Good Girl : An Enemies-to-Lovers, Roommate Romance (Alphahole Roommates Book 2), page 33
We fucked in the kitchen on Tuesday and she didn’t say anything.
There wasn’t time for her to say anything, though.
“Because you’re avoiding her after you … what … had sex with her?”
“She hasn’t given you any details?” I ask.
“Of course she hasn’t. She’s not like that! The only reason I even know anything is going on is because I called her about sending me back the money. And of course I haven’t said a word to her about anything you’re going through, but maybe if you told her what you’re dealing with-”
“What money?”
“I gave her money when the shit hit the fan, when you got there from St. Kitts and she sent it back to me. I told her to keep it and I’ve sent it back to her and then she sent it back to me again so we’re having this argument over text where the money flies back and forth between us like four times and finally I call her, and I know immediately something’s not right. And the thing that’s most not right is you, you big alphahole jerk.”
“I thought we were avoiding each other,” I defend. “Trying to keep things simple.”
Yeah, avoid her unless I can’t keep my hands off her.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
“Do about what?”
“God, you really are being dense, you know that?”
“I don’t know, Carly. Since I’m so dense, how about you spell it out for me?”
Fuck sakes.
“Think about it. And think hard because if you’re not interested, don’t go screwing around with her heart. And if you’re fucking her, believe me, her heart has gotten involved by default. Aiden and I will call in favors and get her another job and we’ll rent her an apartment if we need to so we can get her away from you.”
“No, don’t do that. I want her to stay.”
“I bet you do.”
“I’m not using her. Well… I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, you’ve failed miserably.”
“Shit.”
“So, don’t treat her bad or I will get her a new apartment and you’ll probably never see her again until one day when I get to be her bridesmaid and then I’ll torture you by showing you pictures of her with her happily-ever-after!”
“Ouch. Fuckin’ direct hit, Carly Adler. Err… Carmichael.”
“Yeah!”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to tell her what’s going on in your life, too, you know?”
“Carly, back off. I’m not sure I want to talk about that with anyone.”
“That’s your call. I’m just sayin’, she’d be sympathetic.”
Like I want anybody else’s fuckin’ sympathy.
“Anyway…” I try to push the conversation forward.
“So, anyway, good. Now…” she huffs. “How are you?”
I give my head a shake.
“How am I?”
“Yeah. I know you’re not having a great time right now, Austin. We’re here for you, you know. Want me and Aiden to come for the weekend? We’ll stay in a hotel and we can all do something together. Have some fun.”
My new sister-in-law is whacked. Ready to punch me out one minute, offering to come be my support system the next.
“No, that’s all right. Not this weekend. I mean, if you guys wanna come to New York and stay at your apartment, I’ll go out and-”
“No. No no, we’re not looking to come there unless we’re coming for you. I’d love to come for just Jada, but she’s probably gonna be with her father and we have stuff going on here. We’ll think about it in a couple weeks maybe. If you need us, call us. Any word from the BFC?”
“The B-F-C?”
“Bitch-faced cunt.”
“Ha! Sienna? Not a thing.”
“Hm.”
“Yeah.” I agree. It is weird. But I’m sure it’s temporary.
“I wonder what her next move is. That girl is definitely playing chess, Austin.”
“She’s not smart enough for that, Carly.”
“That’s what Aiden says.”
“He would know. She’s barely smart enough for Checkers.”
“Hm. Grr.”
“Stay out of it,” I warn, not liking the sound of her ‘hm’. “You and Adele are staying out of it, right?”
“Of course we are. We wouldn’t want to put your court case in jeopardy. If she is pregnant with your baby, you’re dropping the charges, right?”
“Do you think I should?”
“It’s up to you.”
“I know. You said that at the hospital but what do you think? Really?”
“Adele doesn’t think you should, but she’s letting her anger at Sienna cloud her judgement. I do kind of think maybe you should consider it because I’m thinking of the baby. Though, that said, I’d fight for sole custody because she’s clearly not mentally stable. I’d fight for custody and make her see a therapist as a condition of her seeing that baby.”
That baby.
I grind my teeth.
“Anyway, if you need us we’re there. In a heartbeat. And Austin?”
“Hm?”
“You’re human, you’re under a lot of stress so you’re not thinking totally straight, but if you intentionally keep hurting Jada, I will know I’m wrong about you and that you’re not a decent person. Don’t make me be wrong about you, Austin, please.”
I sigh.
Two minutes after I end the call, I get a text from Carly. The message is the name of a hospital and it says Rahway, New Jersey.
Another text comes in a split second later.
Carly: In case you want to send flowers. Or something.
45
Jada
My father is being released against medical advice and he’s being a terrible patient.
Since he refuses to stay admitted, I’ve insisted that I go to the house with him and look after him, figuring what I’ll do is run back and forth between Austin and him. I’ll sleep there and during the day commute back and forth over to the condo and do any cooking, cleaning, and shopping that needs to be done. There’s no reason why I can’t do my job while I take care of my father.
