Page 165 of Worthy

“This is where you live?” he asks, his lips turned down in a frown.

“Well, yes. I’m twenty-two, Dean. I can’t afford a nice place. My boss pays me a shit wage.”

He scoffs and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me up against him, right into his side. And I nearly die because now that I’m tucked under his arm, I can smell him. He’s delicious in a masculine kind of way. I want to turn my face and stick my nose right in his armpit.

He smells like gasoline and fire and smoke. He’s a real meat and potatoes kind of guy. I want to slather him in A1 Sauce and lick every hard inch of him.

We turn a corner in the walkway, and while I try not to lean too far into him, I refuse to step away because he’s touching me and it’s making this whole shitty situation so much better. I would get kicked out of my apartment any day if it meant he’d hold me like this.

My eyes pivot to my dilapidated apartment door, and I almost stumble when I see it. All of my belongings look like they were haphazardly tossed outside, some of it picked through. The large black trash bag they’d stuffed my clothing into has spilled open, and one of my bright red shirts is lying on the ground. A large box sits next to it, the lid wide open and a tear on the side.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, my entire body freezing because I spent years collecting these clothes, scouring thrift shops and yard sales.

And they treated it all like trash.

Listen, if my heels are gone, I am straight-up going into murder mode.

“Is that your stuff?” he asks, and I nod sadly.

“Who did this?” Dean asks, his hand tightening around me.

“My roommates.”

“Why?” he asks, and I feel my cheeks flame.

I don’t want to tell him. I worry he might literally kill someone.

“Not telling you, Dean,” I murmur.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?”

“I’m not stubborn. I just know what I want.”

His fingers clench on my arm. “Just say the word and I’ll make them disappear,” Dean says lowly and the seriousness in his voice makes my entire body tremble. God, there’s nothing like talking about murder to get my libido going.

“No one is making anyone disappear,” I say sternly and then move toward my stuff, whisperingI hate themunder my breath.

I fall to my knees, quickly going through everything to see what’s gone. Not much, thankfully. I have enough clothes left and one pair of heels which were tucked into the bottom of the bag. But there are things missing, like one of my favorite dresses and another pair of high-heeled boots. They will take years to replace.

Fuckers.

Like hell I’m going to go back into that shitty apartment and ask where they tossed them—not that I think they merely threw them out. They probably cut those pieces of clothing to pieces and burned them. But in the grand scheme of things, a few missing items of clothing are not a big deal. I’m just glad I escaped with a bruised cheekbone and nothing else.

When close-minded people don’t understand something, they lash out. Some even become violent. I could have lost my life.

I could be dead.

“Is that all of it?” Dean asks, and I sigh, swiping at my damp eyes, feeling a lump in my throat. Hateful, mean-spirited douchebags. I should have never moved in here. But at the time, I’d been straight out of college and desperate. And they seemed…nice-ish.

I didn’t realize what a bunch of bigoted assholes they were deep down. I should have seen the signs, the red flags. I probably did, but just chose to overlook them in favor of keeping a roof over my head. And then last night, I let my guard down.

Huge mistake.

“Yeah. That’s it. Pathetic, right?” I ask, grabbing the large plastic bag and cramming my clothing back inside as best I can. How embarrassing is this? That Dean has seen me reduced to this.

Fucking pathetic.

“No, not pathetic. You’re not even close,” he says, hefting the box into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat and then we can head to my place and get you situated. This place is a shithole anyways.”

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