He doesn’t even need you to do this. It was a pity hire.
Whatever. He hired me.
I set to work, putting on some angry breakup music in my earbuds, courtesy of Machine Gun Kelly and Halsey, and headed into the guest bathroom on the main floor.
And quickly remembered that I didn’t even know how to clean a bathroom.
I’d never actually cleaned one before. Mom and a cleaning service took care of the bathrooms at home, and my parents had paid for the cleaning service to come deep clean the apartment for me and Flynn every other week. Hmm. I supposed Flynn would be cleaning his own toilets now.
Anyway, how hard could cleaning a toilet be?
Then I saw the toilet. There was a condom in it, like someone tried to flush it down and it got stuck.
Welp, that toilet appeared to need a plumber, and I wasn’t one. I closed the lid.My friends are fucking pigs.Indeed.
It wasn’t Johnny’s fault or his friends’ that I was here, doing this, though. I was the one who begged him for the job. Because unfortunately, it was better than the alternative.
I pictured Flynn’s face the other night when he’d come home drunk and stinking of some woman’s perfume, lipstick and body glitter smeared on his shirt, his skin. It looked like he’d been mauled by a stripper and he hadn’t even taken off his clothes.
Did you even go home with her?I’d snapped at him.Or just fuck her in your car?
It was the worst fight we’d ever had.
The worst things I’d ever said to him.
The worst night of my life.
Stop. Thinking. About. It.
I looked around the bathroom. Shit, it was gonna take me all day to clean this house. I didn’t even know how many rooms there were. I was tired already, and I hadn’t even started yet.
Welcome to a grown-ass adult’s life,Mean Me whispered.It’s called work. Get used to it.
Maybe I needed to start somewhere else?
I wandered out. The whole main floor was a disaster and my hangover wasn’t making dealing with it any easier. I glanced up the floating stairs to the second floor.
I bet upstairs is way less gross.
Yeah. That’s why I wanted to go upstairs so bad.
My nerves crackled with excitement, and I knew I was in trouble. Every time my mind wandered up those floating stairs, I got hit with a sick rush of adrenaline.
I grabbed my bucket and started up the stairs, deciding to give myself just a little peek into Johnny’s upstairs rooms. Including his bedroom. Maybe I’d clean the hopefully-not-as-gross upstairs first, then take a break out by the pool for lunch? I wouldn’t even look in his underwear drawer or anything. Maybe.
And if I did, I wouldn’t touch anything. Much.
Yup. Sounded like a plan.
The house had a similar layout to Shayla’s; Johnny had her house built to pretty much match this one. That’s what she said. I’d never been upstairs here, but I knew where the master bedroom was. Same as Shayla’s—that closed door midway up the hall.
I wondered if Johnny slept in there naked. Men usually slept naked, right?
Flynn sure did.
Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
There were a few other doors along the hallway, some of them ajar. An office? Guest rooms for rock star orgies? I nudged open the first one. It was a bedroom. The bed was messed up, covers hanging off the edge. A big wall of blinds blocked out most of the light, but there was a lamp on. And the faint sound of a shower running.
