It’s Raining Men
Aftermymostlycoldshower, self-inflicted to cool myself the hell off after that strange altercation with Cruz, I changed into a pair of satin pajamas with shorts and a button-up shirt, then emerged from my new room. I have no idea what I am about to walk in on, but the smell of fresh basil, tomatoes, and melted cheese is calling my name, and my stomach will not let me miss another meal.
I find Cruz sitting on the sofa with a beer in one hand and an open pizza box on the table in front of him. The TV is on, with what looks like some sort of professional fighting on it. One dude thumps the other across the face, and blood flies across the mat. I wince indisgust and look away. I have never been one for violence. The sight of blood turns my stomach, and I can’t understand how anyone gets enjoyment out of watching people hurt each other.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a few different flavors.” Cruz motions to the kitchen counter, and I find six boxes stacked up.
“Cruz, there is enough here for an entire family.”
“Jagger will eat what we don’t,” he mumbles through a mouthful.
I open a couple of boxes and find something that looks appealing — mozzarella cheese, pesto, and prosciutto, yum. “Do you have plates?” I call back.
“Just eat out of the box.”
I’m not a pig, I think to myself but refrain from actually saying it, not wanting to cause another confrontation with him. Trying to get familiar with the kitchen, I open cupboard after cupboard. After the third try, I find some dinner plates. I pull one free and stack four slices onto it. When I look up, I find Cruz watching me again. Why is he always watching me?
“There is soda in the fridge,” he says, then returns his attention to the fight.
“Thanks.” I find myself a lemonade and carry it over to the dining table, taking a seat. You can do this, Daisy. See, you’re eating dinner like a normal person with roommates. I guess that’s what this situation is going to be. I pull out my phone and take a quick snap of the delicious-looking food, uploading it to my new Instagram account with a caption of “yum!”
“You’re not going to watch the fight with me?” He grins like he knew it all along.
“I want to enjoy my food,” I mutter, disgusted. I tuck away my phone and grab a cheesy slice of pizza.
To my surprise, he shuts off the TV and collects his greasy pizza box, then carries it to the table and takes the seat beside me. The sudden silence in the room is ringing in my ears. He watches me, his lips turning up at the sides just slightly. “You don’t like MMA?”
I take a bite. It’s not like pizza from back home, but the crust is wood-fired, and the toppings are surprisingly tasty. “It’s barbaric,” I respond when I have finished chewing.
He tilts his head. “I think you’re watching it wrong. It’s a sport.”
I glance back at him, confused as to what he is going on about. How could I watch it wrong? “I suppose a guy like you gets off on the violence of it all.”
He points to his chest. “A guy like me?” he says as if I have just insulted him.
“One caught in the middle of the night creating violence of his own.” I spell it out for him.
He throws his head back, laughing. “It’s cute you know me so well already.”
I roll my eyes as I pick up my next slice. Is he kidding me?
The front door opens, and I freeze. I was hoping that by the time Jagger got home I would be tucked up in bed fast asleep with my door locked and I wouldn’t have to deal with him until the morning, but when I glance toward the door, I see it’s not him at all.
“You’d better have left some for me,” Asher calls as he tosses his jacket over the back of the sofa. He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes locking with mine when he finds me at the table. “Daisy, what are you doing here?”
I offer a half smile, feeling kind of awkward after everything that happened today, first the lap dance and then the telling-off by Sloane.And now I’m sitting here eating pizza in my PJs. I was hoping to avoid him for the immediate future. “This was the place Sloane was talking about, where I could stay for a while. I didn’t realize it came with roommates, or I might have declined the offer. Don’t tell me you live here as well?”
He covers his heart as if I just wounded him. “Nope. I’m just here for the food and the fight.” He glances toward the flat-screen TV. Seeing it is blank, he looks back to Cruz, his face scrunched up. “What the hell, Bro, the third fight should be on by now.”
“Not you as well.” I roll my eyes. They land on Cruz, wondering if he instigated this awkward dinner after he found out I had already crossed paths with Asher at the club today. Seems like the kind of thing he would do just to cause chaos.
His twisted grin tells me all I need to know; he most certainly did. “It’s recording, we can watch it after we eat. Thought we’d better entertain our new guest. She’s violence averse.”
Asher takes a box off the kitchen counter and brings it over to the table. Pulling a chair out, he spins it around so he’s sitting wide-legged straddling it, looking at me like he’s picturing me grinding up on his lap.
I glance away quickly, pretending to be super interested in my pizza toppings. I can’t handle him looking at me like he wants to eat me and not his dinner. He saw too much of me today, and I really hope I don’t start regretting it.
“Why do I feel like I just interrupted something?” he asks, glancing between us as he noisily munches on a slice of extra-cheesy pizza.
