Page 22 of Jump

“It’s fabric,” she counters and steals it from my hands. Releasing each latch, she opens it wide and feeds my arms through the holes like I’m a child. “It covers your body. It just so happens to not be four sizes too big and drowning you in material. God forbid you actually have a body shape.” She buttons me up and fixes my boobs so they’re sitting high, using the shirt as a shelf. “Jeans? Or a skirt?”

“I am not wearing a skirt to dinner at Axel’s house.” I move along my closet and stop where my jeans hang. Then picking out pair that sit right on my waist but don’t cling anywhere else, I slip my sweatpants down and shake my head when, as I lean forward to step into my jeans, my hair dangles forward and tickles my skin.

I’m not setting you up, Viv. But I’m strongly suggesting you look nice. And we both know it’s not for Axel.

“Come on.” The second I stand tall and fix the button at my stomach, she slaps my backside and tosses a pair of flats from the doorway. “I want to eat lasagna and get laid. So if you could just shimmy along…”

“I can’t believe we ever lived together.” I drop my butt to my bed and slip my shoes on. Slowly. In my own time. “If I were to interview you today, I’d say hell no. You’re loud, abrasive, too young, and not very nice.”

“You have a point.” She stops in my doorway and glances back. “Maybe we should invite Hannibal Lecter back. It worked out between you and me, so who am I to say Anthony won’t be your perfect match? It could be a whole Hollywood trope. Opposites attract. Enemies to lovers. Skin Suits Anonymous.”

“Shut the hell up.” I toss a cushion from my bed and laugh, because she’s obnoxiously perfect. Then I finish pulling my shoes on and push up to stand. “I’ll consider Ruiz. If he likes his own company as much as I like mine, then maybe it’ll work out. And since I’d be getting him out of your hair, allowing you to have more sex, you would, in good conscience, owe me meals, right?”

“Oh, you want me to cook for you even after I move out?” She starts along the hall, collecting her keys from where she tossed them on the floor on her way in. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Blackmail, potatoes au gratin, and yummy desserts?”

“Yup, it’s the way it is.” I move into the living room and snatch up my phone, then I grab my keys and follow Hannah outside and down the stairs. “We’ll take two cars,” I tell her, turning toward mine while she continues toward hers. “We both know you’ll stay there tonight, and I still have to get home somehow.”

“If you’re really nice, maybe Ruiz will drive you. Ya know,” she stops by her little car and smirks, “since he’ll be moving in with you anyway.”

“It’s not decided!” I open my driver’s side door and toss my cell to the passenger seat. “Consider tonight his interview. If he passes, we’ll talk about it. If he doesn’t, he remains your problem and not mine.”

Ruiz

DINNER AND A SHOW

“You’ve been ducking long enough.”

Axel long ago stopped giving a shit about my feelings. My grief. My devastation over losing Ainsley.

And ‘long ago’ is generous, considering I’m not sure he ever gave a shit.

“So no,” he presses his hand to the fridge door and holds it shut. “You’re not making a sandwich and hiding in your room. Be a normal, social human being for once in your life. Lieutenant.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” I yank the fridge door open so the bottles inside rattle and the feet of the appliance scrape along Axel’s brand-new tiled floor. Serves him right. “I don’t feel like attending a dinner party. But that doesn’t mean I’m stopping you from enjoying the festivities. You do you, Feeney. Invite whoever the fuck you want. I’ll be out of your hair in two minutes, then you won’t see me till the morning. I’m the perfect housemate, really.”

“Perfect?” He chokes out a laugh. “Perfect? You’re the fucking worst. It’s like we have a ghoul living in the basement. Rent-free! You don’t go in the sunlight, unless you’re on shift at the station. You don’t talk to anyone, except to be an asshole. You spend all your time holed up in there, all alone. And when I cook up a fuckin’ feast, you’d prefer…” He scowls when I turn with tuna and bread. “Seriously? Gross!”

“You’re disrespecting your superior right now.” I drop my things on the counter and take a knife from the drawer. Turning to him, I study the silver blade and smirk in threat. “Watch yourself, or it might be you washing the showers with a toothbrush tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” He steals my bread and holds it hostage. “Well, we’re not on shift right now, and I never much liked you anyway. So I say this with absolutely no respect at all: go fuck yourself, Lew. You’re not making a sandwich and filling up on empty calories. And you’re not hiding in the other room when we have a guest.”

“Why the fuck not? She’s been here a million times before.”

“Yeah, and every single time, you’ve made damn sure you weren’t around. So be a decent human being for once in your life. Stop being an antisocial asswipe. Stop hiding out in my guest bedroom like you think it’s your right to squat here. And stop sulking because the chief chewed you out for shit we both know he’s right about.”

“Don’t talk to me about my job.” I snatch the bread away, so the contents of the bag crush beneath my fingers, then I turn to my stingy tin of tuna and begin assembling a boring-ass dinner.

Not because I don’t want to join in on the lasagna and apple-pie-for-dessert feast. But because Hannah’s best friend, this chick they insist on inviting over five nights out of seven, is the very same woman I spent time with at a birthday party earlier this year.

I’m not an idiot.

It doesn’t take a genius to connect that Vivian to the ‘Viv’ Hannah is always yammering on about. The one who works in an animal shelter—Ana’s dream job. The woman who spoke of Axel at the party like I wasn’t already living in his spare bedroom.

We chose anonymity that night for a reason. Zero awkwardness. No complications. No drama. And especially no dinner party every other night of the week.

She doesn’t want to see me at this table. And I have no desire to bring her unhappiness, ever.

“I’ll be going to my room.” I peel the lid off the tin and drain the liquid into the sink so the scent of Italian pasta is overpowered, and the air in the kitchen is transformed into that of a fish shop. “I’m getting out of your hair and have no intention of interrupting your evening. It’s the kind thing to do, really.”

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