“You know what you need?”
“What?”
“A distraction. Let’s watch a movie.”
Stacia licks her lips. “I did notice some popcorn in your pantry.”
“Why don’t you pop it, and I’ll pick out something to watch?”
“Ooh, you’re asking me to place a lot of trust in you, Mr. Larson.”
I blanch. “That’s my dad, and he’s a jackass. But, we’re roomies now…so, c’mon, let me pick.”
“Fine! But you better not mess this up. I would hate for our first movie night to be our last.”
Not wasting a second, I sprint to the living room. Television on, and Prime opened, I wrack my brain for the perfect movie. Finally, as the microwave dings, the perfect movie pops into my head.
Stacia enters the room right as the first notes of Too Hot to Stop by the Bay-Kays starts playing. “Oh my God! Superbad! I love this movie.”
I grin. “I figured as much.”
“How?” she demands, tossing a handful of buttery popped kernels into her mouth.
“You almost verbatim quoted it a minute ago. The long dick of the law…sound familiar?”
She smacks her palm into her forehead. “Good ear. Now, pipe down.”
We both fall quiet as Jonah Hill’s character calls Michael Cera’s to discuss the Vag-tastic Voyage. We’ve just reached the part where a drunk Seth passes out and accidentally headbutts Jules.
“Did you know they say fuck one hundred and eighty-six times in this movie?” Stacia blurts out randomly. “Which is insane, because it’s only one hundred and thirteen minutes long; that’s literally more than one F-bomb a minute!”
I stare at her for a second like she’s an alien. And hell, maybe she is; what other woman loves and knows fast cars, drinks beer, openly admits to not being able to cook, and can quote movies like a boss, all while looking fine as fuck? I know I can only think of one.
Sputtering, I ask, “How do you know this shit?”
Stacia shrugs and draws her feet up under her, the motion moving her a little closer to me. “I don’t know. My brain is a whole cache of semi-useless information. But I kick ass at trivia!”
“We’ll have to go out and play sometime.”
“Sounds goo—” A yawn cuts her off, and we both fall back into an easy quiet as the movie plays on.
Toward the end of the movie, Stacia nods off and her head tips onto my shoulder. It pains me to move her, but I know sleeping sitting up is not an option—not if I don’t want to be in a world of pain tomorrow.
Carefully, I ease out from beneath her and cradle her sleeping form in my arms. The trip up the steps is a little more daunting, but I manage to make it to her room, where I deposit her into her bed. With the quilt tucked around her as she sleeps peacefully, I’m struck by how fucking gorgeous she is in this moment—makeup free, dolled down, totally natural. Her red hair fans around her like a fiery halo, and though it’s not the first time I’ve thought it, I can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like if she was mine.
And I don’t mean for a night, but for long-term—months, years, forever. While I’ve always said I’d never settle down, if I ever did, Stacia’s the exact kind of girl I’d want to do it with.
Maybe it’s the whole opposites attract thing, with her bright hair, inked skin, and piercings and me being a clean cut, everyday kind of guy. Or maybe it’s just that she’s a fucking good person, with insides every bit as stunning as her outer shell. Fuck if I know—other than the fact that the girl’s been under my skin ever since I laid eyes on her that night at Quixote’s.
It’s probably pretty pathetic that I still even think about that night. It was well over a year ago, and we didn’t even speak. While my cousin was hyper-fixated on Abby Jane and their weird little love-disguised-as-hate thing, all I saw was her.
She was so damn alluring—different than any other woman I’d ever been with. She was wearing blue lipstick, for Christ’s sake. And even though she wasn’t the woman I took home with me that night, she’s definitely the one I thought about as I came.
Finally, I lean down and feather a kiss across her forehead before retreating downstairs to my bed. The urge to rub one out to memories of the way she danced that night in her black leather miniskirt tempts me. Add in the details of our hot and heavy make-out session that happened a few weeks later, and I’m harder than I’ve ever been. But I refuse to beat my dick to thoughts of her while she sleeps under my roof—at least on her first night here.
Chapter Thirteen
Stacia
I’ve settled into living with West far easier than I thought I would have. He and I…we just gel, like we’ve been living together for years and years instead of a week.