The prickles spread down her back. “How many other apartments?”
“A lot of them.”
Fighting panic, Natasha squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What kind of bug—no, you know what, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
Bugs.Carajo.Just the thought made her skin crawl.
Manny’s eyebrows tilted downward in sympathy. “The management company wanted to keep it quiet. I wasn’t allowed to let everyone know.”
That’s why the jerks hadn’t replied to her emails. “I get it. Okay, so, what does this mean? How long will it take to fix all this—the bugs, and the ceiling?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Hopefully not too long. You’ll be able to leave your furniture in the apartment while the exterminator and contractors work, though you should wrap it in plastic first. And you’re welcome to move back in when it’s all done, but it means we have to hold on to your deposit and you have to pay rent.”
Of course. The prickles intensified, and her eyes burned. “I see.Gracias,Manny.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” he said. “I’ll be upstairs cleaning if you need me. It looks like the guy who lives there moved out without notice.”
After Manny left, a cloud of despair descended.
She was going to have to move out. Immediately. Chest tight, she eyed the piles of clothing, wondering how fast bugs could move.
If only Gina were here. Gina would know what to do. She’d take care of everything, and their lives wouldn’t even skip a beat. All of this would be a minor nuisance, flattened by the force of Gina’s efficiency.
Natasha gave herself a shake before she could pick up and dial her best friend. No, she could do this. She could be an adult, and handle the obstacles that arose.
Closing her eyes, Natasha thought,What would Gina do?
Research. Gina always started by informing herself of the topic at hand. When they’d learned ballroom dance styles, Gina had made them color-coded study guides and playlists.
Natasha pulled out her phone and started a search, grimacing at the photos of bugs. A bit of digging revealed a ray of hope: if she washed and dried on hot, she could salvage most of the clothing. The more delicate items had to get to the dry cleaner immediately, which would cost a fortune, but it was worth it to save her wardrobe.
There. Adulting wasn’t so hard.
Except she still didn’t have a place to live. And she had a whole apartment to pack up.
Andshe was exhausted
Stupid Dimitri and his late-night texts. Stupidherfor not ignoring him.
Shit. Enough wallowing. She had to get to work.
2
An hour later, Manny stopped by to tell her the water in the building was back on. Natasha grabbed the first two piles of clothes and hustled to the laundry room on her floor.
While the washer ran, she vacuumed and dusted everything else in the house. According to the list she’d found online, she was going to have to wrap all the furniture in plastic, and either put it into storage or move it into Gina’s old bedroom.
What a fucking chore. Her eyes and throat burned from exhaustion and plaster dust. She took a break to swap out her contacts for the red-framed glasses she wore at night.
Her phone rang while she was loading the dryer. Dimitri’s handsome face flashed on the screen, cropped from a selfie they’d taken one night swimming naked in his pool. She answered out of habit, then bit back a curse.Sangana.She didn’t have time to talk to him, to be tempted by him. Holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she grabbed a handful of socks that had fallen to the floor.
“What is it, Dimitri?” Frazzled, she snapped the words out, then winced. She’d never spoken to him that way, but she was inches from a meltdown and too tired to care.
“Tasha?” His deep voice tickled her ear. “Is everything okay?”
“Okay?” She let out a hysterical giggle, which seemed to shatter her common sense. Everything came tumbling out, even though he was the last person she should confide in. “No, nothing is okay. My bathroom ceiling fell in, there’s a leak in my bedroom, and my building is infested with bugs. I have nowhere to live, and I’m running on three hours of sleep because I spent all night withyou.So, no, I’m not okay. And I don’t have time for whatever kinky thing you have planned, so just . . .ask someone else.”
And then she hung up on him, something else she had never done before. Before she could call him back to apologize, she slapped the phone down on top of the dryer and kept shoving wet clothing inside. It was better this way. She was trying to keep her distance from him—and doing a terrible job of it, if last night was any indication—so maybe this would push him away and give her some breathing room. Their interactions didn’t extend to hysterical babbling into the phone about real-life things, things that had nothing to do with dancing or fun or sex.
