Whipped (Hitched #2)(4)

But when I open my door, it isn't Inferno12 standing there. It's the Aussie Hottie. This time, though, he's wearing a shirt.

His blue eyes widen when he sees me, then his face spreads into an entirely too sexy grin. "Well, isn't this a fine bit of luck!"





CHAPTER 2





LACH


A thick wad will get you about anything. A thick wad of cash, that is. "Four months rent upfront. After that, I'll have my house, and you don't have to see me again. Except at your store."

I throw Vi the roll of bills, and she catches it. We've made the introductions. We now know names, but I can tell she's shocked to see me here. A part of me can't believe she's the girl I've been emailing and the shop owner I've been flirting with. Her eyes are wide and green and beautiful, and I can't pull my gaze from them.

She stuffs the bills somewhere… probably her pocket. I keep watching her eyes. They make me forget about the five grand. Almost. A few days ago, I wouldn't think twice about that sum. But I'm changing careers. The new one's more important, but less profitable. Non-profitable, really. Darrel calls it charity work.

Vi grits her teeth. She must be struggling with the decision to rent. I realize the fact that I've been flirting with her may not work in my favor. That's why I made my offer. Come on, wad of cash… come on…

She chews on her lip, pauses, then relaxes and smiles. "Deal. When do you want to move in?"

I want to say now, but she still looks shocked, so I say, "I'm ready when you are."

"I'm good whenever. Let me show you around."

The place is bigger than it looks from outside, and has a comfortable and roomy living room that opens to the kitchen and dining area. There's a giant red couch that takes up most of one wall, with a coffee table, an overstuffed chair and ottoman and a standing lamp behind it for reading.

On the kitchen table is one of those bazillion-piece puzzles with an abstract image that looks impossible to put together. She's got most of it done. "You like puzzles?"

She nods. "They relax me."

I look again at it and laugh. Because that shit does not look relaxing.

She leads me through a small hallway. "There's a bathroom on the right that we’ll share. And this is your room." She opens the door to the left and I walk in.

It's a small room. The bed's a twin. There's an empty bookshelf that goes up to the ceiling and an empty dresser that goes up to my knees. It'll take some getting used to.

I drop my backpack on the floor and slide it under the bed with my foot. "I've got some stuff to do, but I'll be back tonight."

"Sure." She holds up a finger. "But, first, some rules."

"Rules?"

"Yes. No going into my room without my permission. No sitting on the right side of the couch. That side's mine. And no flirting with me."

I chuckle. "Sorry, but no flirting goes against my core beliefs."

"Fine, then no hooking up."

"Sorry, but—"

"No. No hooking up. If we hook up, we might break up. I'm not living with an ex."

"How about a f*ckbuddy?"

She pauses, rubbing her chin. "No."

Her resistance intrigues me. It's not what I'm used to. It's fun. "Fine. I won't hook up with you. But what you decide to do—well, that's up to you."

She mocks laughter. "Ha. Ha. Don't worry. I can resist your sexy pants."

I wink. "But not what's in them. Trust me."

She blushes, then grits her teeth. Her body must be betraying her. I like having this effect. She holds her hand out. "So, do you accept the rules?"

I shake it firmly, and the blush returns to her cheeks. Women love a strong handshake. "I accept."

"Good." She shimmies out of the room, her jeans tight, and I'm glad "don't look at my ass" wasn't one of her rules. When she returns, she passes me a key. I make sure to touch her hand gently as I take it. The moment lasts longer than passing a key should. She shrugs. "Bring your stuff in whenever."

"Sure. I'll see you later." I squeeze by her, letting my palm rest on her back, and walk out of the apartment. I don't tell her all my stuff was in my backpack.

***

Not all of Vegas is like the Strip. There are places where the doors are falling off their hinges and the windows are full of holes. Places like the one I grew up in. Places like the one Kevin is growing up in now.

"Hey, my man Kev. How you doing?" I walk down his street, carrying a brown bag of food in my hands.

"Hey, Lach. Check this out." He smiles at me, his dark curly hair a mess, and does an ollie on his skateboard. The board is missing half its paint, and the wheels have fallen off before.

"Nice. Try pulling your knees up even higher." I step on the board and, still holding the bag of groceries, demonstrate the technique.

"Okay. I can do that." He tries again, almost going twice as high. "Thank, Lach."

We grin at each other. Kevin ran into me a few years ago. Then he attempted to run away with my wallet.

I caught him right away, and instead of calling the cops on an eleven-year-old, I found his mother. She worked double shifts, and the father had disappeared long ago. She blamed herself for the boy’s slipping grades and recent criminal endeavors. I told her I wouldn't press charges, and she told me she'd get the boy straightened out. A week later, I dropped by to see how they were doing and offered them some groceries. A week after that, I dropped by again.