Page 4 of From Air

“I forgot to tell her where to park. And she’s not in my bed.” When his avatar dies, he hurls his remote across the room with a few expletives.

It’s hard to believe he’s thirty-seven and not seventeen.

“Then where is she?” I snatch my blue YETI Rambler mug from the shelf. “Finishing the job in the shower?”

“Fuck you, Fitz. I get the job done.” He ambles into the kitchen, snags a bottle of lager from the fridge, and twists off the top. “TheJeep belongs to our new roommate. She’s nice. She’s normal. Don’t piss her off.”

Pressing my hands against the counter’s edge, I arch my back and roll my stiff neck. “How would I do that?”

The sliding door opens, and a woman in light-gray leggings and a white sweater that engulfs her body steps inside. Big brown eyes land on me, and she curls her dark, pin-straight hair behind her ear on one side. It doesn’t tame the static, as clumps and strands still cling to her face and stand out in all directions. Her glossed lips rub together before she offers me a shy smile beneath a butterfly of freckles along her nose and sun-kissed cheeks.

As soon as I realize I’m focusing on freckles and thinking the wordssun-kissed cheeks, I avert my gaze and clear my throat. “You’re parked in my spot.”

Will slaps my shoulder. “Just like that, Fitz. Good job.”

“Yes. Sorry.” She holds up a key. “I was just going to move it. Where do you want me to park?”

“Anywhere but in my spot.” I offer the most direct and helpful solution—the most obvious one.

Will coughs the wordasshole. Then he snags her key. “I’ll get you parked on the street. When Maren moves out and Fitz’s parachute fails him, you can park in the driveway beside me.”

“I have a backup chute,” I inform Captain Dumbass before sipping my coffee. Will’s a blowhard disguised as a suck-up.

There’s a reason he’s still single. And it has nothing to do with his job, unlike me. I’m happily married to mine.

“Fitz, just stop talking. Go read a book.” Will shoves his feet into his black boots and exits the front door.

“I’m Jaymes Andrews. You can call me Jamie or Wretched Woman Who Parks in the Wrong Spot. Whatever works.” Her hand floats in the air between us along with the hint of something sweet, like a fruity body spray or perfume.

I don’t think I’ve ever shaken hands with Will or Maren. But I’m not the asshole they think I am, so I shake her hand. If only my other roommates were here to witness my cordialness, it might earn me a little reprieve from their whininess about my disregard for human contact.

Jamie has small hands, or maybe that oversize sweater makes everything about her seem dainty.

“I’m Calvin.”

Her eyebrows lift a fraction. “Not Fitz?”

“Calvin Fitzgerald.”

“Do you prefer Calvin or Fitz?”

I shrug, tucking one hand into my back pocket. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Well ...” She points toward the stairs. “I just came inside to use the bathroom. I’ll try to keep my hydration to a minimum so as not to disturb you.” Her lips twitch.

Is she mocking me? I’m well versed in childish mockery, thanks to those other two.

“I can get you a five-gallon bucket if you tire of trekking through the snow.” I hide my grin behind my YETI mug.

Jamie ascends the stairs. “Before I left Florida five days ago, I’d only seen snow once. It will be a while before I tire of trekking through it.”

Once?

“Did you scare her off already?” Will kicks off his boots and brushes the snow from his hair.

“Scared the piss out of her. She scurried up the stairs to the bathroom. You really should add a toilet and sink in the laundry room.” Suddenly, I’m concerned about the new girl climbing stairs to use the toilet. What is wrong with me?

Will retrieves the remote he threw across the room. “She looks like she’s lived on the beach in a bikini for the past two decades.”

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