He looks at me for a few seconds and nods. “I guess.”
3
Lucy
It’s Saturday. That means we have Saturday Breakfast. I stretch and yawn as I try to decide what I want to make. Jessie keeps his fridge fully stocked and his window permanently unlocked for me.
I brush my teeth and braid my hair so it doesn’t end up in the food—again—and make my way down the fire escape to Jess’ apartment. He’s sprawled, face down in his bed, one leg hanging off the side, and snoring loudly. I tip toe past as quietly as possible, heading to the kitchen. I start the coffee immediately. I need a dose of caffeine before cooking.
With the sweet nectar brewing, I peer inside the refrigerator and start plucking items out. I can’t decide between omelets or French toast, so I choose to make both. The sink is full of dirty dishes. Of course. I’ll have to tackle those before I start. And they aren’t even rinsed.
“God damn it,” I mutter to myself, irritated with Jessie. “I get up early to make you food and you can’t make sure there are clean dishes to eat off of.”
Movement out of the corner of my eye causes me to jump and drop the onion in my hand. Park’s leaning against the door frame, clad in only a pair of plaid pajama pants, and watching me with an amused expression. He rubs his face with both hands. “Oh, my God,” I breathe. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He grins and pushes off the wall. “Sorry. I heard someone moving around and came to investigate.”
I pick up the onion and toss it on the counter. “It’s Saturday,” I explain as I start water to wash the dishes—purposely turning away from his bare chest. I really want to take a look at his tattoo, but I keep my eyes on the building suds.
“Okay…?”
I flip my braid off my shoulder, glancing back at him quickly. “I make Saturday Breakfast. It’s a tradition.”
“Tradition? Jessie’s only lived here for what? Seven, eight months?”
I shrug. I’m not sure. He was already here when I moved in six months ago. “Every Saturday since we met. That makes it tradition.”
“All right.” He moves behind me, reaching into the cabinet for a coffee mug. His hips brush mine slowly. I can feel the heat coming off his body and smell his cologne—something crisp and clean, with a hint of smoke underneath. He steps past me, placing his hand on my back as he grabs the coffee pot, slowly filling his cup. I don’t breathe until he steps back. Without another word, he walks out as quickly as he appeared.
By the time I have breakfast started, Bree’s falling into a kitchen chair. She props her long legs on the table. “New guy’s hot,” she says in way of greeting. I smirk knowingly at her. Yeah he is.
“Jessie still sleeping?”
She beams at me and moves to the sink. “Not for long,” she whispers. Filling a cup with cold water, she bounces out of the kitchen. Jessie’s shout is followed by Bree’s shriek and I shake my head, laughing.
“What are you smiling about?” Jessie asks, stalking toward me. He shakes his wet hair, flinging drops of moisture on my face, and I slap him with the dish towel.
“Quit or I’m not finishing breakfast.”
He relents quickly, backing up several feet. “Fuck that. I’m starving. Finish my breakfast, woman.”
I raise a brow, readying myself to cuss him out when the buzzer sounds. He looks at me questioningly. I shrug. “Whoever it is isn’t here for me. This isn’t my apartment,” I remind him.
We both hold still, the spatula in my hand raised between us, as we listen to the door opening and closing. Park comes back into the kitchen—now fully dressed—followed by a guy in a black wife-beater that shows off a full sleeve of an intricate tattoo. His hair is the color of the blue raspberry slushies Bree’s always drinking. He’s pretty, even though I don’t think that’s the look he’s going for.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” Jessie says, nodding at the new addition.
“Not much.” His hazel eyes rake over me and he smiles at me with a mouth full of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Hey.”
“Hi. I’m LuLu,” I say, introducing myself because Jessie’s too rude to think of it.
“Chase. Nice to meet you.” He grins widely at me and I can’t help but return it.
I turn back to the stove and gesture at the pan. “I made plenty,” I say. “Grab plates.”
“You did my dishes?” Jessie asks.
I chuckle, nodding. “Yeah. I had to or we’d be eating off the table.”
He puts his hands on my hips and leans over my shoulder. “What’d you make me?”
“French toast and cheese omelets.”
“Damn,” Chase sighs. “I wish that I had Jessie’s girl,” he sings loudly.
Shaking my head, I glance back at him and laugh. Jessie releases me and pushes a plate at Chase. “She’s not my girl.” His eyes flick to Bree standing in the doorway and I press my lips together. That’s where all his affection lies, but she hasn’t allowed him to claim her as his girl yet.
“Bree, my African princess,” Jessie coos. “This is my new roommate, Park. And this is Chase. We all went to school together.”
“I already met Park,” she informs him.
Jessie frowns and crosses his arms. Park leans into him. “Don’t worry man. I just introduced myself after I found her walking around our apartment.” He holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I swear I didn’t touch her.”
Bree picks up a plate and holds it out for me to fill. She winks at Jessie. “He did shake my hand.”
He growls at her. “The death of me,” he murmurs.
