"Well that's not the reaction I usually get from women."
From that delivery, I can just about guarantee he's right. He's a confident piece of work, but one whose good looks have no effect on me. All I feel is rage.
"Oh my god, you don't even recognize me, do you?"
The grin falls, making room for confusion. "No, should I?" His brows crease together before recognition dawns. "Did we sleep together and I forget to call you? Look, it was just a one-time thing. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."
Seriously? He thinks I'm a jealous ex-fling? Maybe in another lifetime it would have been possible. He's wearing a fitted grey t-shirt that rolls over the six pack it's hardly concealing, his low hanging jeans sculpt him to a T, and his 5 o'clock shadow would feel phenomenal against my skin, but that's beside the point. He stole my purse, not my heart.
"This is rich." Finding this humorless situation hysterical, I wrap my hands around my waist and laugh. The guy who mugged me last night is standing in my doorway. Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor.
Unaware of his current predicament, he watches my bizarre performance, gawking at me like I'm one choice away from needing a padded room. "Please tell me you're not my future landlord." He looks appalled at the notion.
When I get my hysterics at bay, I straighten back up, leaning my hand against the doorframe. "And please tell me you're not here to become my roommate."
"Fuck." He releases a sigh and rubs the arch of his jaw.
A confident leer stretches across my face because he still doesn't realize the entire reason for his expletive yet. "Fuck is right."
I skim my gaze down his jeans because I can't help it and a girl's allowed to look even when she isn't interested. When it lands on the duffel bag beside his black boots, I laugh again.
"Wait. You actually thought that if you showed up at my apartment I'd let you waltz into your room? Just like that?"
"You're the one who wrote 'Roommate Needed ASAP' and listed your address," he shoots back, defenses rising. "I figured ASAP meant right now and your address meant come the fuck on over."
A few strands of jet black hair slide to cover his forehead. It's not exactly long, just slightly beyond needing a haircut. Somehow it works on him. My eyes narrow at that fact. "I bet you don't get rejected often, do you?"
"Not really."
Of course not.
"Well, let me be the first."
"Are you kidding me? C'mon–" he pauses a second, "–It's Ellie, right?" He makes my name sound like warm chocolate tastes. I hate that he knows my name. "I need a new place to live and from what I can see through this doorway, your place looks like it's perfect."
He towers over my average height, making it convenient for him to see over my head and into my apartment. I lift onto my tippy toes to block him. His eyes meet mine. "Yeah, it is. But I'd prefer not to have my stuff stolen once I let you through my door."
"Come again?"
I shoot him a self-righteous smile that I hope feels like a kick in the junk. "Is it dawning on you yet who I am?"
"Not exactly."
"Let me give you a quick hint. I used to carry a burnt orange Valextra handbag that I spent an entire week's paycheck on. I loved it dearly. Well, I did until last night." He doesn't need to know it's a cheap knockoff; he just needs to feel embarrassment. Which he does. It's slowly creeping over his face.
"Well, fuck."
"Fuck is right."
He bites the inside of his cheek and I'm shocked he doesn't immediately bolt down the hallway. Instead, he gives me a smirk. A fucking smirk. "I feel like you're going to slap me now."
My voice is level, my expression vacant. "It's certainly probable."
He appears to bite back a laugh when he bends to unzip his duffel. After shuffling through clothes, he pulls out my beloved purse and hands it to me.
"Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?"
I swipe it from his grimy fingers and toss it onto my side table. "Not even if you meant it."
Shoving his hands into his pocket, he shrugs innocently. "At least I was nice enough to give you back your keys."
"How chivalrous of you."
We stare at each other. Actually, he's staring, I'm glaring. I wait for him to pick his bag off the floor and walk away because, clearly, we're through here.
Instead he asks, "Are you gonna invite me in now?"
My fingertips dig into my palms. "Did it ever occur to you that I needed my stuff? That I work hard for it? That I'm not some rich socialite who has things handed to her?" I throw my hand on the doorframe and grit my teeth. "I had a really crappy day yesterday and the last thing I needed was some hoodlum swooping in and making matters worse."
"Would it make you feel better if I said I really was sorry? And that there's a welt on my back the size of Mt. Everest?"
"Not really–" I pause, "–but yeah, it kind of helps. A little."
"Well good." His smirk reappears. "You have a wicked throwing arm."
If he thinks that has any effect on me, he's mistaken. I'm not a silly schoolgirl who swoons at the sight of an attractive male. I'm an educated, career-driven female with a solid head on my shoulders. So I strike him with a well-executed blow to the ego.
"I'm still not inviting you in and you're still not going to be my roommate."
His hands leave his pockets and float into the air. "Why not?"
"Are you seriously asking me that question? Because you steal things. Because you already stole from me. What idiot would let you live with them knowing that's the type of lifestyle you live?"
"One who has no other options."
"Who says I don't have other options?"
