Slide (Black Addiction #1) (8 page)

My sudden burst of enthusiasm caught him off guard. It was the first and only time I’d seen him actually surprised.

“You want me to teach you how to not give a shit?”

“Yes . . . Please . . . Yes.” Manners were important, especially now.

“Ordinarily I’d say that the responsibility of teaching anybody anything that isn’t musical would be a big mistake.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck; he was close to agreeing, I could feel it.

“But—” I encouraged him to continue.

“But, given your impassioned plea, I am finding it very hard to say no. Plus, I’ve always wanted to Mr. Miyagi someone. Sure. Yes. I’ll do it.”

And just like that, he agreed. I had to fight the urge not to leap into his arms and kiss him. That would have been bad. Especially considering we were embarking on this new relationship which didn’t include touching. I was assuming it didn’t; it had yet to be discussed.

“Great. I’m so excited. When do we start?”

“We can start tomorrow. You can wax my car.”

Wax his car? I wanted inspiration, not manual labor. Even if I did
want
to do it, I could barely wash dishes, detailing a car was . . . no. Just. No.

“Rusty, I am not waxing your car.”
Your chest however is another matter. I’d be down for that.

“This might be a problem then. You have to do whatever I say. That is the deal.” His brow furrowed. Oh, wow. He was serious.

“How is waxing your car going to make me not give a shit?” More to the point, why did he want me to do it? Unless waxing his car was code for something else.

“Have you not watched
The Karate Kid
at all?” His eyes widened, throwing out his arms in disbelief. He waited until I shook my head no before continuing. “You are in bigger trouble than I thought. Okay, new plan. You’re coming over tonight and we’re watching it.”

Yes. That’s what I had wanted to say but sadly I wasn’t going to be able. I had plans tonight. Important ones. Boxes. Packing tape. Sharpies. All of which would be sharing my evening along with the big bottle of wine I’d been saving for a special occasion. The special occasion being that I wasn’t living out of a cardboard box just yet.

“Oh, that sounds awesome but I can’t tonight. I need to pack.” I didn’t have to fake the disappointment. That part was real.

“Pack for what? You can’t take off on a trip when you are about to start your training.”

Explaining my predicament further did not fill me with excitement. The opposite actually. But I wasn’t going to lie either. It’s not like my over sharing last night hadn’t been mortifying enough, no point holding on to something as silly as pride now. Look at me trying new things. It was a revolution.

“Not me, I need to pack my apartment. I’m getting evicted. Or at least I will be at the end of the month. No point prolonging the inevitable.” Or hoping for the miracle that wouldn’t be happening.

“So where are you going to live?” The smile he’d been wearing slipped from his face.

“Errr. I can move in with my friend Renee or something.” I was almost positive I wouldn’t end up on the street. Okay, so maybe not positive but mostly sure. Let’s make that probably sure. “It’s not going to be a problem. I’ll be safely on cloud no-shits-given by then.”

“You really
are
in trouble.”

He had that look. The one that told me he was feeling sorry for me, the one that I didn’t want to see. Not from him.

“No, no pity, remember? I’m not here for that.” I waved my hands in front of his face, trying to get back to the happy place.

“Fine, no pity.” He sunk his hands into his pockets. “Pack up your shit. How much stuff do you have?”

“Huh?”

Confusion had set in. Why was he asking me how much stuff I had? Was he taking a survey? Now wasn’t really the time, I was probably going to be downgrading anyway. That waffle maker I had purchased five years ago that was still in the box probably wasn’t going to make the cut.

“Is it just personal belongings or furniture and stuff? Like do we need a U-Haul or can we throw it in the back of my car?”

“Huh?” I repeated again, the words not making any more sense now as he tried to clarify.

“Your
shit.
” He annunciated slowly, probably because I was still doing the deer-in-headlights thing. “My house is pretty decked out so if you have furniture we’ll have to store it in my basement. Other stuff can just go in your room.”

“Rusty, what are you talking about?”

