Page 10 of Playing With Danger

That meant I was smiling when I got to my bedroom door. It was also when the craziest thought popped into my head. I wondered what Valentine would think of the nickname Rambo Sophie. I bet he’d think it was funny.

5

A month later…

I was running late.

I should’ve already been on my way to my mother’s house. Tonight was the night I was going to talk to my mom and tell her… shit, I didn’t know what exactly I was going to say but an invitation to dinner seemed like the perfect opportunity to hash a few things out even though I hadn’t found time to talk to Nathan.

Not because I was avoiding the situation.

I’d been busy.

I’d quit my job!

My plan was to take a week, search job listings, revamp my resume, then start to apply for new positions. But during my week off I started to wonder why I was going back to work for someone else instead of starting my own business. I had some money saved; if I struck out on my own and failed, my ‘Save for a House Fund’ would take a hit but I wouldn’t starve. Now I was taking freelance jobs building websites and copywriting. My first three jobs I did for free to start a portfolio. That paid off huge and those three people referred me to their friends. I wasn’t making enough to pay all my bills but when I cut out my going-out-to-eat budget, and takeaway coffee, and wine I was already halfway to a full-fledged self-employed boss who could live off her earnings.

Something else that had happened was I’d tried to nicely back away from the outside of work semi-friendships I had with my coworkers. Which didn’t turn out to be nice but not for lack of trying on my part. It was just that when I’d agreed to meet Sydni for lunch after declining the first two invitations, she’d immediately started in commenting about the other patrons. I stayed quiet like I normally did in times like these. Not because I condoned or agreed with what she was saying but confrontation gave me a rash. Like literal red splotchy patches on my chest and cheeks. Thus I avoided conflict. But since I disagreed with all the snide comments, I was stewing under the surface. When Sydni called our server fat after she took our order I could take no more. Rash be damned, it was time I started to stand up for myself and others around me.

Perhaps me yelling at her in the middle of a crowded café wasn’t the best way to go but I was a fledgling badass, so when my temper flared I didn’t hold back. That was when the whole restaurant learned what a bitch Sydni was and what she’d been saying about the people around us.

Or maybe that was the right call. Maybe if more people stood up in the middle of crowded restaurants and called their ‘friends’ out on their horrible behavior the world would be a nicer place.

Or maybe in the future I needed to choose better friends who don’t call people fat or make comments about how shiny a man’s bald head is, or how skinny the woman across the room is. Actually, there was no maybe about that. I needed better friends—full stop.

So there I was at thirty-seven sorting through my life, making changes, happy with the progress I’d made. And I’d learned a few things, Tandoori Chicken was delish, Naan bread even better, different brands of spaghetti noodles didn’t taste any different, not working for an asshole boss was rad, and starting from scratch on the friend front—save Hayden—wasn’t difficult.

Now all I needed to do was change out of the slacks I’d worn to meet with the lovely owner of Hot Java into a pair of jeans so I could face my mother. Of course she’d love me showing up in slacks. That was why I was going to wear jeans. Petty—sure. Was I behaving like a rebellious teenager—yes. Did I care—no. I was well beyond the age where my mother had a say in my wardrobe.

I stopped short at the mouth of the hallway.

The shower was running.

Perfect.

I booked it back to the kitchen, found my Super Big Gulp cup, and filled the forty-four-ounce plastic cup to the brim with cold water.

As late as I was, I was never running late enough to dole out some payback.

I tiptoed down the hall even though Hayden thought I was going straight to my mom’s after my meeting. I tried the door handle and smiled when it turned. This oversight on his part was again because he thought he was safe. Normally I’d have to use the baby flathead screwdriver I kept in my room to pick the lock.

Sucker!

As quietly as I could, I slipped inside the steam-filled bathroom and wasted no time dumping the cup of water over the curtain.

“What the fuck!”

The shower curtain swung open.

And…

That was not Hayden.

Nope.

Standing in front of me gloriously naked—wet and naked—was absolutely not my roommate.

My eyes roamed over so much defined muscle I had to be hallucinating. Either that or the steam billowing was playing tricks on my eyesight because…damn.

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