“And just what do you think I’m up to?” I ask, rising from the floor and tossing the used rag into a bin next to the laundry room.
“Were you cleaning the floor?” she asks, taking stock of the bucket and scrub brush I’m rinsing off in the sink. “You’re the house manager, Liza, not the housekeeper. Please don’t tell me you’re cleaning up after these grown ass men?”
“You know me better than that,” I tell her, washing my hands before bending down to give Hazel some love. The poor girl has had a rough morning and she deserves a little extra affection. It pains me to leave dishes in the sink and a mess on the counter, but Blue can clean up after himself when he gets home. I already did him a favor by cleaning up after Hazel. And I only did that because she’s the prettiest kitty in all the land.
I round the corner, coffee cup in hand, as I make my way back to my bedroom to throw on some clothes and start my day. But I don’t get very far. My bare feet glide across the gleaming, slippery tile floor. I’m practically airborne when I reach for the counter, desperate to grab hold of anything that can break my fall. I vaguely hear Bridgette call my name, but it barely registers as my hand makes contact with the cool marble. I grip on for dear life, righting myself just in time to avoid slamming my ass into the cold, unforgiving floor.
The good news is that I manage to stay upright. The bad news is that I spill coffee on every freaking surface in the kitchen. “Dammit!” I mutter. “He is such an asshole.”
“Are you okay?” Bridgette asks, worry lacing her words.
“Who’s an asshole?” Ollie says on a yawn, striding into the kitchen and scratching his chest.
“Who do you think?” I say, reaching for a sponge to clean up the mess. But, of course, because my day is clearly cursed, nothing goes according to plan. This counter is littered with the remnants of Blue’s breakfast because god forbid the man washa damn dish or clean up his own trash. So when I weave my hand through the debris to grab the little yellow scrubby sponge, I knock over all the open containers that Blue neglected to put away.
Blueberries roll across the shiny white marble countertop, and a half-full carton of plain yogurt plops its contents directly onto my foot. And the cherry on top of this shit sundae is the plume of protein powder that pours out of its plastic container and rains down on me.
“I’m going to end him,” I growl. “I swear to god, this is the final straw. I’m going to?—”
“Take a shower,” Bridgette interjects. “You’re going to take a shower while I fix this mess. And we’re not killing anyone, especially in the middle of hockey season.”
“I see your point,” Ollie concedes, ducking his head into the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs. “But Blue and Liza have been at each other’s throats since day one. I say we let them fight it out, duel style. You know, like they used to do back in the day.”
I don’t even have to look at Bridgette to know she’s tossing Ollie the same glare I am.
“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “We can wait until after the Frozen Four. And just so we’re clear, my money’s on Liza.”
“Obviously,” Bridgette agrees. “But we’re not plotting anyone’s demise today or scheduling any fights to the death. Liza, we’re good. Why don’t you hop in the shower so you can clean up and get to class?”
I open my mouth to protest, but Bridgette’s on top of things. She’s put Ollie to work already, and the place isn’t looking half bad. It’s looking a heck of a lot better than I am, of that I’m certain, so I obey my wise friend's orders and head for my room.
Hazel keeps winding her body around my legs, and that gives me yet another thing to be pissed at Blue about. He clearly doesn’t shower enough attention on this sweet girl. Before thethought fully forms, though, I know it’s wrong. For all his faults, Blue adores his cat.
Tossing my solid clothes in the hamper, I turn on the shower and step inside. The steam helps to clear my mind and the way-too-hot water feels good on my tired body.
Today already sucks and it’s all Blue Halliday’s fault. Damn him for always running late. Damn him for never putting anything away, and double damn him for looking so damn good first thing in the morning. It really isn’t fair. Even in the dead of winter, wearing multiple layers and a bulky hoodie, his muscles are visible. I could barely even look at him, though, because every time I did, my mind catapulted back in time to my solo session yesterday and the hot images that played out in my brain.
Whether it’s real life or fantasy, Blue’s too damn sexy.
But he’s also too damn irritating, and that’s what I need to remember. A chiseled set of abs is nice, but it can’t cancel out his obnoxious personality.
Stepping out of the shower, I towel off quickly and slather a little lotion onto my damp skin before twisting my hair into a messy bun and throwing on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. I slide my feet into my sneakers and give Hazel a chin scratch. “Your human is a giant dick,” I tell her. He also appears to have a giant dick, but I keep that little tidbit to myself.
The kitchen is empty, but it’s also spotless, and there’s a fresh travel mug of coffee waiting on the counter for me. Bridgette really is the best. I make a mental note to text her after class, because if I don’t get moving now, I’m going to be late. Grabbing my bag from the chair where I left it this morning, I reach for my laptop to stow it inside. But it’s not there.
There is a laptop on the counter, but it isn’t mine. It looks exactly like mine, except for the giant blue sticker on the—oh no.Oh my sweet mother fricking lord, no. This isn’t happening. This didn’t happen. It couldn’t happen.
And yet, if this is Blue’s laptop on the counter, then where the hell is mine?
5
Blue
Islid into my Portfolio Management class about two seconds before the TA closed the door, so my day is definitely on an upward trajectory. If I hadn’t jogged to campus and taken the steps two at a time, there’s a solid chance I’d be sitting in Coach Baylor’s office right now, explaining that I was late for class and couldn’t sit for the exam. This early in the semester, that would have tanked my grade in the course and my ice time this weekend. But luck was on my side, and I’m pretty sure I aced the test. My prof is old school, and he insists on giving paper and pencil tests so we can’t cheat. A lot of people complain about the guy and his policies, but I don’t let myself get worked up over shit like that.
Besides, the class is pretty straightforward, and the material’s not difficult. I may not like math, but it likes me. Numbers are boring as hell, but they always add up. They’re easy. You know when you’ve got the wrong answer, and you can just backtrack your way to the point where it all went south. Not like relationships. Take my relationship with Liza, for example. Okay, that’s definitely not the right term. Hell, we’re not evenfriends. I just wish I knew how to interact with her without pissing her off all the time.
I’m pretty sure that’s never going to happen, though. Still, I’ve got to figure out a way to thank her for taking care of Hazel this morning and for cleaning up the mess my cat left behind. I know from experience that flowers aren’t the way to go. I tried that after the glitter incident. I thought she’d like the bouquet I sent her. Who doesn't love roses? Liza DeWalt, apparently. When I saw that they’d been delivered and asked her if she liked them, she told me the arrangement was the nicest bunch of dead things she’d ever received.