The words
your room
had not escaped me. Nor had the offer to store my things in his basement. It sounded like . . . was he suggesting? . . . no, surely he wasn’t asking . . .

“Stick with me, Ali. Try and keep up. Can I call you Ali? I figured we’re on nickname basis considering we’re about to become roommates.”

“Roommates?” I asked barely able to get the word out it sounded so insane. “Are you suggesting? . . . Do you mean? . . . Are you asking me . . . to come live with you?”

Saying it was stating the obvious was an understatement. Offers of storing things, the mention of
my room
, it was all very neatly pointing to that conclusion. The sense it made was zero. No sense at all. As in we’d now taken insanity to a whole new level.

“See, I knew you’d get there in the end.” He beamed with pride.

Rusty had seemed perfect. I know I threw around that word a lot but it was the only one that did him justice. Perfect body, perfect face, perfect personality. He was an all-winning combo that would render almost any girl stupid—certainly this one. What I had overlooked was that no one is actually perfect, there has to be a catch. Some defective flaw to confirm they were a member of the human race and not some genetically-advanced alien. And I had at last found the glitch in the Matrix. Rusty—last name unknown—was certifiable.

“I can’t come live with you.”

I waited patiently for the men in white coats to arrive.

Any second now.

At least they wouldn’t be after me this time. Always a plus.

“Well, now you’re just being hurtful. First knocking my rise in rock stardom and now turning down my offer of roomies. I know how to put the toilet seat down if that’s what you’re worried about.” Yep, so C.R.A.Z.Y. Beyoncé was going to be singing his theme song.

“Rusty, as generous as that offer is, I can’t come live with you. That would be too much. I mean, we barely know each other.” That was just for starters. Three weeks ago he had been my illicit fantasy. Then he’d been my failed one-night stand I’d told more of my life story to than my best friend. Now he was offering for us to share a house? If Captain Kirk lost his warp speed for the Enterprise, I’m pretty sure I knew where it was. No one could be that insane, surely. My mind was completely scrambled, any logical thought why he would offer me something so huge couldn’t even formulate. BAM. Insta-roomies, who does that? And Why?

Putting aside we were practically strangers, there was also the issue of rent. Or more to the point, my inability to
pay
rent. That pesky little thing called no income hadn’t resolved itself.

“You were going to ask me for a kidney, after that I’d say a room isn’t that big a deal.”

“I wasn’t asking for a kidney. I—”

I. That’s right—me—was now wordless. I didn’t even know how to begin to respond to that.

“Can we argue about this back at my place? Standing on the street is getting kind of old. Loitering is still a crime you know.”

I wanted to laugh. The situation so tragically hilarious that laughter would have definitely been acceptable but I didn’t because this wasn’t a sitcom, it was actually my life. Crazy, unbelievable and improbable—that pretty much summed it up. Which is why I didn’t say anything, standing there silent, looking like an idiot. Because that was helpful.

“I get why you’re hesitant, we don’t know each other but if anyone should be worried it’s me, right? You’ve already admitted to following me, I mean you could be an axe murderer?”

“I’m not an axe murderer.” At least I had that going for me.

“All positive things. No reason to hold back then.”

One thing I had been good at in school was debating, which is why law seemed like a natural progression. It hadn’t been a passion so much as just a talent. The research, justifying the argument—all things I excelled at. Yet with Rusty all that reason I could usually pull together and build a case was lost. He defied logic—his own and mine.

“Assuming I did move in. How would it even work? I’m not after charity.” I risked joining him when the men in white coats finally arrived.

“And I’m not in the habit of giving it. You come, you stay, we train like ninjas and get you back on your feet. It makes my job easier, less commuting,” he announced matter-of-factly, like it was a done deal.

“I would need to pay rent.” My head nodded in assurance.

“Sure, you do. When you get a job. Until then I’ll take an I-owe-you. You do whatever you want in your free time. I’ll get you a spare key cut and you come and go as you please.”

