“Lauren in Housing,” I say, as if everyone should know who Lauren in Housing is.
“All right. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but let me get some clothes on and we’ll go down to Housing and get this straightened out.”
He moves past me and heads down the hallway. I follow him, trying to keep my gaze from his ass, but damn. “I’m sorry, what needs to be straightened out?”
He raps on a bedroom door. “Val,” he says, and then opens it to find it empty. “Son of a bitch. He must have gone on down to the beach, which is why he took my damn towel.” He goes into a bedroom and opens a dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of boxer briefs like he lives here or something. “They’ve assigned you to a housing unit that already has two people assigned to it.”
I shift my weight from one leg to another, my mind searching everywhere for a nugget of knowledge that would help this make sense. “What?”
He opens his arms wide, the muscles in his biceps bulging. “This is my room. I’m Val’s roommate.”
I glance down the hallway at the number of doors, knowing the answer to my next question before I ask it. “Are there three bedrooms?”
“Nope,” he says, pulling a pair of shorts up his legs.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll just go back down to Housing and let them know they gave me the wrong key card or the wrong unit number or whatever.”
“Did they give you unit number 1624?”
I nod.
“Did you use that key card to get into this unit?”
I nod again.
“Then it looks like somebody down there messed up.”
“But Lauren told me that my roommate’s name was Val.”
He pulls a T-shirt over his head. “Therein lies the problem. When did you interview for your job here?”
“Last week.” I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin. “Why?”
He sits on the bed, putting on his shoes. “Didn’t you need to give a two-week notice at your current job?”
I shuffle my feet, looking down at them. “No, I didn’t.”
“What job did you take here?”
Frustration mounts in my chest. “Shouldn’t we be getting down to Housing?”
He grabs a phone off the dresser and peers at it. “Shit.”
“What?”
“It’s after five. I hope they’re not closed.”
“Maybe someone’s still there,” I say, but in my heart, I know it’s not true. Lauren was the only one in sight when I was there a few minutes ago, and she said she was going to be out of there as soon as she was done with me.
He picks up his keys. “Let’s hope so. If not, you might need to find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to stay tonight,” I say, the volume in my tone rising.
“What about a friend or something?”
I rub my temple, my chest tightening. “You’re the only person I know here.”
He lowers his chin, his hazel eyes bearing into mine. “You don’t know me.”
“Exactly.”
“Come on. Let’s just go and see if anyone’s there.”
I follow him down the hallway, my heart on pins and needles, because unless I can find a hotel room for about ten dollars, I’m completely sunk.
2
Brett
Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed. All I wanted to do was get showered, have a goddamn towel sitting there when I got out, and then open the one damn beer I allow myself on weekend nights. And now I’m in my vehicle driving over to Housing, knowing there’s not gonna be anyone there.
The blonde huddles close to the door panel of my truck, cutting her eyes at me like I’m gonna bite her. Not that I wouldn’t mind biting her. She’s nice-looking. Despite her bossy attitude, there’s something soft about her face. I wouldn’t kick her out of bed.
She catches me looking and glances around the inside of my truck. “What kind of car is this?”
“International Scout.”
“It’s…old.”
“’Seventy-five model.”
“Does it break down a lot?”
“Nothing I can’t fix.”
I stare at the road as we ride in silence, but I can feel her eyes on me. I meet her gaze and she glances away quickly. I’ve never seen so much leg fill up my front seat.
I pull into the empty lot. “This is not looking good.”
She is out of the car and hustling up to the entryway before I can get the engine cut off. She tugs on the door but it doesn’t open.
I meet up with her, and she turns to me, panic in her eyes. “Is there an after-hours number I can call or something?”
I glance around. “There’s maintenance, but they don’t really do much unless your toilet’s overflowing.”
Her expression crumbles as the color drains from her face.
I shut my eyes because I can’t take that wounded-bird expression. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Just get a cheap hotel. There’s a dozen around here.” She bites on her lip and nods, her eyes starting to water. Shit. I let out a deep breath. “Is there something I can help you with? Name of a hotel?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“Did your wallet get stolen or something?”
“No, I have it, there’s just not anything in it. Listen, I’m sorry that I crashed into your Friday night. Just take me back to your place, and I’ll get my car.”
As I follow her to my car, I stare at the back of her head like it’s gonna give me answers. Why would she not have a credit card in her wallet? She looks like the kind of woman who takes really good care of herself. She dresses like the moms who I talk to at work about their kids’ occupational therapy plans and strategies—athletic clothes, but expensive-looking ones like they get from one of those stores that has fruit in its name.
Whatever is going on with her is none of my business. But I’m not the kind of guy who can just walk away