I hand her back her plate and she skims her fingers across Jessie’s bare stomach. “Your turn.” He takes the dish from her and places it on the table, then picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder, carrying her out of the room.
Park raises a brow at me and I shrug as I hand him a full plate. Chase laughs. “So,” he says, “you single?”
Before I can respond, Park shakes his head, his eyes locking on mine. “She’s hands off. Jessie’s house rule.”
“Damn,” Chase groans. “Always the hot ones.”
“What did you just say?” I ask incredulously. One side of Park’s mouth lifts in a smirk and he shrugs, his eyebrows lifting with his shoulders.
“Oh, man. This omelet is freaking good.” Chase kisses the tips of his fingers. “Screw Jessie. Run away with me right now.”
I don’t know if he’s being funny or trying to change the subject. I flip the switches, turning the burners off and stomp out of the room.
“Oh, shit,” I hear Chase trill.
I bang my fist against Jessie’s door. “God damn it, Jess. Get your ass out here, now.”
Bree opens the door, pulling her shirt down over her flat stomach and smoothes her hair. “What?” Jessie hisses from behind her.
“What does it mean I’m ‘hands off’?”
He blinks, rubbing his forehead. He moves past me, heading back to the kitchen. I stay right on his heels. “Thanks a lot,” he whispers loudly. Park smiles behind a forkful of food and Chase chuckles, both amused with Jessie’s discomfort.
“What does that mean?” I ask again.
“I think it means he told his friends they aren’t allowed to hit on you,” Bree offers. She sits down next to Chase and starts eating. They all watch me and Jessie like we’re putting on a live show. This isn’t dinner theater. Or breakfast—whatever.
I glare at his back as he turns away from me and pours a cup of coffee. He’s taking his good old time and it’s just pissing me off more.
“What is your problem with your friends talking to me?”
He finally faces me and sighs. “I’m trying to look out for you.”
I raise my hands, palms up. “I never asked you to do that. Who I date is my decision. Not yours.”
He steps toward me, jabbing a finger toward the table. “He doesn’t date, Lu. He fucks and forgets.”
Park sits back and sets his fork down, but he doesn’t say anything. Bree glances from him, to Jessie, to me, her brown eyes wide.
“You already said something to me. What I choose to do with your warning is my decision. You can’t run every guy off.”
“The shit I can’t.”
“You’re an ass.”
“You’re naïve.”
I close my eyes and clench my teeth together. “I am not as stupid as you think I am,” I grind out.
Park folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side as he watches our back and forth. I avoid eye contact because I don’t want him to think this is about him. Because it’s not. This is about me. And Jessie thinking I’m an idiot.
“I never said you were stupid.”
“No, you just implied that I’m not intelligent enough to make decisions for myself.”
“I know these guys. You don’t.”
“Hey,” Chase calls, offended.
Jessie ignores him as he steps closer to me. “Think Jared, but ten times worse.”
I grind my teeth to keep from saying something I might regret later.
“Listen to him, Lucy,” Park drawls. He pushes his chair back slowly and picks up his plate. He pauses beside me. “Good French toast,” he adds before moving through the doorway.
I don’t miss the use of my full name. His way of making it clear we aren’t going to be friends? I’m not sure.
I skip out on breakfast and go for a run.
4
Park
I open my eyes to a head full of blonde hair hovering above me. Shit. That feels good. I glance around quickly, trying to remember where the hell I am. It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded. Everything is pink. Everything. From the walls, to the sheets, to the curtains.
And then I remember the hot-ass, stuck up girl in the pink sweater from last night. After Jessie made me out to be a fucking predator of all things female, I decided to prove him right. As soon as this chick turned her nose up at the sight of me, I knew she was the one. I smile as I tangle my fingers into her hair, urging her on. She picks up the pace and I grit my teeth.
It didn’t take long to have her bent over her bed screaming my name. She went from “fuck you” to “fuck me harder” in less than an hour. That has to be some kind of record. I chuckle. It isn’t even a challenge anymore.
What the hell is her name? Something with a P. Parris or Page. Penny?
I tap her shoulder, signaling for her to move her head or get a mouth full. She sits back on her heels and grins at me. She’s not nearly as pretty as I thought she was last night. But her hand keeps moving and I decide I don’t give a shit what her face looks like because she has a truly amazing talent.
I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at her as I come. It’s fucked up, I know, but I don’t even remember her name. She’s just some girl that acted like she was better than me, so I brought her down to my level for a few hours.
I’m not complaining about the wake-up call. I needed to get up anyway. I grab a handful of tissues—fucking pink—from her nightstand and clean myself up. As I shove my legs in my jeans, she wraps her hands around my waist from behind, and I cringe.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to go,” I say, detangling her pink polished fingers from my stomach. “Got shit to do. I’m already late.”
“Oh.” She sighs and I can imagine the disappointed expression on her face. I don’t bother to look. Instead, I throw my shirt on and plop down on the edge of the bed to put my boots on. Her hands slide up my back and I have to force myself not to shake her off.