I think Dad has only agreed in front of the doctors that I’ll be there because he thinks he’ll get a hard time if he doesn’t. He’ll probably try to make me leave once he gets into that stupid recliner of his.
He’s had a mild stroke, but his test results revealed all sorts of warning signs and the doctors here have told him if he doesn’t make major lifestyle changes, he’s in big trouble. Beyond the mild stroke, he had a fender bender in his car when it happened because he lost control of his faculties for a minute and ran over a paper box, garbage can, and wound up with his fender wedged into the corner of a brick warehouse.
He’s only relieved it was his old pickup and not his Mustang.
He seems okay, physically, other than some stitches on his forehead from hitting his head, and it seems like he’s communicating slower. Despite that, he’s also making it known he doesn’t want my help.
“My sister died of a stroke, my grandfather did, too. Might just be my fate, kid.”
“Not if I can help it. This was a big warning sign with flashing lights, Dad. And if you improve your lifestyle, you’re young enough that-”
“Bah!” He waves his hand.
I dig my heels in. “Dad, I’m coming with you, I said, now let’s go. I’m not gonna stay forever and drive you up the wall if you don’t want me to, but I’m staying for at least a week to make sure you’re all right. The first week after a mild stroke has the biggest chance for another more serious one.”
“When did you get so… mouthy?”
I roll my eyes.
When I get outside and am about to flag down a cab, I see Austin getting out of a NYC yellow taxi, heading toward me.
I’m shocked. I wait until he’s close enough to hear me ask, “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Here. In New Jersey.
“I’m here to find out what’s happening, to see you.” He looks between me and my father, who’s sitting in a wheelchair, eyeing Austin with interest.
“My father had a car accident and a stroke, and I’ve got to stay with him for a couple days. I’m waiting on a taxi to get him home and then I’ll be over tomorrow to make dinner and drop off food, and then – shit, your lunch. Fuck, what if I make it while I’m at my dad’s and then I’ll bring it to you at work in the morning. I’ll do that. I’ll…”
“Jada. Fuck lunch. Here.” He waves at the car that dropped him off to come back. It pulls a U-turn to get to us.
“Do what you have to do. Text me when you get your dad settled. Hello, Sir. I’m Austin. Austin Carmichael.”
Dad looks at Austin like he’s grown horns or something.
“Rich Miller,” Dad says belatedly, extending his hand.
Austin shakes it. “Sorry you had a health scare, Mr. Miller. I’ll let you and Jada get going. Jada, text me, please?”
“Uh, yeah, all right,” I say and then I watch Austin spot my father as he carefully gets into the front seat of the taxi.
Dad allows this. Which is weird. Austin moves the wheelchair out of the way and closes Dad’s door.
I’m thrown.
“Text me,” Austin repeats and opens the back door.
I nod and get into the back seat and then Austin closes the door and taps the hood.
***
Two hours later, my phone signals an incoming text.
Austin: Is everything ok?
I stare at the phone for a few minutes before I make myself reply.
Me: Yes, thx. I’ll be there tomorrow to do what I need to do and grab some of my clothes and my computer. I’ll be staying here at night, but I’ll still do my job during the day, not to worry.
Austin: Why didn’t you tell me?
Ouch. Like you’d really want to know, Austin Groucho the Third. I sneer at my phone and put it down.
***
I’m sitting on the couch, watching the eleven o’clock news with my father, who’s sitting in his recliner, staring at the television with a miserable look on his face. Dad has been nodding for the past hour but refuses to go to bed until after the news.
“Want anything else to drink? More tea, Dad?”
“I want a beer, Jada.”
“You can’t have another beer, Dad.”
Dad mumbles something under his breath and lights a cigarette, staring at the TV.
He’s ignoring doctor’s orders to stop smoking, and he’s already told me to ‘lay off’ about it.
Then he looks at me and says, “Fuck this. This is my house and I’m havin’ a beer.”
He goes to the kitchen, moving slowly like he’s sore, likely from the whiplash of the car accident or maybe because his brain isn’t totally working properly, and gets himself a beer.
I roll my eyes as he sits back down in his creaky, old, smelly recliner.
Dad also wanted steak and eggs and home fries for dinner, but I made him skinless chicken and steamed vegetables. Dad isn’t real thrilled with me being his caregiver right now but that’s just too bad.
I haven’t talked to Dad about Shane yet. I don’t want him more upset. I also don’t want to get upset if he’s not upset. He hasn’t asked about him.
Apparently, Shane got his hands on a homemade shiv in jail and stuck his own throat, his leg, and his belly with it. A guard wrestled it off him before he could do more damage so now Shane is heavily medicated and in a psych ward while also being treated for his injuries. He’s got stitches but didn’t hit anything vital, thankfully.
I wasn’t allowed to see him, spent hours trying to get his lawyer to do something after being ignored when I raised concerns on the weekend and given a shitty excuse about the lawyer being ‘slammed with a heavy case load.’
I’ve written angry emails, sat on hold trying to talk to the guy’s superiors, and I’ve even done a phone consultation with two different lawyers to find out if I can somehow remotely afford some sort of defense lawyer. And I can’t afford one.
