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I shake my head slowly side-to-side and place the glass on the tile counter. “Nope. He left that part out. I’m sorry there has been a miscommunication, but this isn’t going to work out.” I glance at his etched muscles one more time.
“You don’t have to worry about the boys. They’ll treat you like a little sister.”
“Thanks, but I can’t live with three men. My parents are very old fashioned.” And I am very not the kind of girl who could live with three guys. I mean, I assume I’m not. I’ve never lived with anyone other than my family.
He stares at me quietly as he comes up with a counter point. “Your parents don’t need to know. Don’t tell them.”
“Oh, I can’t do that. I try not to make a habit of lying. Well, except there was this one time with a friend, but it was to spare her feelings. I grappled with myself over the ethics, but I think omitting the truth was the right decision in her case. Not that you probably care about that. Sorry. I get sidetracked sometimes.”
With his arms crossed he rests his butt against the edge of the countertop. “Maybe you could omit the truth with your parents. I’m desperate. We really need the extra person to cover the rent by this Friday or we’re all out on the street. Is there anything I can say to convince you to stay?”
Hmm. With my feet still anchored in place I take a look around. The backyard has a pool. The appliances are stainless steel, gas stove. Everything is spotlessly clean. It’s walking distance to the school. The rent is affordable. Easton is a piece of moving art. But three rowdy cowboys. No. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m on a scholarship and can’t afford to let my grades slip. If you guys are partying all the time like a frat house I won’t get any studying done.”
“They don’t party here. They might stumble in at four in the morning, but you’ll mostly have the place to yourself. We travel for rodeos almost every weekend.”
I rub my hand over my face, torn. My dad really would flip if he found out I was the only female in the house. Mind you he’s already practically disowned me for leaving in the first place. If I don’t move in here I’ll have to stay at the motel. And I’ll have to do a house search to find a better place. Not that a better place in this price range probably even exists. This is exactly why Stuart left out the minor detail of them being male. He knew I’d turn it down flat if I knew. They’re just roommates, does it matter what gender they are? I know what my dad would think. I’m not sure what I think. Shoot. What to do. What to do.
Easton finishes his drink and says, “I need to hop in the shower. Why don’t you hang out and look around? The room you’d be in is the first on the left at the top of the stairs. You’d have your own private en suite bathroom. The boys and I share the other upstairs bathroom. Laundry is in the garage. A maid service comes in once a week. We take turns grocery shopping.”
I nod, letting it all sink in. It sounds perfect. He knows it does. His mouth makes a cute half-smile before he leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs. The shower turns on, so I wander around and peek out the patio door. Admittedly it would be relaxing to take study breaks out by the pool. The lush backyard is obviously maintained by a gardener. And there’s a gazebo! Dining el fresco was something I was definitely looking forward to when I decided to move from Canada to California.
Despite how clean everything is, there is no doubt three guys live here. Six pairs of athletic shoes and a collection of cowboy boots are lined up by the back door. The barbecue is enormous, as is the stacked wall of empty beer cans next to the recycling bins. And they have a full universal gym, boxing bag, and huge free weights set up on the patio next to the hot tub. I wonder if they’re all as fit as Easton. Probably. That would definitely be a distraction.
After checking out the laundry room in the garage, I tread quietly upstairs. Why does it feel like I’m sneaking around? Maybe because I keep imagining Easton standing naked in the shower. This is why my dad wouldn’t approve. He shouldn’t approve. I’m going to completely fail all my classes if I live here.
Oh my. I swing the door to my room wider. It’s ideal. I should leave before I fall in love with it. Too late. Why? Why are you so perfect? Walk-in closet. Queen-size bed that looks brand new. A solid wood dresser and matching desk. A huge window with a window seat and sunlight filtering through the leaves. Wooden California shutter blinds. Crown moldings. My own gigantic bathroom with a soaker-tub and separate shower. I have to leave.
As I step into the upstairs hall, Easton emerges from his room directly across from me. His hair is wet and tied in a bun at the back of his head. He looks just as good in jeans and a white T-shirt as he did in only athletic shorts. He smells amazing, like Hawaii. I absolutely need to leave.
“What’s the verdict?” he asks as I make my way down the stairs in front of him, trying not to trip.
