Page 15 of The Tenant
It should be. We paid enough for it.
She picks up an apple from our fruit bowl, inspecting it for bruises. “Is this apple mine or yours?”
“I think it’s mine, but you’re welcome to it.”
“Thanks. I’ll go shopping soon.”
I slip past her, trying my best not to brush against the thin fabric of her pajamas. I reach over the kitchen counter and grab a box of Frosted Flakes. There’s no time for a power breakfast right now. I’ll make myself a bowl of cereal and get the hell out of here.
“Oh, I love Frosted Flakes,” Whitney comments.
“Yeah?” I grin at her despite myself. “It’s my favorite cereal.”
She takes a bite from the apple in her hand, and a bit of the juice spills down her chin, but she wipes it away quickly. “It makes me nostalgic to look at the box. I ate it every day from ages six through nine.”
“Every day?”
“Well, I had to. If you collected enough box tops, you could mail them in for a secret decoder pen.”
“The secret decoder pen!” My eyes light up at the shared memory. “I remember that! Did you ever get one?”
“Damn straight.” She flashes me a smile with a hint of a dimple on her left cheek, which keeps my attention away from her nipples. “When I want something, I never let anything get in my way.”
I bob my head. “Same.”
“Anyway, I miss Frosted Flakes!” She eyes the box with a look of longing. “I haven’t eaten anything that crunchy and coated in sugar in years.”
I hold out the box to her. “Hey, go for it.”
She hesitates. “I don’t want to steal your cereal. I’m already using all your dishes and eating your apple.”
“You’re not stealing it. I’m offering it to you. You can’t just have an apple for breakfast. And anyway, nobody should be deprived of grr-eatness.”
That gets a laugh out of her. She has a nice laugh that sort of matches the rest of her: sweet, clean, and friendly. As much as I hate the idea of needing a roommate, I don’t entirely dislike Whitney Cross.
In fact, I sort of like her.
9
Krista usually hasdinner with her best friend Becky once a week, but because she’s sick of my self-imposed isolation in the house, she’s dragged me along with her to Becky’s place tonight to make it a double date with Becky’s husband, Malcolm.
I’m not looking forward to what feels like an adult playdate. And it doesn’t help that Malcolm also works at Coble & Roy, and he’ll be the first person I’ve seen from the company since I was fired.
But here we are, standing in the hallway outside Becky and Malcolm’s tenth-floor apartment. I’m clutching a bottle of wine from Porto that Krista loves, and we’ve also got the oatmeal raisin cookies she baked last night. Krista is wearing that short blue dress with the low back that makes her look incredible, especially with her strawberry-blond hair loose and running down her bare shoulders. She hasn’t applied enough makeup to cover up the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and when she flashes me a smile, I get that fluttering in my chest.
She’s a knockout, and if I don’t get my shit together soon, she’s going to dump me.
Krista is looking up at me, scrutinizing my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She knows when I’m lying though. She throws her arms around me and presses her small body against me. She squeezes just enough to make the evening seem less awful without creating a tent in my pants. “Level six?” she asks.
“Maybe seven,” I reply, and she squeezes just a little tighter.
We break off from the hug much too quickly, but we’re already five minutes late. Krista is the one to ring the doorbell, and a few seconds later, Becky throws open the door for the two of us. My nostrils are immediately assaulted by the floral perfume that Becky always wears too much of. I don’t know how Krista can stand it. It’s all I can do not to breathe through my mouth whenever I’m near her.
Becky hugs Krista first, then after a moment of contemplation, I get a hug too. Great. Now I’ll smell like her.
