Alphahole (Alphahole Roommates 1)

“Then dinner is on me and Carly tomorrow night,” Ally tells Meryl.

We pour more wine and two hours later, Ally and I wind up taking selfies. Many of them.

We try to get Meryl to let us play dress-up with her. Ally’s begging her to go clubbing on the weekend. She tells us maybe about the weekend, (but I don’t believe her) then goes off to bed as we’re getting tipsy and probably a little annoying.

I take a sexy selfie with my sweatshirt dress falling off one shoulder, sexy duck lips (I don’t usually think it’s sexy, but after all this wine, even I can admit it. It’s sexy). I post it on Facebook and change my relationship status to single, my location to Sunny San Diego, and add San Diego, BITCHES. Suck It to my profile picture.

I also post a pic of me and Ally on my Instagram and hashtag it with “BestBestieEver” #AllyRox #IgotaNewBFFnowandshesnothinglikeYOU.

Steph’ll see it, too. She’s always on Instagram.

Good.

***

It’s almost midnight. Ally’s yawning.

So, even though I’m not tired, I head back upstairs to go to bed.

Gotta get up for work in the morning, too. At least I don’t need to be there at seven like Meryl.

I come out of the stairwell and see him getting to our door at the exact same time.

“Youuuuu!” I hiss.

His eyebrows go up.

“Stuck me with the pizza bill. Shoulda known.”

“I left cash on the bar,” he replies, turning the doorknob and pulling his key out. He holds the door open and gestures for me to go ahead.

I do. But, it’s a very small opening he’s left. I squirm in, but this means my boobs are smushed against him as I do.

“You tanked, peaches?” he asks. “Tanked on a Tuesday? You’re full of surprises.”

“Pff. None of your business. Even if it was you who drove me to drink. What money? Where? You took your three hundred dollars when you left.”

He walks to the bar. It’s empty. As I coulda told him.

He’s in Converse shoes, button-fly jeans and a black button-down shirt, rolled to the elbows, the first few buttons undone.

Man, he’s hot.

“What a waste.”

“Hm?” He turns and looks at me.

“Nothing.” I wave nonchalantly.

“Where’d you go in that getup to get smashed? Down to Pinky’s?”

“Yup.”

He squats, and I stare at his butt. He’s got a hundred-dollar bill between his index finger and middle finger.

“See? Left you one. Had to run out for somethin’.”

“It fell?” I ask.