Once we’re safely back in the foyer I turn and answer, “Uh, it’s really great, but like I said, it’s not going to work. Three men and me.”
He nods, looking kind of disappointed as he reaches for a set of keys in a glass bowl on the hallway table. “That’s too bad, but I understand. You have to do what’s best for you.” He opens the door for me and follows me out, then locks the door. “Do you want me to walk you back to school?”
“Um, yeah, okay. That would be nice. Thank you.” My skin is tingling. What is that about? Apparently, the idea of walking with him makes me giddy like a fourteen-year-old. Get a grip, Della. He’s just a dumb cowboy who happens to have stunning looks. We walk in silence for a while, which feels awkward, so I ask, “What are you studying?”
“I’m working on my MBA.”
Oh boy. He’s not dumb. My legs feel weird. Maybe I should take the bus.
“How about you, Della? What are you studying?”
Wow. The sound of my name coming out of his mouth is like melted chocolate flowing over ice cream. I’m already distracted, and I haven’t even gone to one class yet. Guys like him are definitely experienced in the woman department. I wonder what he thinks about girls like me, AKA girls who went to an all-girls’ private school and haven’t had a lot of boyfriends. Or any, to be more specific. It’s not like I’ve never had offers. Guys have asked me out, but when I was younger I refused all invitations to date because my father forbid it until I was sixteen. By then I was so terrified at the thought of getting pregnant or contracting an STD and having to tell my dad, that I basically avoided anyone who showed an interest. Once I was older and more open to the idea of a relationship, I just never met anyone I was that into. Definitely never met anyone even remotely as intriguing as Easton.
These are not great shoes for walking. It’s really hot in Palo Alto. What was the question again? Oh yeah. “Studying post-grad. To do the engineering. I mean being an engineer. Environmental systems. Spring term entry. That’s what I’m learning for or doing. I’m going to be that.” Oh, my goodness, be quiet, Della. Abort. Abort the conversation. Change the subject. “You have very nice skin.”
His eyebrows angle comically as we cross the street. “Thank you. It runs in my family.”
Really? Gah. Complimenting him on his skin. How is that any less awkward? Ask him something normal. “Where are you from?”
“Here in California.” He stops on the curb to wait for a light—fortunately—since I’m completely oblivious right now and would have definitely stepped out into on-coming traffic. “Mojave,” he adds.
“Mojave? Like the desert?”
“Like the people.”
“Ah.” When the light changes, we cross and then cut through a small park. “So, you’re a bull riding, Mojave Native American, super model, studying for his MBA.”
“Bareback bronc rider, actually. And I haven’t modeled in ages. The rest is true, though. And I’m also a rancher.”
“Wow.” I follow him along a path that shortcuts through another neighborhood. “You’re very unusual.”
He glances at me with an expression that’s impossible to decipher. Hopefully he didn’t take it the wrong way. Of course, he did. Who wouldn’t?
“In a good way,” I blurt out. “Unusual. Not the bad unusual. I didn’t mean weird. Diverse. The opposite of everyday run of the mill. Interesting. Not dull like me.” I’m an idiot. One second, I’m drooling over him, the next I’m putting my foot in my mouth. Just stop talking, Della. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll never run into him again.
He slides his index finger over his eyebrow in an uncomfortable gesture. “The guys don’t know I used to model. Maybe we could keep that between you and me.”
“Sure.” Ugh. Now that I know it’s a secret I have an impulse to whisper it to the first person I see.
We walk in silence the rest of the way to campus, then he stops in front of a building. He stares at me for a second before he says, “You seem unusual too.”
As I’m wondering if he means the good kind of unusual or the bad, he hands me a key.
“The guys and I are leaving on a road trip tonight. We’ll be gone two days for a training clinic. Stuart gave me your number. I’ll message you mine. Think about renting the room. If you decide yes, then just move in and make yourself at home. If you decide no, drop the key in the mail slot. Cool?”
I nod. Yeah, cool, not really. Wait. What? I should just give the key back now. My hand isn’t moving. Why can’t I speak? He smiles and turns to bound up the stone stairs. He moves like an Olympian. Everyone in the vicinity watches as he waves back at me and then disappears through the front doors. A few of the females size me up, apparently because I was seen talking to the Mojave god. He must have Stanford celebrity status. Obviously he would. I mean look at him. And listen to him. And bask in his presence.
