“Oh my god.” I covered my eyes and backed away slowly. “You guys are like two slobbering wildebeests in heat.”
After two more episodes of The Office (first season, of course), they left. It’s not like the three of us could all share the one futon, but it still made me sad to lock the door behind them. I hurried to the window and watched them hail a cab. It pulled up to the curb and Julian opened the door for Jo, sweeping a kiss across her lips before they slid into the back together. They weren’t slobbering wildebeests. They were the cutest people in the entire world and they made me almost sick with envy every time I saw them doting over one another. When was the last time I’d had a relationship like that? I think I had shown that much affection to a Snicker’s ice cream bar once, but it had been a tragically one-sided affair. I’d never loved a man like she loved Julian.
I scrubbed away remnants of cheese from a plate and then caught movement to my right.
“No! You’re not allowed out!” I yelled at the cockroach. “God, at least wait until I leave.”
A loud knock sounded at the apartment door and I jumped, dropping the plate into the sink full of suds. Did Josephine forget her keys?
“Lily! Open up!”
Oh shit. The police?
“Lily!”
It wasn’t until my name was yelled a second time that I registered the familiar deep voice.
Dean motherfucking Harper was at my apartment. I’d have preferred the cops.
I swallowed and wiped my pruney hands on the dishrag beside the sink. Okay. He was at my apartment, which meant he probably wanted to talk to me. Or maybe he just needed to get a clipping of my hair for the voodoo doll he was undoubtedly creating so he could continue torturing me from afar.
I walked to the door as he kept hammering away on the thin particleboard.
“What do you want?” I asked, peering through the tiny peephole. He was leaning against the door with his head down. His dirty blond hair was disheveled and curling at the ends. He’d foregone his normal uniform for a t-shirt and running shorts. He looked sweaty, even through the peephole. Oh god . He’d run to my apartment.
“Just let me in. We need to talk.”
He already sounded pissed and we hadn’t even seen each other yet.
“Sorry, no hablo ingles.”
“Lily.”
“I don’t want any Girl Scout cookies. Go away.”
“Oh hello there!” a feminine voice chimed from down the hall. I stood on my tiptoes again and peered through the peephole. Oh dear lord, it was Ms. Whittaker, our landlady. Josephine had warned me about her immediately upon my arrival in New York City. She seemed old and endearing, but then she’d invited Jo to a party. She’d gone, assuming it would be a bunch of old people playing Monopoly. Instead, she’d found herself politely navigating her way through a swinger’s party. Ms. Whittaker was one kinky old lady.
“Oh hello,” Dean replied with a nod.
“Friend of Josephine’s?” she asked, pausing mid-step to take him in from head to toe. I held back a snicker.
“Something like that,” he answered.
She smirked and stepped closer. “Well, a friend of Josie’s is a friend of mine. Say, I host these parties every weekend up on the—”
“He doesn’t want to go to your weird swinger parties, Ms. Whittaker!” I yelled through the door.
She shrugged and offered him one final creepy smile before continuing down the stairs. “Mmm, I’ll let him make that decision on his own. I’m up on the top floor, sugar.”
Dean nodded and stepped back to clear a path for her.
“Have a good day, Lily. Don’t forget I need you and Josephine’s rent check by the end of next week.”
“Got it,” I said.
Once she was out of sight, I stepped away from the peephole, unlocked the door, and swung it open a few inches. I wedged my face between the door and the doorframe and waited for him to explain himself. His gaze slid down what was visible of my body, inspecting the oversized t-shirt I was wearing as a nightgown.
“You have ten seconds,” I declared.
“Cute shirt.”
“It’s my dad’s,” I explained, tugging at the hem. Had I known he was coming over, I would have gotten dressed, and maybe put on a helmet and shin guards—
anything to protect me in our inevitable battle.
The corner of his mouth curled up and he stepped forward pushing the door open with his palm.
“Hey! Just wait a second!” I yelled as he continued to see himself into my apartment. “I didn’t invite you in.”
I closed the door and then turned to him with an accusatory stare.
“Lily, the sooner you let me talk, the sooner I’ll be out of here.”
I flung my arms open. “Oh well please speak, because I can’t think of a single reason why you”—I stuck my finger in his chest—“being here”—I pointed the other finger at the ground—“makes any sense at all.”
He turned to walk through my apartment—which was a glorified shoebox—running his finger over the countertop before inspecting it. Are you kidding me? Who did he think he was? He turned back and stared at the futon, still pulled out flat with my pillow and butterfly blanket thrown haphazardly on top. Add that to the list of things I would have hidden had I known Dean was coming over.
“I’d like to hire you as a consultant for my new restaurant.” He spoke with utter sincerity.