Noah turns to face me and sweeps his hand across my cheek. “I’m not leaving yet. Give me until the morning. I’ll get this fixed.”
“How?” I question, louder than I should have.
“Most people don’t read the fine print, Ash, but—“ Noah leans forward and gently brushes his lips against mine. “I do. I read the fine print.”
“Gentleman, thank you all for your devotion until this point,” Ronald addresses the rest of the men standing before him, waiting to salute the guy’s ass. “Carry on, but be aware, you could easily be next.”
“Will they choose love or money?” A female’s voice echoes in the distance. Krow is standing on our front step, looking like a zombie as she stares out into the night’s sky. “Soon, we’ll all know the answer.”
Noah walks me to my front door as the other men disperse and return to their appropriate villas. “Don’t worry, okay?”
“That guy is an asshole,” I add in.
“Maybe, but you don’t have to be an asshole to be just a little smarter than he is. Give me a chance.” Noah sweeps his arm around me and pulls me in, making me forget about the trouble I got him in. I know it takes two to tango, but I should have made it harder for him to give it all up.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I’m not. You are worth every second of my time.”
In no world am I worth two million dollars.
As per the cycle of madness around here, I woke up at five a.m. and my head has been spinning for the last three hours. I’m feeling a thousand different things at once, but most of it is anger. The odds that I find a man I’m attracted to, and he has a great personality, and a good head on his … everything, I should only expect things to end up like this: in chaos.
I miss being able to wake up and just shout across the tiny apartment for Gracie. I didn’t realize how nice it was to live with a friend, someone to talk to and vent to. Now, I’m feeling confined and stuck with crazies in this house.
My phone lights up on my nightstand with a calendar reminder that I have to work tomorrow at eleven. I know, I know. I grab the phone to snooze the alert and find a message from Gracie that came in late last night. I must have already been asleep.
Gracie: My spidey sense told me to check in on you and your man problems. Miss you, lady.
I haven’t messaged Gracie much in the last week because I figured she was busy with her new upscale New York, city-living job. In truth, I’ve been a little jealous and kind of didn’t want to hear how great it was all going. I thumb out a message back to her.
Me: Hope I’m not waking you too early on a Sunday. Things are interesting. The good news is, I met someone. The bad news is, he might hate me soon.
It takes a few minutes before I see the dots flicker beneath my last message.
Gracie: I told you butt play is meant for the fourth date or beyond, Ash. It’s a rule to live by.
Me: Thanks, but that’s not the problem. Though everything was pretty amazing in that department.
For good measure, I send her an emoticon of an eggplant. She’ll know what I mean.
Gracie: Damn, girl. Listen, everything is going to be alright. Everything's gonna be alright … And nobody's gotta worry 'bout nothing ... Just don’t get an eggplant stuck where the sun doesn't shine, and life will be perfect. PS, I have a few four-day weekends I get to use up by the end of the year, and I want to come and visit you. Make room for Gracie!
Only Gracie could manage to squeeze in a Bob Marley song and a dirty joke into one text message.
Me: YES! I can’t wait to see you. I miss you so much.
These are the conversations that would have me nearly peeing my pants before I got out of bed in the morning, but it’s not the same over text. It’s not the same when I’m sitting in a beautiful villa overlooking the water and trying to block out some weird crying sound from next door.
When the sound of wood begins hammering against the connecting wall, I know I need to get the hell out of this bed and move to a space where I can’t imagine what’s going on next door. The fact that I can imagine the scene is disturbing in itself.
After I throw on some jogging shorts and a t-shirt, I tie my hair up and head down the stairs, humming to myself, so I block out the donkey sounds. I just want a bottle of water and my running shoes.
Except, that won’t be so easy when Bradley is sitting at the contaminated kitchen table, his elbows planted firmly on the placemat, and his fists are holding his chin up. He sighs when he sees me.
“Where’s your wife?” I ask him.
“We’re not married yet,” he replies.
