“Contract?” I croaked.
“Online document, your initials were used. Unless you have a way to prove to me that it wasn’t you who signed the document, I have to assume it was. I mean, that’s a lot of money. It’s not exactly like I can just look the other way.”
“But it wasn’t me! I’m sure I can prove it, I just need…. time,” I pleaded, my head spinning with every kind of crazy thought to get out of this.
His hand went up to cup his chin in thoughtful silence for a while. His eyes roved over me again, taking in every piece of me as if to weigh it on his internal truth scales and decide whether to trust me or not. Finally, after several minutes of quiet, he said, “I’m a nice guy-”
“You’re not a nice guy. You’re a scary guy,” I confessed honestly and probably a little frantically before I could think better of it.
A rush of laughter fell out of his mouth before he could compose himself, “You don’t even know me!”
“You’re right! I don’t even know your name,” I pointed out, suddenly realizing that should have probably been the first thing I found out.
“Ah,” he stewed on that for a moment and then said, “Finely Hunter.”
I gulped. “Finely Hunter?” Ok, the online gambling thing made sense now. Because Finely Hunter, the senior track star, rumored to go through girls like Kleenex’s during flu season and ditch more classes than he attended, was also rumored to run an online on campus gambling site the university had no idea about.
“Fin,” he smiled at me. “You can call me Fin.”
“You are a nice guy,” I drawled.
His grin widened to wicked trouble. “So nice, I’m not going to make you give me my money tonight.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I have a solution that will help both of us get what we want,” he announced confidently.
“You do?” I asked dryly with so much less confidence at the same time I wondered what it was that he thought I wanted.
“Just don’t forget, you promised you would help.” The hard, authoritative look returned to his eyes and a shiver of nerves climbed up my spine.
I nodded because there was nothing left to do. I needed time to think this over, to hunt down Tara and strangle her until dollar bills popped out her eyeballs.
Chapter Two
“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Fin smiled winningly from the doorway. He was cocky and a know it all and I just needed him to take two more steps back so I could slam the door in his face and lock it.
“Looking forward to it,” I lied with little effort to conceal the lie. I was not looking forward to it. In fact, I was dreading it.
How had I gotten to this place in my life?
Fin looked down at me for a few more sEconds, those sharp eyes of his assessing me in a way I was completely uncomfortable with. Guys had checked me out before; I wasn’t immune or ignorant to that. But this was nothing like that; this was so much more intense. And I couldn’t even be certain what he was doing was actually physical. It felt like something so much more, like he could see me on this metaphysical level and read my aura or something.
“Ok…. I’ll see you tomorrow, remember?” I pushed against the door, nudging it against the flip flop that was still in my way. “That means goodnight.”
He laughed at my rudeness, his expression slipping from narrowed calculation to happy amusement. “You’re right,” he finally said and took a step back. “Goodnight El-“
I didn’t wait for him to finish, I slammed the door and made quick work of the locks: first deadbolt, sEcond deadbolt, chain, handle lock, big breath.
Holy smokes, what did I get myself into? I fell backwards against the door and then slid to the floor on my butt. I pulled my knees to my chest and then rested my forehead against them.
I knew Tara was a bad seed. I knew it! But I wanted to believe the best of her. And I could never have imagined she would do something this shady. I mean, this was like…. criminal activity kind of bad!
I had doubts about her the first time I met her, but I was desperate for a roommate and she seemed…. nice. So I ignored that she was twenty-five minutes late to our first meeting, that her clothes smelled like the cheapest kind of weed and that her dread-locked hair was dyed a disgustingly pale pink. I mean, if I would have taken all that into consideration that would have been profiling! And profiling was rude and judgmental and other bad things. But maybe…. probably…. roommates should always profile potential roommates; especially ones with secret addictions that have no problems serving them up on silver platters to gorgeous but extra scary bookies.
Was Fin a bookie?
What exactly was a bookie?
I should call the cops. I mean, she robbed me! That was bad. And then she stole my identity!
That was even worse.
Ugh, my parents were going to kill me!
Panic slid like ice through my veins, slushing the blood and raising goose bumps down the lengths of my arms. I shot to my feet and sprinted through my small apartment taking stock of everything still here.
I ripped open my kitchen cabinets and noted the small amount of Goodwill dishes and sEcond hand pots and pans left behind. Those were her contributions to the shared living, not mine. And they definitely weren’t worth anything. The living room was empty, the TV, couch, end tables and love seat all disappeared. The only evidence remaining that there had even been furniture in that room were the indents in the carpet and the places next to the wall where the couch was that needed vacuuming. The bathroom was about half and half, the huge metal cornflower blue flower I picked up from the craft store on sale, that brought the soap dispenser and shower curtain together ascetically, was missing, but my shower curtain and the soap remained. Her bedroom was completely empty except for the remaining trash littered across her filthy floor.
