Page 3

Roxanne

“ I swear to God, if you don’t stop jumping on my bed, I will kill you,” I growl, hiding my head under the pillow.

My brain pounds from lack of sleep, and my eyes burn from staying up all night looking at my laptop. I need a little more rest.

“It’s almost noon, it’s sunny, and it’s Sunday. We have to go out for lunch!” Spike cheerfully suggests sitting on my bed.

At least he is not making me throw up by shaking the mattress. Sometimes I really hate my roommate, but I can’t afford to live alone.

“I went to sleep five hours ago, you dumbass!” I throw the pillow at him.

“Come on, Roxy. It’s June. You should be baking in the sun on the beach, not hiding here like a vampire.”

I open my eyes and glare at him. “First of all, my name is Roxanne, not Roxy or whatever your stupid brain comes up with. Second, I worked all night. I wasn’t here playing video games with you idiots.”

Spike rolls his eyes, and I want to throw the lamp at him. Sometimes I love him, but sometimes he is just insufferable. Lately, I lean toward the latter more often.

“Whatever. You know you can work during the day and not spend the night on your computer, right?” he says, even though he knows I hate it when he sticks his nose in how I handle my job.

“I work when the internet connection isn’t shitty because you jerks play video games online,” I spit out a bit too bitterly, but he seems not to care about my grumpy attitude. After all, he’s used to my less-than-sunshiny demeanor when he wakes me up at ungodly hours.

“NASA could launch a space rocket with our internet connection, and you wouldn’t know the difference,” he points out. “But you like working nights because you enjoy playing the part of the badass hacker that kicks bad guys’ asses.”

I don’t answer his accusation because, in part, he is right.

I enjoy working during the night, but not because most of my activities are illegal, and I play hacker.

I do it because it’s the only time I get a bit of a break from the people coming and going through this house.

I can’t concentrate if people are shouting from the other room.

“Just go away, Spike. I’ll take a shower and put on some clothes.” I finally give up. I’m too awake to fall asleep again after this conversation.

He jumps out of bed with a grin on his sun-kissed face and pushes a lock of his blond curls behind his ear. His surfer body and killer smile are what get him all the girls. The blue eyes complete the panty-dropping picture.

I stroll to the closet and grab some shorts and a tank top to change into then head to the bathroom. I turn on the hot water and wait for it to warm up, but after a few minutes, it’s still freezing.

The boiler broke down again, and we definitely don’t have money to fix it. We can barely pay the rent and the bills, and the landlord is a lazy bastard who won’t come out anytime soon.

“Fuck!” I scream, stepping into the cold shower.

“Are we driving your car?” Spike asks as he steps out of our apartment in Venice Beach.

We may be broke, but at least we have a great view.

I share my apartment with four other people, and I’m lucky enough to have my own room like the only other girl, Candy.

Spike has to share his with the other two guys, and the smell coming out of that room is unbearable.

But at least we can see the ocean when we look out the windows.

“Do you have money for gas?” I raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

He stares at me like I’ve grown another head. “Do I look like someone with money to throw away on gas?” he points out.

“So, bus it is!” I singsong.

He huffs and pouts. “What’s the point of having a car if you don’t use it?”

I scoff as I step onto the strip of asphalt on the boardwalk. “Coming from someone who doesn’t even own a car, that’s rich.”

“I barely survive paying the rent. I can’t afford a car.” He states the obvious, and I feel like a loser.

How did I end up at twenty-five, sharing an apartment with a bunch of other people who can’t keep a job for more than a few weeks?

Spike is twenty-six, stoned half the time, late for ninety percent of his shifts at the bar, and ends up getting fired twice a month.

At least I have a job that I like. I don’t get a lot of money out of it, but I’m able to save something every month for my retirement.

I keep quiet, not wanting to point out the fact that he shouldn’t complain about not using my car.

I’m relieved when we arrive at the bus stop, and we hop on the first bus heading downtown.

The ride to the Grand Central Market is mostly silent.

Spike knows that when he wakes me up like he did an hour ago, he needs to give me time to fully wake up or I’ll rip his head off.

The Grand Central Market is bustling with tourists and some locals. The best part of this place is that food vendors do anything to attract customers to their stands, which translates into free samples to pick from the counter.

Spike and I come here almost once a week when we’re low on food at home and don’t have money for groceries. We walk from stall to stall and taste the goods without buying anything.

“Come on, guys. You’re not even believable anymore,” the guy behind the counter of our favorite Mexican place complains.

I stuff my mouth with a burrito sample and smile at him. “What do you mean?” I ask with a grin when I swallow.

