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Chapter Three

Aspen

When Zeland offered me a place to stay, I was skeptical; he had to have an ulterior motive. Yet as the days go by, he doesn’t ask for anything. He isn’t creepy. Sure, we flirt, but the guy is fucking hot. I’ve concluded that he has a hero complex; he gets off on helping someone less fortunate than himself. I googled him and Ridge, and choked on my own spit when I saw their net worth—how can two people have so much money? It doesn’t seem fair. There is no way they could spend it all in their entire life, even if they stopped earning money. It doesn’t mean I will take handouts, though.

This semester’s syllabus is busy, and tonight at work a bunch of jocks are celebrating a win. I don’t mind because they’ll draw a massive crowd who will drink a lot and tip well. While I’m not a huge fan of how handsy some of them get, if you want to tuck a fifty into my bra, I won’t stop you as long as you know it doesn’t mean I will fuck you. Not after the Jax Wilder incident last year, when I stupidly gave in and went home with a dudebro jock, who had tipped me earlier in the night. After I refused to go back for seconds, he spread around campus that he had paid me. In retaliation, I may have written his number in the bar’s male bathroom to “call for a good time.” His response was to call me a psycho bitch, and he was very vocal about considering himself lucky he hadn’t stuck his cock in me again. Though he was unimpressed when I replied that, with how small his cock was, I wondered if it had happened again and I didn’t realize. He wasn’t small, maybe average, but I know how to hit a man where it hurts the most. Especially after the rumors he spread.

Barbie, the co-owner of The Syllabus, said I should have been the bigger person and let it go, but I’m not the bigger anything in this life. If you want to push me, I will push back ten times harder. It’s just who I am.

Sweat drips down my ass crack; it’s hotter than hell in here tonight. Our uniform is skimpy enough with tight black booty shorts and a V-neck shirt with the logo. For the girls blessed with tits, the V-neck is great, but I need a padded bra to give the girls a pop. I play a role here, my eyes heavily lined and my face caked with makeup. My ass-kicking boots are non-negotiable as footwear, along with the one thing I have that belonged to my mom: her choker necklace from the 90s. It’s a flimsy plastic material, but I have worn it since she gave it to me when I was thirteen. It’s the one gift she ever gave me, and I keep it as a reminder not to get close to anyone, to not get my fucking hopes up.

“Aspen!” Shiloh, one of the bar staff, shouts over the music. “These are for table thirty. They requested you bring them over personally and they ordered top shelf. Maybe smile a little—the tip could be worth it.”

I plaster on a smile, and she nods as I take the tray with two drinks on it. If I had to guess, it would say the golden liquid on ice is whiskey—fancy. Table thirty is a booth on the other side of the bar, away from most of the noise.

As I approach the booth, I hear a vaguely familiar voice, but as I place the drink down and turn to see his friend, I shake my head.

“Zeland, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see where you work, roomie. It’s boring at home without you. You should quit and I’ll pay you to entertain me.”

In my peripheral vision, Ridge rolls his eyes before taking a sip of his drink.

“I’ve already told you, I’m not a prostitute.”

Ridge coughs. “So this is the reason you dragged me down here. You were bored and wanted to see the stray you brought home. ”

“Fuck you very much, I’m not a stray,” I snap.

He looks up at me, his eyes a deep brown with golden undertones, the type that claw their way into your soul.

“So you have a house?” His stare is unfaltering.

“Well, no, but that’s only because Zeland was nice enough to offer me a room.”

“So you’re a stray. It’s just like always. We were not looking for a roommate—I mean, do we look like the type of men who have roommates?”

“No, you look like an arrogant, self-entitled prick. I’m wishing Zeland would shove his cock down your throat right now so you wouldn’t talk. It really is a shame because your voice is enough to bring a woman to orgasm.”

Zeland throws his head back and laughs, while Ridge dismisses me.

“Oh, before I forget, I brought you this.” He dangles out a set of car keys. “And before you get your knickers in a twist, it’s not a handout, just a loan.”

“You’re lending me your car?”

Zeland scoffs. “Oh god no, I wouldn’t let you drive my baby, Pocket Rocket. This is one I purchased when I was wasted. I don’t even remember buying it.”

Now I roll my eyes. “Wow, isn’t that a problem most of us would love? But when I’m drunk, I accidentally buy two chicken nugget meals from McDonalds, not a fucking car.”

“Maybe some of us just work harder,” Ridge snipes, and I turn my glare on him.

“Let me guess, Mr. More Money Than Sense, you started a business when you were still in college.” Okay, I read that fact on the internet, but he doesn’t need to know. “And I bet daddy gave you the money for the start-up. Well excuse me, but not all of us have parents who will throw money at us. Or parents full stop. I do the best I can to support myself and my grandmother, so you can shove your entitled opinion right up your fucking ass, and while you’re there, remove the stick.”