It hadn’t escaped my attention that while he was offering very generously to house me and
Mr. Miyagi
me, the sleeping together ship had well and truly sailed. He said it himself; we were going to be roommates. He was inviting me into his house not into his bed. Which could only mean that there would be other girls who would get that privilege. And I was going to be okay with that. Completely. It’s not like I had any feelings for him other than physical attraction. That would pass I’m sure. Of course it would. It was going to be completely and utterly cool. Roommates that didn’t have sex. Awesome.

“I’m going to pay you back every cent and I’m going to be totally cool if you bring someone home. I don’t expect you to change your life for me.” I felt the need to prove how cool I was by articulating my stupid thoughts about sex.
Sure, he’s not going to think it’s weird that you chose to bring that up now
. In the middle of the street. Completely unprompted.

“Sounds to me like we have a deal. You need help boxing stuff? These hands aren’t just awesome on guitar; I can handle a box better than UPS.” He lifted his hands to demonstrate.

As far as strange days, this one was currently proudly wearing the first-place ribbon. What had started out as hopeless had completely flipped to promising, with a new friend and a new address. And just like that the problem of where I was going to be spending my nights was solved. I was moving in with Rusty I-still-didn’t-know-his-last-name. Or as I liked to call him, the hot guy.

I’d done a lot
of random shit in my time, but asking a girl to move in with me on a whim was up there on my top ten. I didn’t regret it though; the words that had come out of my mouth were exactly the ones I had meant to say. Her moving in made all kinds of sense. I had a room and she needed one; it was a simple problem that required a simple solution.

I knew the offer was probably cementing me firmly in friend-zone. The abyss where nice guys were tossed while an asshole came and fucked the girl they wanted. Her comment about being cool with me having other girls over was evident of that. It wasn’t an accident that it wasn’t a sentiment or statement I reciprocated. Not that she would have to worry about me bringing girls home, pretty sure my dick had lost interest in anyone who wasn’t her. The poor bastard not getting the memo it probably wasn’t happening.

Of course, I also wasn’t a sleazy fucking perv. Able to realize the girl was down on her luck and needed me more as a friend than she needed my penis. Which is why, even though I still wanted her like crazy, I’d made my peace with it. My dick, however, was still in mourning.

Part of me didn’t think she would agree. I mean, brought down to its lowest common denominator, it’s fucking nuts. And yet here we were sitting in her old apartment boxing up shit and getting it ready to move into mine.

“No, you can’t put those in that box. Those go in the kitchen box; you have the bathroom box.” She grabbed the roll of paper towels I’d just packed and pulled them out. “It goes in this one.” She lowered them into a box that looked identical to the one I had in my hands.

“But isn’t it all going to the same place? Bathroom, kitchen—it’s just transportation and will all get unpacked, so who cares what box it goes in?” We were moving her paper towels exactly two blocks from where they were sitting now. It’s not like we were shipping those bad boys across state lines, the segregation was a little excessive in my opinion.

“You can’t just go throwing random things in random boxes.” Her head shook in a panic. “No, order must be maintained.”

“Wow, you are so anal, do we really need to label everything too?” The packing tape zipping across the now full
kitchen
box as I sealed it closed. Her precious paper towels safe from the riff raff like me.

“Yes, everything needs to be labeled. How will I find anything if it isn’t labeled?” More shock, with some disbelief thrown in for good measure.

“We are opening the boxes when we get to my place; it’s not hard to open a box and see what’s in it.” The logic of her process still making no fucking sense.

This shit would go a hell of a lot quicker if we threw everything into boxes and drove the couple of miles to my front door. Instead, we were painstakingly fucking sorting and cataloguing her shit like it was a billion-year-old skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

“I just can’t work like that.” She pulled out more shit I’d apparently mispacked and sorted it into its correct receptacle. “It’s just easier my way; please just do it my way.”

While the situation at hand seemed absolutely ridiculous, she looked like she was about to pass out from the stress. My help seeming to be more trouble than it was worth.

“You look like you are going to have a panic attack.” The box at my feet forgotten as I watched her trying to not hyperventilate over my relaxed method of moving.

