Page 46 of Maid in America

Artwork covered the walls, pieces that Barrett was certain he could have finger-painted himself. A winding staircase with a gigantic chandelier above it swirled up to a second floor with maroon walls and bronze fixtures. Hanging from a golden wall sconce was a woman’s lace bra. The black walnut floor was littered with various spilled liquids and empty cups. Beer and liquor bottles sat on nearly every flat surface. Cigar butts littered ashtrays, filling the area with the stench of ash and tobacco.

He returned to his Jeep, tossing his bag inside and trading it for his pail of cleaning supplies.

Once in the house, he decided to start upstairs and work his way back down, assessing the extent of the mess as he toured the mammoth building. There, the bathrooms were in disarray, but the majority of the guest rooms were still in order. He turned down the bed in one room, fluffing and chopping the throw pillows and doing a quick pass for stray trash.

The next one was easier still as the bed was still made.

As he approached the third room, he heard the rustle of covers. He rolled his shoulders back, eager to assert dominance right off the bat to get the errant party people inside to kick rocks. He burst in through the door, and a lump beneath the silken comforter writhed, squirming at the noise of the intrusion.

“Hey, you. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Out,” his voice boomed.

“Barrett?” a muffled female voice called from beneath the covers.

The mention of his name made him curiously quirk an eyebrow. “Yessss, blanket goblin. And you are?”

The comforter pulled back, and the instant her mess of rainbow-colored hair came into sight, he froze.

Chastity’s cheeks rose, her left sporting a smudge of neon green paint, and on the right, there was a smear of deep purple. The look on her face was one of embarrassment, with a smile that said, ‘What are the odds?’

Her shoulders were bare, and the way she clutched the blanket to her chest and the presence of a torn condom wrapper on the floor by a large pair of men’s running shoes told him that she was naked beneath the sheets.

Part of him was thrilled by her sudden presence, especially in a state of undress. Seeing her always felt like being on the crest of a roller coaster and watching the death-defying drop below shoot toward his face.

“Fancy meetingyouhere.” He smiled a little. “Three times in one week. That’s gotta be some kind of a sign.”

His excitement dissipated the moment a man darted past Barrett into the room, a kid in his twenties with no muscle mass and large globs of green and purple on his own cheeks.

“’Scuse me.” He scrambled to pick his shoes up off the floor and held them up as if to say ‘Found them’ before slipping past Barrett again and barreling down the staircase.

The sight of the kid, the condom, and Chastity’s bare shoulders wrenched Barrett’s gut with jealousy.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed,” he said, closing the door.

“Wait. Barrett, please don’t make me go home.” She looked like she was going to cry. “It’s fucking disgusting there.”

“Chastity, I’ve been to your home. It’s nicer than any I’ve ever lived in.”

“No,” she groaned into the air and threw her head back on the pillow. “I moved out. I got a new place. Literally, today. It’s… I can’t even talk about it.”

Barrett thought for a moment, still annoyed by the boy’s intrusion and the thought of his Aphrodite being sullied by some loser who didn’t even have the balls to kiss her beautiful lips goodbye before he bolted. He thought about how, if she werehis, she would never leave the house without knowing how wild she made him.

“Please,” she begged, the sound of the word like music to his ears.

“Tell you what,” he sighed and spoke quietly as if Sherry Nussbaum was eavesdropping. “I’m tired. I’ve been on my knees scrubbing ladies’ houses all day. If you wanna get dressed and help me tidy this place up, you can crash at my place.”

His eyes focused on the condom on the floor. “My couch is weirdly comfy.”

“I know.” Chastity smiled a little.

“Hope you like cats because Smoky’s crashing at my place right now, too.”

“Smoky?” she asked, but Barrett had already started down the hall.

Shoving another fire-engine-red cup into a trash bag, Barrett snickered.

“What?” Chastity asked, wobbling on the tiptoes of her untied, checkered Vans, trying to reach a discarded bottle of Jack Daniels lying on its side atop a fanciful grandfather clock. When she couldn’t quite reach it, she looked around and spotted an ottoman, dragging it over to the ornate timepiece and climbing on it.

As she reached again, Barrett’s eyes skimmed up from her once-again mismatched socks to her trim legs, settling on the smooth, creamy thighs displayed beneath the hem of her short, tight, spandex dress. He bit his lower lip and shook his head at the perfect, round curvature of her ass.

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