I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(37)

“This is such bull. What was he saying about seeing you tomorrow? Are you setting up a date for boning round two?”

“I’m not going to sleep with him again.” I’m totally going to sleep with him again if the opportunity arises. I already know it. That was too good not to repeat. The cuddling I don’t know about, though—it leads to talking and talking changes things. It blurs lines and pushes boundaries. It makes it difficult to stay on the right side of casual.

“Should I remind you now that you said you weren’t going to sleep with him in the first place?”

“Well, I mean it this time.” I don’t mean it at all.

“A hundred buck says you do.”

“I’m not making bets with you about this.”

“Because you know you’ll lose.”

“I’m going to bed and you should do the same.” I walk down the hall, ending the conversation.

*

The next morning my alarm goes off at seven forty-five. Because our job often requires us to be out of the house late in the day, and into the evening, I’m not much of an early riser, but it’s a showing day and it’s making me nervous. Most of the time I’m not involved in the showing part, so nerves aren’t an issue. However, when we have multiple showings in one weekend, which we’ve been doing more of lately, I’ve become part of the whole process.

And this time I’ll be front and center. As we get closer to having our own Hamptons beach house to flip, which will hopefully be soon, I need to assess what people are looking for and take note.

I pass by Marley’s room on the way to the kitchen to make coffee. She’s still asleep. I leave her where she is while I brew the coffee, aware if I wake her before it’s ready, she’ll be a complete bear.

Muscles I didn’t know I have ache. I eat a banana while I wait, hoping the potassium will keep them all from seizing. Sitting on the stool is uncomfortable on account of the sex last night. I’d grab a cushion from the other side of the room if it didn’t entail standing or walking. Dear Lord, that man knows how to use foreplay as a weapon.

I shake my head and focus on the information for the house we’re selling, reviewing all the important details. I’m halfway through the pot of coffee when Marley comes storming out of her bedroom, a rumpled, angry mess. “Motherhumper! That bastard!”

“What’s wrong?”

“That shady sonofabitch.” She viciously punches buttons on her phone. “He thinks he can get away with a stunt like this, he’s got another thing coming.” She paces the length of the kitchen. She has to push her wild, knotted hair out of the way to get the phone to her ear. “You can’t pull a house off the market less than six hours before I’m supposed to show it.” She stops pacing and props a fist on her hip. “Where’d you hear that and what does it have to do with anything?” She makes her angry, pursed-lips face. “That doesn’t absolve you—I can’t—do you know what a pain in the ass this is going to be? How many phone calls I’m going to get? Fine, yes. We’ll be there in an hour. You better make this worth my while.”

She ends the call, tosses her phone on the table, and throws her hands up in the air. “Stupid wishy-washy men.”

“Can you please explain what’s going on? What just happened?”

“The open house today is cancelled. The seller is taking the house off the market.”

“What? We need that sale.” Without it, it will delay our own flip.

“I know.” She runs her hand through her hair, but it gets caught in the knots. “Fuck a duck!” she yells and then struggles to free her fingers from the mess.

“He said he has a solution, but won’t say what it is over the phone. I don’t know if this guy is hosing us or not, but we need to get over there and deal with it.” She whirls around and stomps down the hall muttering, “Face-humping cocksmack. I hate every penis on this planet.”

I hope this guy really does have a workable solution, otherwise Marley may castrate him. She may be the more face friendly of the two of us, but if she feels like she’s being screwed over, she’s a heck of a lot pricklier than me.

I head to my own room to shower and get dressed. As the numbers-and-paperwork girl I lean toward a more businesslike appearance at these things, but since it’s a beach house, Marley thought it might be better to go the sundress route. So I picked out a cream sundress and a pair of strappy sandals in a floral print for a burst of color.

Marley appears twenty minutes later fresh-faced in a bold coral dress with white heels and a giant necklace that looks like it weights fifty pounds and draws a lot of attention to her chest area. I’m certain this is purposeful.

“I have the contracts. You have everything else?”

I pat the messenger bag hanging from my shoulder. “Sure do.”

“Let’s go. This jerkoff better not screw us out of our commission or he’s going to be short a set of balls when I’m done with him.”

I grab the keys from the counter before she can—there’s no way I’m letting her drive, not when she’s in this bad of a mood.

I put the address in my phone. We could walk there in ten minutes based on the GPS coordinates, but we’re both wearing heels, so no thanks to that. Also, my thighs are killing me. “Wait, I thought we were selling 105 today.”