Okay, I’m still standing in the middle of the sidewalk with my hand out and a key on my upturned palm. Move, Della. Carry on. At least pretend to be a normal human being. In a less than convincing attempt to appear cool, I slide the key in my pocket and pull out my class schedule to figure out where I’m supposed to be. What time is it?
Chapter 2 (#udb5fbdb5-667e-5c59-a3df-cff6cdd8befa)
Easton
Chuck and BJ are already seated at the back of the lecture hall when I sneak in. Professor Cavendish isn’t cool with students being late and, unfortunately, she just made eye contact with me. I wave apologetically and shoot her a sheepish smile. She’s strict. It might not work. I pause halfway to my seat, waiting to see if she’s going to kick me out or let me stay. Her left eyebrow raises in a cautionary way, but then she carries on with the lecture without giving me the boot.
“Impressive,” BJ says around the toothpick that is perpetually propped at the corner of his mouth.
Chuck nods to agree with the impressiveness and pops an ice pack to apply to his injured shoulder. “Future generations will gather at the foot of your bronze statue as they recall the legend of Havie the Mojave: The only person in the history of the school to get away with being late to Cavendish’s class.”
Chuck is quintessentially redneck—mullet and lame-assed hunting tattoos to prove it. BJ’s more sophisticated, and he’s black, so the other cowboys call us the Village People when we show up on the circuit together. I don’t really care what they call us as long as we’re taking home the money. And we usually do.
BJ waits until Cavendish turns around before he asks, “How’d it go with the new roomie? What’s she like?”
I shrug, purposely evasive. I don’t want him getting any bright ideas about dating or sleeping with her. “She seemed all right, but she’s undecided. She’ll let us know.”
“Come on, Havie.” BJ lowers his voice to a whisper after Cavendish shoots us a glare, “We need the money by Friday. If she’s not in, we have to ask someone we know.”
I shake my head. “No way. The last two guys were slobs, and I’m not letting a woman either of you guys have slept with or want to sleep with rent the room. You’ll piss her off. She’ll move out. And we’ll be right back in this same position in a month. Or worse, you’ll end up some buckle bunny’s baby daddy and need to come up with child support too.”
“Does that mean the chick you’ve picked is someone none of us would want to sleep with?” Chuck asks.
BJ’s face freezes in a brace-for-bad-news grimace. “Is she hideous?”
“It doesn’t matter what she looks like. All you should care about is whether she can pay the rent. And she’s skittish about living with three cowboys, so don’t scare her off if she does decide to move in.”
“Gentlemen,” Cavendish raises her voice to reach the back of the room loud and clear. “Since you’re going to be missing my next lecture for your little bronc riding adventures may I suggest that you listen during today’s lecture?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we all say in unison.
After an extended silence to drive home her point, she returns to lecturing and writing on the whiteboard.
BJ leans over and covers his mouth with his hand. “What color’s her hair?”
“Brown,” I say under my breath.
“Good brown or the ugly kind?”
“Shut up. Assuming that she’s straight, you’re not sleeping with her.”
“You can’t either then.”
Chuck leans in. “Can I?”
“No,” we both snap at him.
The woman sitting in front of me turns and shushes us.
BJ listens to Cavendish for a while, but the lecture is boring, so he swings his head over closer to me. “Does she have a nice body?”
“I have no idea. She was wearing dress pants and a blazer.”
“Like a professor?”
“More like a Catholic schoolgirl. You won’t like her. She’s too conservative for you.”
“Black? White? Asian? Latina? Or a Mojave princess?”
“She’s white. Like fresh snow. Now, shut it before you get us kicked out.”
Both BJ and Chuck swivel in their seats, staring at me with amused expressions.
“What?” I mumble.
“Why did you just describe her in a poetic way?”
I shake my head, annoyed. “It wasn’t poetic. It was descriptive. In a factual way. She literally has the palest skin I’ve ever seen. And for all we know she wouldn’t be interested in any of us anyway.”
They both sink back into their seats, grinning. Like they know something I don’t know.
