Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“You don’t need to find somewhere else, Stevie. I’ve already cleared it with management and explained the situation.”
“Are you sure?” As much as I don’t want to mooch off my brother, not having to search for another apartment or foot the rent bill on my own would alleviate one of my many stresses.
“Positive. I’ve got your back, Stevie. And don’t worry about grocery-delivery fees. My card is already on file with them. I’ll send you my log-in and password; then you can order what you need.”
“You’re doing more than enough by giving me a place to stay, and you already helped with furniture and stuff; you don’t need to pay for my groceries too.” I feel bad that I’m twenty-four years old and not self-sufficient, especially since RJ has been making millions of dollars since he turned twenty. Being fresh out of graduate school means my bank account is going to be light until I get a paycheck from my first-ever career-related job. On the upside, the salary and benefits are really great; on the downside, I’m working at the same clinic as my cheater ex.
“You don’t need to worry about money when you haven’t even started your job yet. Let me help. I can afford to take care of my family, so give me the chance to do that.”
He has a point, since he makes eleven million a year. Racking up a credit card bill is another stress I don’t need on top of everything else, so I concede. It’s ironic how his fame and money are both a blessing and a curse in so many ways.
The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of unanswered text messages and voice mails from Joey, many pints of Ben & Jerry’s—courtesy of online grocery shopping—and several boxes of tissues. By Sunday night, my second suitcase still hasn’t made it back from its trip to Alaska, but I ordered a bunch of clothes with express shipping—compliments of my brother’s credit card—so at least I don’t have to start my new job naked.
My stomach is in knots on Monday morning as I get ready for work. I pack snacks even though I’m too nervous to eat, pour a to-go cup of coffee, and make sure I have my key card before I slip on my shoes. A newspaper sits in front of my door when I open it, which seems odd, but I kick it into my apartment. Maybe it’s complimentary or something.
As I pull the door shut behind me, the one across the hall opens, and out steps my jerkwad neighbor. Just like our first interaction, he’s wearing only boxer briefs. This time they’re a black-and-white checker print. A set of flags crosses over the peen pouch with the words FINISH LINE right over his junk. It’s physically impossible not to look at his crotch. I force my eyes up, dragging slowly over his ridiculously cut abs on the way to his annoyingly attractive face.
He pauses when he notices me, eyes roving over my casual yoga-style pants and plain golf shirt in what feels a lot like silent judgment. It’s probably the same way I assessed him but with less drooling and more disdain. When he reaches my backpack, his lip curls in a loathsome sneer. “Are you a student?” He says it like it’s some kind of horrible disease.
I arch a brow and self-consciously adjust the strap. I could invest in a tote bag or something, but backpacks have better weight distribution and don’t cause shoulder misalignment. “Good morning to you too.” I head for the elevators without so much as a second glance in his direction. What a prick.
I’m grateful when the doors slide open almost immediately. I step inside, hit the lobby button, and fight with myself not to check to see if he’s still standing there. I lose the battle half a second before the doors close fully. He’s scratching the space between his navel and the waistband of his underwear. I roll my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief when the elevator begins its descent.
I wonder what the hell that guy’s problem is. Sure, I made a lot of noise that first night, but I don’t think it warrants his continued disdain. Whatever. It’s not like I have to be friends with him. I don’t even have to acknowledge him.
The bus ride to my new job is blissfully uneventful. The clinic is located at the edge of the university campus. They opened a brand-new center, which required a mass hiring in part because of the new expansion team in Seattle. Put a hockey team in a city, and all of a sudden hundreds of college kids want to go pro and are looking for every possible advantage to get them there.
I could’ve cashed in on my brother’s connections and scored a position at one of the clinics that works directly with the professional teams, but I wanted to get the job on my own merit, not my brother’s name.