“No I just need a minute, this is a lot.” She sat on the floor and put her head down between her knees for a bit. The deep breaths she was sucking in not convincing me all she needed was a minute.

“Hey, don’t freak out on me just yet, we haven’t even got to the closet yet. Wait until you see how I’m going to box up your shoes. Can you say scavenger hunt?”

“Great, now I
am
going to have a panic attack.” The breaths she was dragging in and out of her lungs getting a little quicker. My attempt at a joke completely missing its mark.

“Maybe give the packing a rest for a bit and just talk to me.” I gave up on the packing tape and Sharpie and dropped to my haunches beside her. “Let’s just talk through it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to this.” She shot me a look of apology. “No one is usually around to help. It’s been just me for a long time, so you trying to do things your way is unsettling.”

We’d already gone through the rundown. No brothers or sisters, parents who were no more than genetic donors, and elder grandparents who did their best but for the most part weren’t around by the time she hit college. All of that added up to the girl doing shit solo; that made sense. But I also knew there had been a dude in the picture, the same waste of space who after dating her for two years decided
they had run their course
or whatever BS he fed her and turned around a put a ring on some other broad’s hand. See, photographic memory. None of that shit got past me.

“Didn’t you say you had a boyfriend? Didn’t he help you?” I dug a little deeper, trying to work out if this was the sort of shit that went down if say . . . someone put a spoon in the wrong section of the dishwasher caddy.

“How do you mean?” She looked at me with genuine confusion, the what-the-fuck ringing loudly in my ears.

“Ok-ay, so you’re with a guy for awhile and he’s hanging out with you.” I tried to be diplomatic as we ventured on our path of discovery. “So maybe you’re doing laundry together or maybe you’re restocking your refrigerator, or . . . I don’t know . . . maybe you’re packing a bag to go on a trip somewhere. Did he not get involved in that stuff?”

“Well, no. Not really.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “He’d come over and hang, but he wouldn’t stay over. I understood, considering all his stuff was at his apartment, it made sense for him to go home. And we couldn’t really go on trips since no one knew we were together.”

There was a reason why I hadn’t asked for the douchebag’s last name and address; the main one being that I was ninety-nine percent positive I would put my boot in his ass and tell him what a sadistic piece of shit he really was. I wasn’t usually a violent kind of guy, that chest-thumping macho shit was just an asshole’s way of extreme posturing. I didn’t have the time for that, but Jesus Christ, this asshole was making me rethink my stance.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, he was just really conservative and I was fine with being alone,” she added, needing to fill my silence.

“Yeah, I can see why this is difficult for you.” My common sense told me to rein it in. Her ex-boyfriend and their fucked up relationship was none of my business. I also reminded myself that I wouldn’t do well in jail, a place I’d find myself if me and this loser ever came face to face.

“You hungry?” She wisely changed the subject. Her hands brushing off her ass as she stood up from the floor; her panic attack no longer in a holding pattern.

“Sounds good. Do you want to go out to eat?”

Me being pissed-off wasn’t productive and the smell of cardboard was making me dizzy, so the suggestion of ejecting was a good one. Besides, there was jack to eat at her place and I was starved.

“But if we go out who is going to pack all the boxes?” She looked around at her mostly empty apartment, her concern not justified.

“These boxes aren’t going to grow legs and suddenly run into the streets screaming. And you’ve labeled them so efficiently they’re bound to find their way right back if by some miracle they
do
decide to wander. I’m sure they can survive an hour while we go get something to eat.”

Two things.

We were going out to eat and it was going to be both delicious and fucking enjoyable, and we were going to have to work on her not being so damn uptight. Hopefully, with some conversation that would be achieved over dinner.

“Fine, we’ll go out to eat. But I’m buying.” She grabbed her purse as I rose to my feet and joined her at the door.

“Sure, whatever you want.” I tried not to laugh as I opened the door. She was not paying. No way in hell that was going down, but if the only way to get her out the door was to let her believe she was covering the check, whatever.