After class, the guys and I walk to the deli for lunch. The freshman working the counter likes Chuck, so she gives us fifty percent off our sandwiches, which is cheaper than making them ourselves at home. I’m tired of the same thing every day, but money is going to be tight until we hit some rodeos. A half-priced turkey on rye is better than nothing.
We sit at a table by the window and BJ says, “Since we’ve never had a female roommate before, let’s make a rule. What’s her name again?”
“Della. But she hasn’t agreed yet.” I bite into my sandwich.
BJ pauses to give a woman walking by the eye, then continues, “Okay, if any of us sleeps with Della we owe the other two five-hundred bucks each.”
Chuck laughs. “I don’t even have a hundred bucks. I can’t come up with a thousand bucks.”
“Then don’t sleep with her, dummy.” BJ extends his hand towards me. “Are you in, Havie?”
He’s got a scheming look in his eyes. Probably because he thinks the snowy skin comment means I have a thing for her. I don’t. I barely know her. “Yeah, I’m in.” I shake his hand. “All I want from her is her rent money.”
Chuck looks confused. “Have we determined whether she’s good looking or not?”
“It doesn’t matter. Either you keep your hands off her or you owe us a grand.”
Chuck squints into the sun as his brain wheels tick. You’d think he’d been kicked in the head by one too many broncs, but he’s naturally like that. Book smart and life dumb. It’s actually painful to watch him figure things out. “What qualifies as sleeping with her? Just so I’m clear on the parameters.”
BJ checks with me, “Kissing? Heavy petting? Penetration? What should the line be?”
I shake my head to end the stupid conversation. “No touching. Period.”
Chuck gestures in protest. “No way, man. We need to be able to shake her hand or give her a hug if she’s crying or something. Penetration is the line.”
“Fine,” BJ says. “If any part of your body enters any part of her body you have to pay up.”
“What if she initiates the sexual contact?” Chuck asks.
“Still counts,” BJ says as he gets up to order a milkshake at the counter.
Chuck leans his elbows on the table, processing the situation. “What if she decides not to room with us? Is she still off-limits then?”
I don’t answer because Della just walked in. She grabs a tray and loads it with a carton of milk and a salad. Her hair is the good kind of brown—long, thick and wavy. It’s held back with a thin navy ribbon headband and she has dark-rimmed glasses on now, so she looks even more like a library monitor. Despite the modest outfit it’s obvious she’s fit. Probably a runner or tennis player. BJ has already spotted her and is checking out her ass. Chuck is about to notice her, too. He’s not into good girls, but her big brown doe eyes, heart-shaped face, and the way she smells, like a mixture of vanilla and peppermint, will mesmerize him into giving it his best shot. One of them is going to spook her. Guaranteed.
Della steps up to the cashier where BJ is waiting for his milkshake. He says something to her that makes her cheeks flush. She responds quietly without looking directly at him and passes the cashier a twenty. When BJ points over at our table, Della turns and our eyes meet. I smile. Not in the ‘trying to wheel her’ way, but in the ‘her looking at me actually made me smile’ way. Uh oh. Maybe I do have a thing for her already. This is potentially not good.
She attempts to wave at me and tips her tray in the process. The salad bowl flies through the air and lettuce floats to the floor. The milk carton hits the ground hard and explodes, which makes her wince as the spray douses her and BJ in white droplets. “Shoot. I’m sorry,” she says to him as she leans across the counter to grab serviettes. “It soaked your boots. I’m sorry. Let me wipe them off for you.” She crouches down to clean up the milk.
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’. Boots are made for getting dirty,” BJ says as he makes eye contact with me. He points down at her and mouths, “Is this the new roomie?”
I don’t want to answer because I don’t know what he’s going to do with that information. He can obviously tell from my non-reaction that she is, which makes him grin in a way that is only going to mean trouble. He helps her pick up the salad remnants and orders another one for her. He pays for it with what is likely his last ten bucks and then escorts her over to our table.
I stand to slide over a chair from the table next to us and offer her mine. “Della, that’s BJ,” I say. “This is Chuck.” I shoot them both glares, intended to warn them to be on their best behavior, which they both ignore.
“Ah, Della,” Chuck says. “We’ve heard all about you. Welcome to Stanford. Have a seat.”
