairs!”
People who talk in all exclamation points should be required to also have a mute button.
“Then why are you in my apartment?” I ask.
“Oh, well, long story short, that guy Malcolm asked me to clean up your place and try to get something other than alcohol in your stomach. No, really, he didn’t actually ask me. It was more like he coerced with threats…”
Oh right. This must be the little bitch from the roof. Lucy.
“Serves you fucking right for running your big mouth to him,” I tell her just as my stomach growls loud enough for the entire building to hear it.
“Hungry? There’s eggs, bacon and I substituted toast since the biscuits turned out a little black.”
For a moment, I weigh the pros and cons of enduring a hot meal with the last surviving member of the Lollipop Guild, but my hunger, unfortunately, wins out.
“Ah, yeah, I guess I could eat something,” I agree. Honestly, I can’t remember the last meal I had. Two days ago? Or has it been three since I ate the last of the peanut butter straight out of the jar?
“Great!” she says with an excited, rapid clap of her hands. I keep waiting for it, but surprisingly, she doesn’t spontaneously erupt in a shower of magical glitter all over my carpet. “You go get a quick shower, and then we can eat without me puking from your horrid stench!”
“Now that’s just fucking rude,” I tell her when her comment contradicts her pixie-like, goody two-shoes appearance.
Ignoring me, she heads into my bedroom saying, “I should probably throw your sheets in the wash too now that you’re up! Are there any cumsocks or cumrags in your bed I need to know about? If so, they will definitely make me barf.”