Page 4 of The Mogul: Leonard

Roxanne

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop jumping on my bed, I will kill you,” I growl, hiding my head under the pillow.

My brain pounds from lack of sleep, and my eyes burn from staying up all night looking at my laptop. I need a little more rest.

“It’s almost noon, it’s sunny, and it’s Sunday. We have to go out for lunch!” Spike cheerfully suggests sitting on my bed.

At least he is not making me throw up by shaking the mattress. Sometimes I really hate my roommate, but I can’t afford to live alone.

“I went to sleep five hours ago, you dumbass!” I throw the pillow at him.

“Come on, Roxy. It’s June. You should be baking in the sun on the beach, not hiding here like a vampire.”

I open my eyes and glare at him. “First of all, my name is Roxanne, not Roxy or whatever your stupid brain comes up with. Second, I worked all night. I wasn’t here playing video games with you idiots.”

Spike rolls his eyes, and I want to throw the lamp at him. Sometimes I love him, but sometimes he is just insufferable. Lately, I lean toward the latter more often.

“Whatever. You know you can work during the day and not spend the night on your computer, right?” he says, even though he knows I hate it when he sticks his nose in how I handle my job.

“I work when the internet connection isn’t shitty because you jerks play video games online,” I spit out a bit too bitterly, but he seems not to care about my grumpy attitude. After all, he’s used to my less-than-sunshiny demeanor when he wakes me up at ungodly hours.

“NASA could launch a space rocket with our internet connection, and you wouldn’t know the difference,” he points out. “But you like working nights because you enjoy playing the part of the badass hacker that kicks bad guys’ asses.”

I don’t answer his accusation because, in part, he is right. I enjoy working during the night, but not because most of my activities are illegal, and I play hacker. I do it because it’s the only time I get a bit of a break from the people coming and going through this house. I can’t concentrate if people are shouting from the other room.

“Just go away, Spike. I’ll take a shower and put on some clothes.” I finally give up. I’m too awake to fall asleep again after this conversation.

He jumps out of bed with a grin on his sun-kissed face and pushes a lock of his blond curls behind his ear. His surfer body and killer smile are what get him all the girls. The blue eyes complete the panty-dropping picture.

I stroll to the closet and grab some shorts and a tank top to change into then head to the bathroom. I turn on the hot water and wait for it to warm up, but after a few minutes, it’s still freezing.

The boiler broke down again, and we definitely don’t have money to fix it. We can barely pay the rent and the bills, and the landlord is a lazy bastard who won’t come out anytime soon.

“Fuck!” I scream, stepping into the cold shower.

“Are we driving your car?” Spike asks as he steps out of our apartment in Venice Beach.

We may be broke, but at least we have a great view. I share my apartment with four other people, and I’m lucky enough to have my own room like the only other girl, Candy. Spike has to share his with the other two guys, and the smell coming out of that room is unbearable. But at least we can see the ocean when we look out the windows.

“Do you have money for gas?” I raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

He stares at me like I’ve grown another head. “Do I look like someone with money to throw away on gas?” he points out.

“So, bus it is!” I singsong.

He huffs and pouts. “What’s the point of having a car if you don’t use it?”

I scoff as I step onto the strip of asphalt on the boardwalk. “Coming from someone who doesn’t even own a car, that’s rich.”

“I barely survive paying the rent. I can’t afford a car.” He states the obvious, and I feel like a loser.

How did I end up at twenty-five, sharing an apartment with a bunch of other people who can’t keep a job for more than a few weeks? Spike is twenty-six, stoned half the time, late for ninety percent of his shifts at the bar, and ends up getting fired twice a month. At least I have a job that I like. I don’t get a lot of money out of it, but I’m able to save something every month for my retirement.

I keep quiet, not wanting to point out the fact that he shouldn’t complain about not using my car. I’m relieved when we arrive at the bus stop, and we hop on the first bus heading downtown. The ride to the Grand Central Market is mostly silent. Spike knows that when he wakes me up like he did an hour ago, he needs to give me time to fully wake up or I’ll rip his head off.

The Grand Central Market is bustling with tourists and some locals. The best part of this place is that food vendors do anything to attract customers to their stands, which translates into free samples to pick from the counter.

Spike and I come here almost once a week when we’re low on food at home and don’t have money for groceries. We walk from stall to stall and taste the goods without buying anything.

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