Page 8 of Vacancy

“Definitely. I got this.”

“Okay, then…” She held up both hands, waving a set of crossed fingers. “Here’s hoping it works out with a super awesome roommate and low rent.”

Lifting my eyebrows in agreement, I snapped my fingers and pointed back at her. “For sure.” Then I blew her a kiss. “Alright, I’m going in.”

“They’ll love you,” she called, waving me on.

Hell, yes they would. I’d make sure of it.

I sucked in a bolstering breath and started toward the front door.

The outside really was in spectacular condition. Even the concrete of the sidewalk and the miniature front porch looked to be poured recently while the flowers in the small garden had to have been professionally planted and arranged.

I took the two steps up, then balled my hand into a fist, and knocked.

From inside, a female voice called, “It’s open. Come on in.”

Alright, time to pour on the charm. After shaking out my hands to dispel my nerves, I opened the door.

As I did, the song streaming from the window above changed over to Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe.”

The first thing I noticed once I was inside was a beautiful hardwood floor.

The entrance led straight into the kitchen, where the counter of a granite-top island bar stretched out to greet me with a fancy sink in the center on one side and three metal-back bar chairs on the other. The rest of the kitchen wrapped around the island with gourmet-styled and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.

“Wow,” I croaked before I even stepped over the threshold to behold the rest of the first floor. And then I did, only to be blown away with awe.

It looked like a freaking display home that people didn’t actually live in, but rather something architects showed you to help you imagine how your own unbuilt dream house could look.

Decorated in varying tones of brown and tan with white borders and white doors, there was a leather wraparound couch with a huge rug sitting at an angle in front of it and a coffee table like nothing I’d ever seen before. It all faced the opposite wall that had a hanging large-screen television over an inlaid, electric fireplace.

The only thing that detracted from such utter perfection was a clear plastic painter’s sheet laid out on the floor with a small can of paint sitting on top of it. The dark tan wall there had some white spackling spots as if a few holes had recently been patched over.

Against the far wall was a metal staircase that matched the design of the balcony outside and disappeared up a stairwell. And as I was taking in the intricate design on the banister, a bare foot appeared with toenails covered with blood-red polish.

I held my breath as that foot took a step down the stairs, followed by another until they revealed toned and tanned legs, and then shorty shorts in that style that usually said something likeJuicyon the butt. A slim, feminine hand latched around the railing—its long nails also bathed in piercing red—before a worn HaveU shirt with paint splatters along the chest came into view.

And then, there she was. A woman about my age appeared, dark curls piled on her head in a sloppy ponytail as she fisted her hand like a microphone and sang along to the song.

“Ripped jeans, skin was showin’. Hot night, wind was blowin.’” Then she paused with flare, striking a pose in the center of the staircase. She bent out her knees and rose onto her tiptoes while throwing back her head to belt out, “Where you think you’re going, baby?”

I laughed outright and had to clap, cheering her on. “Brava! Brava. Very nice.”

With a jaunty grin, the girl fell back onto the balls of her feet and returned to her natural stance as she finished jogging down the stairs.

“Thank you,” she greeted good-naturedly. “And sorry for the show; I just had to get that out of my system.”

“Oh no,” I lifted my hands to pardon her. “No apologies necessary. You totally rocked it.”

“Sweet.” She beamed appreciatively as she strolled over.

And the closer she came, the more flawless she grew. I mean, this girl wasgorgeous.

It was a good thing Jaylanihadn’tcome in with me; she might’ve forgotten she was already in a committed relationship with someone else.

“The name’s Thalia,” she greeted with a bob of the head and a wave of her hand. “Thalia Archer.”

I waved back, answering, “Oaklynn.”

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