Page 10 of If the Suit Fits
Fuck yes, I’ll accept your two-grand to play house for a week. With pleasure.
“Hi.” I thrill in the way her cheeks flame with a blush that spreads all the way to her chest. I’m yet to touch. To tease. I haven’t even said anything hinting at inappropriate, and already, she’s warm. But I flash a smile that draws her eyes and simply stare until she takes a hint.
“Oh! Yes. Hi.” She takes a long step back and gestures inside her home. “Welcome. You’re right on time.”
“Punctuality in business is important, I think.” I stomp my boots on the worn mat to dislodge last-minute dust and dirt, then I reach up with my free hand and drag my cap off as I cross the threshold and walk into a smell that is purelyher. Flowers. Cinnamon. Wine, even. When she moves, the scent of coconuts follows, and when she speaks, I catch the delicious taste of strawberries in the air.
Bending the bill of my hat and sliding it into my back pocket, I draw a long whiff and fill my lungs with all thingsMelanie Hamilton. Then I exhale and grin when she nervously tangles her fingers and gulps down her nerves.
“I’m going to be a little awkward at first. Just so we’re on the same page.” She nibbles on her lips and drops her gaze, incapable of holding mine. “It’s best I’m upfront instead of overthinking and overacting. I over-analyze by nature. I care that I’m presenting myself a certain way around new people.”Though last night, wine made her brave enough to say otherwise.“I don’t want to care, and I’m actively working on that part of my personality, to let go of those stupid notions and live a freer life. But regardless, until we’re lessnew, I’ll still feel awkward and weird.”
“Hence, a seven-day cohabitation and two-hour a day hang outs.” I lower my bag and hold it by my legs. “Noted. And since we’re sharing and, technically, I’m already on the clock, I could let you know I’m probably your opposite. You care what others think and wish you didn’t. I don’t care, and sometimes I think I should. You’re a nervous talker and fidgeter, and I’m the guy who’ll say nothing and observe instead. You’ve gone out of your comfort zone by initiating this agreement and, more importantly, inviting me into your home. The entire world is my comfort zone,” I release a soft, breathy chuckle, “because I’m rarely uncomfortable. Once you’ve seen how ugly life can be, you stop feelingless-thanaround people who don’t matter.”
“An enviable personality trait.” She slips her hands into her tiny shorts pockets, lifting her shoulders.Defense mechanism. Nervous body language.“Maybe someday, I’ll gain a Nicolas-Ramos-level of not giving a shit. But in the meantime, I’ll pay a man to escort me to a wedding, all so I can feel less vulnerable. My living room,” she points her elbow toward her television, “obviously,” then she wanders into the kitchen for theofficialhousetour she didn’t give last night. “Dining room. You’re welcome to eat at the counter or the table, and help yourself to the fridge and pantry. You can eat outside in the garden if you want or on the porch. You can eat basically anywhere. But at the risk of sounding like a complete psycho, please, for the love of God, don’t eat in bed.”
Piqued, I study her slender back and the roll of her shoulders as she walks ahead of me. “Can I ask why?”
“It gives me hives just thinking about it.” She peeks over her shoulder and slays me with a single, glittering look. “Obviously, I can’t stop you. And honestly, I wouldn’t even know until after you’ve left, anyway. But if I hear you chomping away at night, all I’ll be able to think about is crumbs in the bed. It’s a sensory thing for me, I think. I just…” She firms her lips and continues through the kitchen and into the hall. “I don’t like it.”
Fidgeter. Nervous. Anxious.
Sensory aversions.
Added to my mental list.
“I won’t eat in the bedroom.” I refasten my grip on the handles of my bag and study the swelling globes of her ass wrapped in denim.She definitely has a Stairmaster.“Promise. What about the couch? How do you feel about eating in front of the TV?”
“Because you want to test my limits?”
I choke out a soft laugh. “Well, mostly so I know you better since we’re heading to this massive family shindig in a week. If I mention living room dates and movie nights to your mom, and she replies with ‘oh, Melanie would never’, then I’ve kinda blown the assignment, don’t you think?”
“Eating on the couch is fine.” She stops by a bedroomdoor and turns to look up into my eyes. “Not chips on the couch, though. Takeout and a movie are completely in-character for me. And my favorite color is blue.”
“Blue?”
“Yes, but like, an aqua, teal, greeny kind of blue. In case my family tests you.” Grabbing the door handle, she pushes it wide open and reveals a room of exactly that; Teal. Blue. Green. It feels rainforesty in here and smells as fresh as one would expect in the middle of a jungle.
Which is cool and all. But it’s nother.
I prefer the coconuts and vanilla and flowers.
“This will be your room for the week. You can put your things in the closet.” She crosses the threshold and opens doors and drawers for my perusal. “Whatever you want. The TV works,” she picks up the remote and tosses it to the bed, “try not to keep it on loud too late. I have that project I need to complete, and sleep-routine is important to me.”
Routine.
Fuck me, she’s just a regular neurospicy mess and, as far as I can guess, has no clue there’s a label for that.
“There are extra blankets and towels in the closet,” she explains, then glances up, “and a ceiling fan if you need the extra breeze. If you require more pillows, you can find those in the linen closet in the hall. I’ll show you that before we’re done. I made the bed with fresh sheets this morning, so you’re all set there. And then,” she heads to the single window and flicks the rusted lock on the vertical pivot window. “Push this open,” and she does so to illustrate, “but make sure you close it no later than around six o’clock, or the mosquitoes will get in and destroy your skin by morning.”
“Personal experience?”
She shuts the window again and peeks across with a rosy blush filling her cheeks. “I was going to sayno. Absolutely not. But lying for the sake of lying is dumb. So yeah.” Turning, she sets her hands on her hips. “Speaking from personal experience. My room has the same kind of window, and bugs sure know which way to fly once the sun is setting. The central cooling system is busted, so we don’t have air conditioning, but lucky for us, it’s only April, so the fan should suffice. Set your bag down, and I’ll show you the rest.”
Formal and stiff, she drops her hands again and crosses the room, passing me and stopping to wait in the hallway. So I move to the bed and set my bag at the foot, and while I have my back to her, I draw a long inhale of her sweet perfume to combat the pleasant—but boring—scent of a just-cleaned room. Then, turning again, I dip my chin and follow her back to the hall.
“Bathroom is in here.” She opens the next door to reveal a shared space—shower, bath, and toilet—a long, wooden vanity that should never have been installed in a steam-filling room in the first place, and a tile-design of blue water and yellow ducks.Good lord, the designer should be shot. “Only one bathroom, as mentioned, and the toilet is in here, too, so we’ll have to get comfortable quickly and learn each other’s routines. Otherwise, that’ll become a problem.”
“You follow your routine as normal.” I wait in the hall so I’m not cornering the poor woman in a small room. “I’ll adapt mine to fit. Are you a two-minute in-and-out kind of woman, or a thirty-minute, turn Spotify up and dance your life away kind?”