He puts his hands on his hips and stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t be a smart ass with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“We’re just two tourists deciding what we want to eat!” The smirk on Spike’s face is irksome. Jesus! Could he be any more arrogant?

“Is that right? Considering I’ve seen you here several times in the last year, that’s a very long vacation you’ve got going on,” the guy points out, and the tourists start to stare at us during the conversation.

Spike puts an arm around my shoulder. “Aren’t we two lucky bastards?” His tone drips with annoying arrogance.

I roll his hand off of my shoulder and walk away from the stall.

“What are you doing? We could have snatched a few more samples,” he complains, walking beside me.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I growl, and his smile disappears.

“Well, I am, and you ruined it,” he spits.

“You should have thought about that before you acted so cocky. They’re working their asses off to provide for their families. You shouldn’t be so disrespectful!” I counter with more venom than I wanted to.

A glimpse of hurt crosses Spike’s eyes, and I immediately regret being so harsh with him.

“Sorry, I just got a message from my mom this morning asking if I wanted to go back to their place until I find a decent job,” I confess.

Spike stops dead in his tracks. “Are you seriously considering going back to the Pacific Northwest?”

Am I? I moved to Los Angeles to be near my sister, whom I found again after years apart. But she’s married to a senator, always busy with something important, and I don’t see her as much as I want to.

“I don’t know. I barely make ends meet, and going back would mean saving some money,” I reason.

His face drops, and he sits remarkably close to me on the bench beside me—uncomfortably close. It’s way too intimate for two people who are just friends.

“If you need money, I can pick up a few more shifts at the café and help you out with rent,” he suggests, nudging my knee with his.

I turn toward him and see equal parts hope and hurt in his eyes.

I don’t know how to react. I know his feelings for me are stronger than just a roommate’s, even if he’s never said it out loud, but he really is just a friend to me, and I have no idea how to make him understand I’m not interested without hurting his feelings.

“Spike, how long have you been working there?” I raise a questioning brow.

He looks a bit ashamed. “Three days.”

“And how many times have you asked to switch shifts because you had other things to do?”

“Twice,” he murmurs, knowing exactly what my point is.

“Shouldn’t you work your regular shift before asking for more?” I point out the obvious, but sometimes he needs to hear these things out loud to understand the whole point of our conversation.

He lowers his head and says nothing.

“I haven’t decided, Spike. I don’t want to go back, but sometimes I feel it’s the most reasonable choice.”

He nods and smiles sadly. “I would miss you.”

“I know, but I haven’t packed yet. Don’t ruin your day because of a text from my mom.” I try to cut this conversation short before it makes us both uncomfortable.

“Okay, yeah. But I’m still starving, and you ruined my chance of getting another bite from that stand,” he complains with a grin.

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “Do you want to share a burrito? My treat.”

His grin widens even more as he stands up and puts his hands in his pockets. “If you insist, who am I to deny you a meal?”

I shake my head as I follow him through the stands and return to the Mexican one, this time to buy a meal.

When we finally get home again, I dread the moment we will open the door. I can hear from the landing of our apartment the shooting sounds from the video games on TV and the loud voices of the guys in front of it. A lot of them, if the noise is any indication.

Spike grins. I clench my jaw in frustration.

Every day is the same. A bunch of people I don’t know invade our living room, play games, eat food, and drink beer. Four years ago, when I was twenty-one, it was fun, at least initially. Then it became old fast, and the fact that I can’t kick them out drives me nuts.

I open the door and am greeted by at least ten guys I don’t know. The stench of weed is overwhelming, and I make an effort not to yell at them.

Spike runs to the couch and slips between the two who are playing.

They curse at him for distracting them and punch him in the shoulder.

He grabs the joint they are passing around and takes a drag.

In the corner of the room, I spot Candy’s hurt face.

Her smile dropped as soon as she saw Spike coming in with me.

He has a crush on me and she has a crush on him, basically the triangle of unrequited love.

Everyone is unhappy, and living together amplifies the feeling.

“You could at least bring some food since you’re always here,” I point out to no one in particular, but the disappointment dripping from each word is obvious to anyone listening.

One of the new guys grabs a bag of chips and waves it in my direction without even looking at me.

“Thanks,” I murmur while I walk toward my bedroom.

I debate whether to stop by Candy and cheer her up.

She is a sweet, shy girl in love with a jerk.

I know it’s not my fault that Spike likes me, but sometimes I feel guilty about the situation.

She is staring at him with love-sick eyes, and I decide to leave her to it.

I don’t have the patience right now to deal with those two.

I close the door behind my back and lean on it. Shouts and laughs come from the other side, and I can feel the annoyance gripping my stomach.

Going back to my parents is not such a bad idea, after all.