Page 27 of Jump

Whose girlfriend is dead!

Angry at myself, I start across the small patch of lawn outside my home, and say nothing when Matt slams his door and grabs his bag from the bed of the truck. He follows me and, fast on his feet, grabs the building door when I wrench it open.

We climb the stairs in loaded silence, and I unlock my apartment door, nerves and emotion both nasty little prickles swimming in my veins. I jangle the keys in the lock, and grunt when I begin moving but the door remains in place. Then I shove it open with a huff and toss the keys into the bowl as I pass.

I refuse to do the awkward ‘day after’ stuff I was so sure I’d avoided all those months ago. And I won’t give the apartment tour I might’ve offered anyone else their first time inside.

Instead, I head to the kitchen and leave my new roommate—a role assigned under duress—standing by the door. Yanking the fridge open and taking out a bottle of already-opened white wine, I grab a glass and start pouring.

Just like I needed a drink so I could relax that first time we met, I need another tonight, to get past the debilitating humiliation of knowing my secret one-night stand has been in town this whole fricken time.

“Ana.” With a deliciously deep voice and a single gritted word, he captures my attention. He comes to the kitchen doorway and studies me through chocolatey brown eyes. “I’m sorry if I—”

“My name is Vivian.” I give up on pouring and start drinking. “Bedroom’s down the hall,” I point with the bottle, “last one at the end. Unfortunately, we share a bathroom. I tend to wake around seven each morning, but you don’t have to be quiet if you get up earlier.”

“Ana—”

“Vivian. Rent’s due on the first of the month. We split it straight down the middle, eight hundred each. If you fall behind or can’t afford it, I need you to communicate that with me in advance so we’re not both burned.”

“That won’t be an issue.”

“I have no allergies, so you can make whatever food you need to here.” The muscles in his face firm when I won’t slow down to allow him to speak. “Kitchen utensils and supplies are communal, so help yourself. But the first time you leave a mess, I’m dropping your dishes on your bed until you clean up after yourself. If you want to live in your room and take all your meals there, go for it. But keep it clean so we don’t get mice. I work six, sometimes seven days a week, usually eleven or twelve hours a day, depending on what I’ve got going on.”

“Twelve a day, seven days a week?” he states. “That’s a lot.”

“I won’t be here except to shower and sleep, so help yourself to the space. Be considerate, not only of me, but of our neighbors. We have a small hot water system, so we should choose morning or night and stick to it. I prefer to shower at night, so if you wanna take mornings, that would be cool. That way, the tank has time to refill and warm up again.

“If you bring a companion home for the evening,” why, why, why does the thought taste bitter on my tongue? “please keep it reasonable. Keep it classy. I’d like not to catch chlamydia from my own toilet seat. And when I choose to bring a man home—”

His brows shoot high in curiosity. Challenge.

Dare.

“I’ll remain respectful and classy, too. I’m neither religious, nor a devout atheist, which means I don’t pray at dinnertime, but I do celebrate Christmas and Easter. Since you’re friendly with Axel, and I’m friendly with Hannah, chances are we may spend those holidays together. They needn’t be weird. We’re two grown, mature adults. So I’d like to be—”

“Why are you angry?” Slowly, controlled, he lifts the strap of his bag over his head and sets the lot on the floor.

He’s only putting the damn thing down; it’s probably heavy. But all I see are his shoulders, firing up as they carry the weight. His chest, growing for a fight. His jaw, ticking with attitude.

“What did I do to offend you, Ana?”

“My name is Vivian,” I repeat, quickly growing impatient with his insistence on calling me the name of a woman who never existed. “And I’m not angry. I’m merely… surprised.”

“Surprised?” He takes a step forward. “By what?”

“You.” I bring my wine up and chug a little more. “I was starting to think that night never happened. It was a nice memory… or fantasy. Whatever it was, it was pleasant. But I long ago stopped thinking of you as a real person.”

He crushes a hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

“Then there you were, in my best friend’s kitchen. And you weren’t nearly as surprised to see me as I was to see you.”

He presses his lips flat and crosses his arms. “It’s a small town. I have eyes.”

“So you were here all along, hidden in plain sight? You knew who I was, even when we’d agreed to anonymity?”

“You told me your name that night. Your real name.”

“Did you know who I was that night?” I demand. “Were we anonymous at all?”

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