Page 9 of On Your Knees

“You’re lending me your car?”

Zeland scoffs. “Oh god no, I wouldn’t let you drive my baby, Pocket Rocket. This is one I purchased when I was wasted. I don’t even remember buying it.”

Now I roll my eyes. “Wow, isn’t that a problem most of us would love? But when I’m drunk, I accidentally buy two chicken nugget meals from McDonalds, not a fucking car.”

“Maybe some of us just work harder,” Ridge snipes, and I turn my glare on him.

“Let me guess, Mr. More Money Than Sense, youstarted a business when you were still in college.” Okay, I read that fact on the internet, but he doesn’t need to know. “And I bet daddy gave you the money for the start-up. Well excuse me, but not all of us have parents who will throw money at us. Or parents full stop. I do the best I can to support myself and my grandmother, so you can shove your entitled opinion right up your fucking ass, and while you’re there, remove the stick.”

I snatch the keys from Zeland. “Thank you for the loan—I appreciate it. I’m only taking it because drunk Joe likes to follow me home sometimes and I don’t want him to know where you live.” With that said, I storm away.

Over the next few hours, I keep serving them, because if Barbie finds out I gave Ridge a tongue lashing, she might actually fire me. Eventually Ridge and Zeland leave, then after that the rest of my shift flies, and I make a decent amount in tips. Barbie lets everyone keep the tips they make. At my last job, they put all the tips into a kitty and split them evenly. I’m not totally against that idea, but one bitch did zero work and still made the same. There may or may not have been hair pulling when I said as much, and I also got fired for starting that fight.

Zeland left me a huge tip, with way too many zeros, and I will bring it up with him at the house. I clock off and head out to the parking lot, holding up the key and clicking it. When the lights on a fancy-looking silver SUV flash, I almost die. Holy fuck, that is a nice car, but I have no idea what type; my knowledge of cars is restricted to color.

Why he left me a car this size is beyond me. I haulmyself up into the driver’s side and pull the seat all the way forward toward the steering wheel. I’m not even sure how to work this thing, so I push my foot on the brake, then press the button that says start. The car comes to life.

Thankfully, the car has GPS because my phone is an old piece of crap that I refuse to upgrade until it dies. If I’m honest, it will be soon, but with no friends or family besides my grandmother, and no one who calls or texts me except her facility or Barbie calling me in for an extra shift, it’s not a pressing expense.

I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I drive through the streets with the stereo blasting “Beautiful Things” by Benson Boone, and I turn the volume up more and belt out lyrics at the top of my lungs. I pull into Zeland’s driveway, stopping at the gate, and hold my card against the fancy security box. The light flashes and brings up a numbered pad where I type in the code his housekeeper gave me. The gates slide open and I pull in, driving all the way to the house. I also need to stop referring to it as a house because no house I have seen in my life looks like this one.

The garage door opens as I approach, and I wonder if it’s automatic when the car arrives back or if Zeland is watching on his security camera. I flip him off through the windscreen, just in case.

Moving the SUV into the underground garage slowly, I look around and my mouth drops open. There aren’t only a couple cars in here, this is like a showroom floor. There are big cars like this one, sports cars, regular-looking cars, trucks. I’m confident there is one of everything down here. Since they seem to be separated by type, I slow near the other SUVs and see a vacant spot. I pull in, parking a little wonky because I was scared to scratch any of them and they are packed in tight.

Thankfully, I’m small and I can slide out, but now I don’t know how to get into the house from here. As I walk toward where it makes sense for a door to be, I spot a large rack with keys and place these back where they belong. The door is where I guessed, and when I twist the handle, it clicks open.

I make my way upstairs into the kitchen. I have already memorized most of the places in this monstrosity of a house that I need: my room, the kitchen, the laundry, and the front door.

Speaking of the kitchen, I stop past and open the fridge to get my dinner. Zeland asked their housekeeper to make a plate for me. Pulling out the burritos, I put them into the microwave. While I wait, I push up onto my tippy-toes and get a glass down, then fill it with water. As I turn, I see a shadow from the corner of my eye, and as a natural reaction, I fling my glass of water at the intruder.

“For fuck’s sake, stray! What the fuck are you doing?”

I clutch my free hand to my chest, feeling my heart race. “Getting a fucking drink and dinner. What are you doing?”

The lights flick on, and I snort to see Ridge’s white shirt stuck to his chest. “Ilive here.”

“Obviously, dickhead, but why are you here lurking in the dark? Were you watching me?”

“I wasnotwatching you. The awful music you were blasting in the drive was loud enough to wake the dead. I came down to get some water.”

“You’re welcome then—it seems the water found you.”

He rolls his eyes as he unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off his wide shoulders. The man is not only tall, but built. That is a shitload of abs for one person, and his V... holy fucking shit, it makes my mouth water. An arrogant asshole should not have all that going on.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Zeland says, appearing out of nowhere. He grabs me by the waist, lifts me effortlessly into the air, before kissing my cheek and depositing me back on the ground as my burritos beep. He walks over to the microwave and removes them, placing the plate quickly down onto the counter.

Seeing Zeland in only sweats isn’t uncommon, but both he and Ridge shirtless short circuits my brain. As Zeland leans back against the counter, his dick print doesn’t go unnoticed, and I move forward to grab my plate.

“Leaving so soon, Pocket Rocket?” Zeland quips.

“Yes, all those tanned abs, arrows to the D, and dick prints are making me hot. I need food, a shower, and to flick the bean before I do something I will regret come tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Zeland calls out. “If you need a hand, let me know.”

I shake my head and scurry as fast as I can from the room.

I will not fuck my roommate because I enjoy living here and Zeland is fun to be around. In no world would this work if we fucked—I would have a one-way ticket back on the street with nowhere to go.

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