***

“Batman or Superman? Who do you choose?” She slowly sucked on her soda while we waited for our burgers and fries. Being that she was paying for dinner—not fucking likely—I got the choice of venue, The Juke Joint getting my vote.

“Well that’s easy, Superman.” I tossed back my answer without even thinking. The classic debate not even a question in my eyes. “Batman has no actual super powers, all he has is a sweet-ass ride and some accessories. He’s basically a Barbie.”

Alison almost choked on her soda as she weighed my point of view. “How can you say that?” Her laugh not only got my attention but that of the older couple sitting beside us. It was a really nice sound. “He fought crime, he saved lives. He’s a superhero.” She tried to pursue her argument, her reasoning clearly flawed.

“Ali, if you’re going to pick a dude who has a fancy closet, go with Iron Man. Tony Stark. Boom, zero fucks given about the secret identity and he built the freaking suit himself. Batman was a pussy.” My latest rebuttal earning me more giggles, her smile lighting up her whole face. And didn’t that make me feel like the superhero we were discussing. Seeing that grin and knowing I had something to do with it. Fuck. I’d pretty much do anything to keep that smile firmly in place, outrunning speeding trains totally on the table.

“Strong opinions, good to know.” She nodded as the waitress slid her chicken sandwich in front of her before hooking me up with my cheeseburger.

The game of twenty questions had started innocently enough. Like speed dating for a roommate, I thought we should cover the basics to try and alleviate any future concerns. Besides, those questions had melted away any freak out she’d been working up at the apartment with the chick in front of me relaxed and laughing. A far cry from where she’d been an hour ago. The game also had the added advantage of giving me some more insight into the girl I couldn’t quite work out.

“My turn.” I picked up a fry and popped it into my mouth. “Pancakes or waffles?”

“That’s tough.” She scrunched up her nose as she gave my question some serious thought. “I sort of love both.”

“No fence sitting, Alison. You need to pick a team. Go.”

“Waffles.” She answered under pressure. Her face not looking entirely convinced.

“Seriously? How can you improve on a pancake? It’s light, it’s fluffy, so basically you are eating a cloud. A fucking cloud. And you can flavor it however you want.” I feigned my disgust. “You and I can’t be friends anymore.”

“A waffle can be flavored.” She threw her hands up in disbelief. “And it’s international. Belgian waffles.”

“Hello, International House of Pancakes? Your argument is bogus.” No waffle would ever beat a pancake. It just couldn’t be done.

“Calling my argument bogus doesn’t win the argument but whatever, it’s my turn.” She conceded, not willing to pursue it further. Probably given she knew I was right. “OOOOoooohhhhh I have a good one.” Her face beamed with excitement. “Thong or panties.”

“On me? Or on a woman? Because you need to clarify if we are talking hypotheticals or probabilities.”

“You would consider wearing women’s underwear?” She lowered her voice as she moved her head closer.

The direction of the questions had taken a welcome and interesting turn. Certainly not one I had thought it would take, not unless I was the one who was throwing it out there. While our banter had been fun, it had been kept strictly PG-13. And up until this point I’d been a complete gentleman. Her cheeks pinked as I drew out my answer, me—enjoying every single minute of it.

“That’s not what I said.” I leaned back against the booth, not concerned about lowering my voice. “If we were to assume I was hypothetically female, and which would I prefer to wear there would be a choice. If we were talking about the probability of me preferring either on a woman, then that would be another choice. As for me wearing either as a man, then choice would be none of the above. See? Too many holes, counselor. Requesting a side bar.”

“Okay, let me clarify, your honor.” She grinned giving up on the dinner she had in front of her in favor of our conversation. “On a woman, not you—”

“Thank you.” I nodded, approving of her amendment.

“—which do you prefer? Panties or a thong?” She cocked her eyebrow as she waited for my response.

“Yes.” The answer flew out of my mouth with very little thought, my concern being on which of those two options she was currently wearing and whether or not I would get a chance to find out.