I snatch the keys from Zeland. “Thank you for the loan—I appreciate it. I’m only taking it because drunk Joe likes to follow me home sometimes and I don’t want him to know where you live.” With that said, I storm away.

Over the next few hours, I keep serving them, because if Barbie finds out I gave Ridge a tongue lashing, she might actually fire me. Eventually Ridge and Zeland leave, then after that the rest of my shift flies, and I make a decent amount in tips. Barbie lets everyone keep the tips they make. At my last job, they put all the tips into a kitty and split them evenly. I’m not totally against that idea, but one bitch did zero work and still made the same. There may or may not have been hair pulling when I said as much, and I also got fired for starting that fight.

Zeland left me a huge tip, with way too many zeros, and I will bring it up with him at the house. I clock off and head out to the parking lot, holding up the key and clicking it. When the lights on a fancy-looking silver SUV flash, I almost die. Holy fuck, that is a nice car, but I have no idea what type; my knowledge of cars is restricted to color.

Why he left me a car this size is beyond me. I haul myself up into the driver’s side and pull the seat all the way forward toward the steering wheel. I’m not even sure how to work this thing, so I push my foot on the brake, then press the button that says start. The car comes to life.

Thankfully, the car has GPS because my phone is an old piece of crap that I refuse to upgrade until it dies. If I’m honest, it will be soon, but with no friends or family besides my grandmother, and no one who calls or texts me except her facility or Barbie calling me in for an extra shift, it’s not a pressing expense.

I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I drive through the streets with the stereo blasting “Beautiful Things” by Benson Boone, and I turn the volume up more and belt out lyrics at the top of my lungs. I pull into Zeland’s driveway, stopping at the gate, and hold my card against the fancy security box. The light flashes and brings up a numbered pad where I type in the code his housekeeper gave me. The gates slide open and I pull in, driving all the way to the house. I also need to stop referring to it as a house because no house I have seen in my life looks like this one.

The garage door opens as I approach, and I wonder if it’s automatic when the car arrives back or if Zeland is watching on his security camera. I flip him off through the windscreen, just in case.

Moving the SUV into the underground garage slowly, I look around and my mouth drops open. There aren’t only a couple cars in here, this is like a showroom floor. There are big cars like this one, sports cars, regular- looking cars, trucks. I’m confident there is one of everything down here. Since they seem to be separated by type, I slow near the other SUVs and see a vacant spot. I pull in, parking a little wonky because I was scared to scratch any of them and they are packed in tight.

Thankfully, I’m small and I can slide out, but now I don’t know how to get into the house from here. As I walk toward where it makes sense for a door to be, I spot a large rack with keys and place these back where they belong. The door is where I guessed, and when I twist the handle, it clicks open.

I make my way upstairs into the kitchen. I have already memorized most of the places in this monstrosity of a house that I need: my room, the kitchen, the laundry, and the front door.

Speaking of the kitchen, I stop past and open the fridge to get my dinner. Zeland asked their housekeeper to make a plate for me. Pulling out the burritos, I put them into the microwave. While I wait, I push up onto my tippy-toes and get a glass down, then fill it with water. As I turn, I see a shadow from the corner of my eye, and as a natural reaction, I fling my glass of water at the intruder.

“For fuck’s sake, stray! What the fuck are you doing?”

I clutch my free hand to my chest, feeling my heart race. “Getting a fucking drink and dinner. What are you doing?”

The lights flick on, and I snort to see Ridge’s white shirt stuck to his chest. “I live here.”

“Obviously, dickhead, but why are you here lurking in the dark? Were you watching me?”

“I was not watching you. The awful music you were blasting in the drive was loud enough to wake the dead. I came down to get some water.”

“You’re welcome then—it seems the water found you.”

He rolls his eyes as he unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off his wide shoulders. The man is not only tall, but built. That is a shitload of abs for one person, and his V... holy fucking shit, it makes my mouth water. An arrogant asshole should not have all that going on.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Zeland says, appearing out of nowhere. He grabs me by the waist, lifts me effortlessly into the air, before kissing my cheek and depositing me back on the ground as my burritos beep. He walks over to the microwave and removes them, placing the plate quickly down onto the counter.

Seeing Zeland in only sweats isn’t uncommon, but both he and Ridge shirtless short circuits my brain. As Zeland leans back against the counter, his dick print doesn’t go unnoticed, and I move forward to grab my plate.

“Leaving so soon, Pocket Rocket?” Zeland quips.

“Yes, all those tanned abs, arrows to the D, and dick prints are making me hot. I need food, a shower, and to flick the bean before I do something I will regret come tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Zeland calls out. “If you need a hand, let me know. ”

I shake my head and scurry as fast as I can from the room.

I will not fuck my roommate because I enjoy living here and Zeland is fun to be around. In no world would this work if we fucked—I would have a one-way ticket back on the street with nowhere to go.