Page 22 of Resist Me

“Basically. Some things break people and everyone breaks differently. He buries his own guilt by diverting it to me and holding her at arm’s length. What your parents do is entirely their fault. I’d argue that’s worse because they choose to be assholes every day.”

“Are you saying I get the award for shittiest parents of the year?” The amusement lightened his face and eased the tension that had fallen over the small space.

“Well, let’s not be hasty. It probably depends on how many of these my old man has had.” I held up the beer before I drained the rest of it.

“We’re just checking all the boxes, aren’t we?”

“Two peas in a very fucked up pod.”

“Can I be part of the pod?” Kai asked, sticking his head out.

“Nah. You don’t have enough familial trauma.”

“This is a trauma pod? I don’t want to be in that.”

“Good because you’re not allowed.” I flashed him a grin and slid past him. When I looked back, he was cupping Sen’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “Enough cutesy stuff. We have work to do.”

They ignored me and I shook my head. Looking around, I tried to find something else to do. There was a lot, but I wasn’t sure that I could get it done before anyone showed up. I didn’t need them to see me on my knees scrubbing the floorboards like Cinderella.

Speaking of floorboards…

I shouted a curse as a roach sprinted past me. On instinct, I stomped it, barely catching it before it escaped. The squishy, crunchy wetness reminded me that I was barefoot, which would never be the case again in this place.

“Oh, god…” I stifled a gag when I looked at the goop on the bottom of my foot. It looked like tar and I really didn’t want to know why.

I hobbled to the bathroom, keeping the front of my foot elevated so that I was walking on just my heel. After I slammed the door behind me, I turned the shower on and stuck my foot inside.

“Get an apartment, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Well, I amnothaving a good time.”

I didn’t know if I was talking to myself, the universe, or the nightmare creature that was stuck to my foot.Stuck. Bits and pieceswere coming off, but the main portion of the body was sticking to my skin like gum. I could see the disgusting antennae standing at attention near my toes.

There was nothing for it, so I stripped out of my clothes, grabbed a washcloth, and got fully into the shower. Leaning back against the tile, I lifted my foot and started scrubbing with the towel. When I’d removed the gunk, I tossed it into the trash. No amount of washing would make me use that thing again. Actually, now that I thought about it, I didn’t think we had any washcloths, which meant I’d just used one that belonged to the last tenant. It had probably been all over some guy’s junk.

With a groan, I moved underneath the spray. It was day one and I’d already been horrified by the state of the kitchen, traumatized by curb stomping a roach, and I’d rubbed unknown ball tang on my body. It was going great.

I stayed in until the water ran cold, which wasn’t a very long time. After I double checked that there were no more guts clinging to me, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. These, at least, belonged to us. I wrapped it around my waist and left the muggy bathroom. Before I could make it to my room, there was a knock at the front door. I looked around, hoping one of the guys could get it, but they were nowhere to be found. Since their door was closed, I assumed there was some gross stuff happening to break in the new place.

With a sigh, I made sure my towel was tucked securely and padded to the door. After flinging it open, I couldn’t help but scowl.

“Lincoln,” I greeted with a healthy dose of fake cheer. “So glad you could make it to our brand new castle.”

I turned around, ready to escape to my room so that I could get dressed, when I saw the rest of the cockroach on the kitchen floor. From what I’d read online, I thought that might attract more of them, so I grabbed the roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of cleaner. Crouching, I worked on scrubbing the floor clean.

The door clicked shut and when I looked up, I found Lincoln with his hands in his pockets, looking around. He seemed a little uncomfortable. I hadn’t taken him for the nervous type, but it brought me a sense of satisfaction to see him so clearly out of his element.

“Make yourself at home,” I offered, gesturing toward the couch that had been delivered earlier. “There’s beer in the fridge.”

“Thank god,” he muttered, heading directly for it.

“I’ll take one too.”

A moment later, a shadow fell over me. I looked up at him, actuallylooked, for the first time today.

In his fitted black t-shirt, his tattoos were on display. They were vibrantly colored, an intricate pattern of various things that tied into each other expertly. I saw leaves, a butterfly, and maybe a bird on one arm, among other things. The other seemed to have a planetary theme with stars, galaxy formations, and the like.

His black jeans hugged his muscled thighs and hung low enough on his hips to make him look the part of a dangerous asshole who rode a sport motorcycle. The black riding boots he wore weren’t clunky; they were stylish and sleek. As usual, his curly brown hair was nestled atop his head with some strands hanging around his ears and forehead. His tan skin- in the middle of winter, I might add- and hazel eyes, more green than brown today, just heightened his obvious beauty.

“You look hot today,” I remarked, straightening from my crouch. I tossed the paper towel in the trash and turned back to him.

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