And then there was my room.
My hand trembled as I grabbed the door handle and turned. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath and opened the door. A gush of orange blossom and ginger, my favorite Yankee Candle scent, greeted me and fortified me with enough courage to open my eyes.
One at a time….
I released the breath I’d been holding with a shaky laugh. My room seemed to be left alone. My bed was still perfectly made, no creases or wrinkles, my desk with my computer hadn’t been touched or removed, my closet door was open but I could see the clothes as they should be. Ok, she hadn’t stooped to this level of thievery. She left my room alone.
At least there was that.
If only I could pawn my own things and come up with seven thousand dollars. That would make things a little easier.
But they weren’t worth that much money. Or even close to half that much money!
I walked over to my bed and sank down on the edge. My life was a mess right now and it was so frustrating, but mostly embarrassing. Fin Hunter walking into the middle of it was like the final straw of sanity. I had to go to the police. And then I would have to tell my parents. And then my brothers would find out.
And then my entire life would end.
And after it all I would be right back where I started, living with my parents and under lock and key from my over protective brothers.
I was not going back to that place.
Not ever.
I loved my family, more than words. But I was finally out on my own. Finally living life. And I couldn’t give that up.
Granted, I had made mistakes. Transferring here after a semester at U of Madison was a huge mistake. Why I thought my high school sweetheart was going to work out for me, when I knew he was a sleazebag in high school was beyond me. Plus, that move got me right back under the watchful eye of Becket and Grayson.
And then there was the housing fiasco where I actually asked Tara to move in with me.
And then of course Colton cheating on me…
Things were already bleak. Adding my parent’s anxiety and overprotective assertion into my life would just perpetuate my problems.
I could do this. I could fix this.
On my own.
Fin Hunter promised what he was asking me was not that much. He needed some help and I could give it to him. I could also ignore the six week deadline he gave me to come up with the money. Six weeks left some time to figure that part out.
Ok, no cops.
Besides what was a couch from my Aunt Grace anyway? Or a matching set of end tables and suede recliner from my Grandpa Benton after he went to the nursing home? I didn’t even want to think about the fifty-two inch flat screen from Lennox for my housewarming present.
He was going to be so mad at me.
Maybe I could replace it before he got back from China?
Probably I could.
And come up with seven thousand dollars. No problem.
Well, some problems…. but where there was a will, there was a way and I had a will.
A stubborn, determined, freaking pissed off will.
If nothing else.
I stood back up and brushed invisible dirt from my jeans. I assessed my room that was mostly more hand me downs and a matching Ikea desk and bookshelf from my mom for my last birthday. With a long sigh, I left my bedroom and trudged back to the empty living room. I couldn’t remember if the tiny dining table from my Uncle Fritz was gone or not.
Yep, it was.
Shoot.
When my large family descended this year for any of Beckett’s games or Gray’s graduation they were going to want to see their passed down, expensive, occasionally antique, furniture on display.
What was I going to tell them?
I stood at the island that separated the living room from tiny kitchen and worked on my breathing.
I would think about that later too. Right now, I needed to eat some dinner, go to bed and get ready to face tomorrow.
Tomorrow…. when my deal with Fin Hunter started.
The next morning, I slammed my hand down on my alarm as soon as the first sounds started coming through. I shot up into sitting, breathing rapidly.
I shoved my wild, bed-head hair out of my face and mumbled out loud, “That was close.”
Not that I would fall trap to anything Kelly Clarkson ever sang again. But what if Christina Aguilera would have come on? Or heaven forbid…. Beyonce?
No more false hope.
No more empowered divas filling me up with fake who-runs-the-world-girl-power.
Living on my own, going to school on my own…. well, mostly on my own, standing up for myself, it was all going to take work. And I was prepared to work.
I ate a quick breakfast of cheap white bread and cheese and then faced my closet. Getting dressed suddenly felt like a crucial decision. I wasn’t super trendy, and I really wasn’t adventurous, but until yesterday I felt like I could put a decent outfit together.
Now everything seemed dowdy and plain.
Grrr, Fin Hunter, I was not a missionary!
I rifled through the clothes, going back and forth, from shirt to jeans and back, hoping something cute and flirty would just magically appear.
No such luck.
Eventually I settled on a pair of extra slim skinny jeans that I bought a year ago and hadn’t worn yet, a yellow silky cami and a navy blue cardigan. Granted, I looked like I belonged on my dad’s sailboat and not in a romantic comedy, but I hadn’t really been going for the fall-in-love look anyway. And this was different than what I usually wore.