It’s been a frustrating few days. I do not need to deal with Austin on top of it. I can’t process anything Austin-related right now including the fact that I had sex with him in the kitchen the other day while I was stress-cleaning.
I’m tucking all that deep into an off-limits compartment for now. To be reviewed and dissected later. Or never. Yeah, never sounds good.
I look around at the house I grew up in.
The house itself is covered in dust, filled with old newspapers, and only the bare minimum is being done. Dad doesn’t dirty a lot of dishes because he usually eats frozen dinners with disposable plates or has dinner at the bar a few blocks away. I have no idea when he last vacuumed the rugs in the living room or on the stairs, never mind mopped the floors.
Mopped. Yeah. That gives me a belly dip.
I’ve already decided there won’t be any more Miss Sweetheart and Mr. Groucho games. I can’t. I did it in the kitchen because I was weak and it felt good to give in, to let him take over and tell me what to do. Feeling him, and hearing his sounds, smelling his scent. I just gave myself over to experience what he could do to my body and let myself indulge in the beauty of making him come. Yes, for those few minutes, I forgot my worries about Shane and my heartbreak about Austin, but once I was lucid again I felt worse than ever. My heart can’t take it, so I can’t do it anymore. I have to be strong and say no.
I have to stop kidding myself that I can do this sex only thing with him.
I don’t want to be the girl that cries in the bathroom after sex, feeling ashamed. I don’t want this to continue to stifle my creativity – meaning all I can write about is him and what I want from him and can’t have.
Dad goes to bed at 11:31 after a loud beer belch without saying goodnight to me and I make sure the house is locked and head to my old room to crash. It’s empty, mostly, just my old bed and dresser in there but none of my personal effects.
When I’m ready for bed, I stare at the ceiling that’s covered with glow-in-the-dark star stickers and just one lonely tear rolls down my cheek before I fall asleep.
46
Austin
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be sitting in Jada’s room on her bed with her laptop open reading from the Austin Smut document.
But that’s what I’m about to be doing. She’ll pick this laptop up tomorrow, so I figure it’s my opportunity.
I should put it down. I should walk away.
God knows I have other things I could be doing, particularly if I really mean to not get in any deeper with this girl.
Instead of shutting the lid, I scroll to chapter four, and start reading, thinking that she should’ve learned her lesson and added a password to her computer. But I’m glad she didn’t.
My gut churns as I read the scene and it begins just like that night in her room with me showing up with the squeegee and the Windex. Only she didn’t call out ‘hard limit’ with me. Instead, she told me she was scared, and I looked into her eyes and asked her to trust me as I kissed her hand, and then she did. She trusted me while I fucked her against the glass and described it as the best orgasm she’d experienced with me so far because she knew she could trust me to keep her safe. And she described her fear. She described it in a way that I felt my stomach dip, feeling like I was dangling off a ledge staring down at traffic. The girl can write.
I almost made myself stop at that scene. Because the story has taken on a different quality. Still erotic, but…more than that.
I read and read, and read some more, sometimes with my pants getting tighter but toward the end with my jaw getting first tighter, then slack. When I get to the end of chapter nine, I have to pace the room for a while to calm myself.
Because the Austin Smut file has turned into a love story. And it’s sitting there unfinished.
And I’m sitting here without her.
I text message her.
Don’t worry about coming tomorrow for work. Take care of your father. I can manage here for the weekend. But I want to see you. Give me your father’s address and tell me when it’s a good time to come over. If you need anything, I’ll pick it up on my way.
It’s late, after midnight, but I give no fucks. After reading all I’ve just read, I need to see Jada. It’s taking everything in me – only because she’s taking care of her ill father - to not track her down and go to her right fucking now.
She writes back ten minutes later, and I realize the error of my play.
Jada: That’s really not a good idea. If you need to see me, I’ll come there. Unless you can just tell me in a text what this is about.
Me: What time tomorrow, Jada? What’s the address?
My phone rings.
Jada calling.
“Hey.”
“You don’t need to come here, Austin. I’ll just make sure I’m there at five thirty or six or whenever you’ll be back and then you can talk to me then. Unless you just wanna say whatever it is now.”
“You don’t need to come here tomorrow, Jada. I’ll come see you.”
“Are you firing me?”
“No,” I say. “Absolutely not. You think I’m that much of a dick I’d fire you because you’ve got shit happening in your life?”
She doesn’t answer.
I lean back against her headboard and feel that for a second.
“I’m not that much of a dick, sweetheart.”
“I can’t play any more games with you,” she says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I can’t… I can’t see you to play one of the games…the Groucho Sweetheart games, Austin. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Why?” I ask, like a jerk instead of telling her the truth – that the games we play aren’t why I want to see her.
“Let’s just say it’s not a great idea.”
“Let’s just say it’s not a great idea? How about you explain why? Why isn’t it a great idea?”
“Don’t make me answer that. I can’t…”
I hear her swallow hard, “I have too much going on right now, Austin, and I can’t pretend. It’s just not in me.”
“What if I don’t want you to pretend about anything?” I ask, feeling my heartrate pick up.
