I reach the door unscathed and open the door, finding Noah in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, holding a long-stemmed rose. “Will you go to the movies with—what the hell is going on in your kitchen?”
I’m scared to turn around. I didn’t think to look in the kitchen before answering the door. I jinxed myself.
I slowly turn on my heels, finding the most disturbing scene I never want to see again.
This time I really mean it when I say that was the final straw.
Chapter 18
After the culinarydelight brought to us by Kricket and the “innocent” Tristan last night, I wasn’t quite in the mood to catch a movie, even with Noah’s nice gesture of offering to join me. Instead, we left the sexually violent scene and walked back to his villa, where we sat quietly for a good hour. I think we’re both a little scarred from last night.
When I got the courage to go home, the house was thankfully, once again quiet, except for my fingers tapping against my phone. I sent Bradley a very sweet, but direct message.
Me: Bradley Spencer, get your ass back to the villa immediately, or I will burn it down before I leave.
He didn’t respond, of course, but it was late at night. Now, it’s nine in the morning, and there is no excuse, especially since I’m doing my best to reach him via a phone call. His number keeps going right to voicemail.
I agreed to roommates. I realize this, but if I were to have gone onto one of those roommate matching websites, I would have specified that I’m not okay with walking in on kink parties that may or may not involve dildos hanging from the chandelier and vibrators attached to the end of a blender’s beaters. I don’t care how big the bottle of lube is. Just no.
My lady-parts cringe at the thought. It looked like a torture chamber, but what was happening on the kitchen table ... to his ... backside ... I can’t erase what I saw. I can never eat at that table or use a mixer beater again. Ow.
I don’t know how many times I have sat on my bed half-awake in a see-through white shirt and short shorts when the doorbell has rung. There are no quiet hours here, and that should be resolved. I already know neither of the psycho twins will answer. I should just ignore it.
I will ignore it and take my time to get dressed.
The doorbell rings again, followed by beating on the door.
“Jesus, I’m coming!” I scream.
“Yeah, I never said that last night, weird,” I hear Kricket mutter from down the hall.
Oh, gross. I want to plug my fingers into my ears, so I don’t have to hear anything else come from her mouth ... anything, at all.
I keep my sights set on the front door as I move down the stairs. “Right there,” I hear. “No, use that—”
“This?”
Why am I still able to hear things with my ears plugged up?
“No, Tristan, use ... this.”
“That?”
“Use it, now,” Kricket scolds him.
My imagination might be going a little wild, but I hear weird metal screaming noises and again, I’m clenching.
I rush to the door, suddenly preferring the company on the other side versus the shit going on in my house.
Maybe I shouldn’t be completely startled by the sight of Bradley, but I am. He and his radiant bride-to-be stand in front of me, their shadows hovering like demons.
“Oh,” I say. “You came.”
“I’m coming too!” I hear from Kricket’s room.
“What the hell is that?” Bradley asks. “And hi, we need to talk.”
“Ya think?”
