Hot Mess

Chapter 5

Tate

I tried the alarm code. The house keys. I tried from inside the house. And from the rear door. Nothing worked.

I couldn't get the garage to open.

My new car was arriving today, and I needed access so I could store it somewhere other than the front—I knew without a doubt that the party Rachel was throwing tomorrow night, much to my disappointment, would fill the driveway with cars and random bodies.

Groaning in frustration, I shoved open the French doors and approached Wren's unit. She called it the pool house because it was beside the pool, but it was nothing more than a shoebox apartment filled with the most random crap I'd ever seen. The doll's head cookie jar freaked me out with its one eye and hair falling out, not to mention the wine stoppers made from Barbie heads. The girl had a weird obsession with dolls.

I opened the door and walked into her apartment, calling out her name. "Wren?"

Her voice echoed down the hall as she squealed in surprise, and then something thudded on the floor, followed by a crash and groan. "Wren," I called again.

Another groan. And then she called out, "Help!"

I walked down the hall toward the sound of her voice and paused in the doorway of what I could only assume was the second bedroom, set up to be her studio, before rushing over to her. She was lying on the floor on her back, completely covered in paint and possibly only in her underwear. It was hard to tell because it looked like a rainbow had been massacred in there. Paint tins were scattered around her, paint splattered the walls and floor, and a ladder had fallen on top of her.

"What the fuck happened?" I grabbed the ladder and pulled it off her, carefully setting it to the side.

"You," she growled. "You happened, Tate." She pushed herself up but slipped in the paint and collapsed again with a groan.

"Me? What did I do?"

"You scared me, and I fell off the ladder. Now help me up."

She was covered in paint, and I had expensive clothes on. I cringed. My shoes already had paint on the soles. I didn't want to wreck my jeans too. They were my favorite pair.

"Tate?" She lay there, a pained look on her face with her hand held in the air expectantly.

I rolled my eyes and reached out to pull her up. She was slippery and sticky with paint and lost her balance. Falling into me, her body pressed against mine. Soft and warm. And paint-covered. My favorite jeans were ruined, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to care right in that moment because my arms were around her and it felt...nice. Her cheek nuzzled against my chest and she breathed in deeply, letting out a sigh, and I quickly lost my train of thought.

"Did you just sniff me?" I grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, suddenly aware of how inappropriately close we were standing. If Rachel had seen us, she'd have flipped her shit and caused a scene.

She pressed her lips together and shoved me in the chest. I stumbled back, tripped over a paint can, spilling blue everywhere. My once white shoes looked like a packet of skittles had thrown up on them. Dammit.

"I couldn't help but sniff you. That stench you call aftershave is way too overpowering," she said and frowned down at the mess on the floor. I chuckled because I wasn't wearing any aftershave. What she was smelling and seemed to enjoy so much was. All. Me.

"So, you gonna tell me what you were painting? And why you were up on the ladder?" I looked around the room and noticed the walls were bare. Plain white, not a drop of color to be seen, yet she was on the ladder with her paint tins.