"I'm just taking a guess here, but you've already had a line of people show up at your door and considering I haven't seen another person walking around behind you in there, I'm gonna say you've turned them all down."
Damn his deductive reasoning skills. The guy has a point, but there's no way I'm letting him know it. "Maybe they're inside sleeping."
"And maybe New York is full of psychopaths."
He's closer than I realized, just a single step away, and invading my personal space.
"Who says you aren't one of them?" I take a step back and ignore how his scent invigorates me—sweat and masculinity.
"I do." The words are spoken slowly, confidently.
"You're a reputable source."
He groans. "C'mon, anyone who puts their actual address on their advertisement is desperate for a roommate."
"Or maybe they were just too intoxicated to be posting ads online. It wouldn't be the only mistake I made last night." Letting my hormones get the best of me, drinking myself into oblivion, walking home alone–nothing about last night showcased prime examples of acting out common sense. Marsha is clearly rubbing off on me.
A smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. I officially hate that smile. Actually, I hate him.
"And besides, if I hadn't I wouldn't be able to do this." I reach for my door and maneuver out of its way. I'm already anticipating the satisfaction I'll feel when I slam it in his smug face, but he's too quick. His foot's in the doorway before it's shut halfway.
"Please, Ellie." All the arrogance from before vanishes, leaving desperation swimming beneath his thick lashes. "We started off on the wrong track. I'm Seth." He extends his hand, which I simply stare at. Sighing, he pulls it back. "Yes, I stole your purse, but it was a mistake. It's been a hard week and I needed a little extra cash. If you'd let me explain and talk about this, I think you'll see I'm a pretty decent guy."
I narrow my eyes. "I don't believe you."
"And why should you? I haven't exactly given you a reason to trust me."
"No, you haven't."
"Okay." He sighs. "Here's my first bit of good faith. I think you left a zero off your rent price. You listed it as $100 a month and I'm guessing you meant $1,000."
I flinch. Well, that explains the influx of people arriving at my door today.
His eyes lock with mine—willing me to say something, give in just a tiny bit. When I don't budge, he rakes his hand through his hair and glances at my purse. "Look, I was recently fired for sleeping with my manager's girl. That's why I took it."
"Oh, so you sleep with married women, too?" I laugh. "You're doing a great job proving yourself here."
"Girlfriend. Not married, and I didn't know who she was," he clarifies with a wag of his finger. "But that's beside the point. I was hired at a new restaurant so I'll have cash coming in again in a few days. I just needed some money for groceries."
It dawns on me I haven't looked in my purse to see what's missing. "And did you get that money from me?"
His lips stretch into a thin line, remorse flowing onto his face. The emotion catches me by surprise.
"I'll pay you back the $15 I took. Everything else is in there. I swear. I didn't even look through your stuff."
His eyes are pleading, shining an unnatural hue that does seriously dangerous things to my nerves. The urge to slam the door in his face lingers, but it's dwindling. Still, I can't make this stupid of a decision.
A girl with a Chihuahua exits the elevator and walks toward us. She's on her cell, speaking in an absurdly high-pitched voice. The closer she gets the more teeth I see poking from her dog's snarling mouth.
"You Ellie?" the girl asks, pulling the cell from her ear.
Glancing back at Seth, I notice he's still waiting for an answer. There's vulnerability creeping through his well-established exterior and I want to believe his sincerity. I do. But I don't want to be taken for a fool.
"Look, Seth, you might be a good guy, but first impressions really are everything, despite what people say. You stole from me and because of that, I just don't trust you." I shake my head and glance at the girl. "I'm not accepting roommates with pets."
She huffs, and this time, Seth doesn't interfere when I shut the door. The image of his shoulders slumped in defeat swirls in my mind, churning up my guilt. It amps to liquefy as I reach for my purse, noticing he was speaking the truth. Everything is still there. Why do I feel guilty and not relieved?
Ignoring my conscious, I swipe my phone from the bag and see:
17 text messages and 4 missed calls from Marsha.
I click call and within five seconds Marsha screams, "Dammit, Ellie, I thought you were dead."
I wince at her shrilling tone. "Sorry. I lost my cell last night."
"If I didn't feel like I'd been hit by a Mack truck, my ass would be over there right now checking on you."
My body sags with familiarity. "I understand your pain."
"Oh no. Still thinking about your British douche and the cruelty of life?"
I shake my head. "I let it slide last night because I was in mourning, but he's 'English', not 'British'."
"There's the Ellie I know and love. It's nice to have you back," she says. "So c'mon. What the hell happened to you last night?"
I grab my laptop, settle onto the couch, and break down the events of the previous evening, as well as my queue of potential tenants. When I reach the part about my thief showing up at my door, she laughs.
"You kicked his ass to the curb, right?"
"Of course."
"That's my girl. While I'm all for screwing a dangerous man, letting one live with you is just begging for trouble. We deal with enough of that on our own."
"We really do." I correct my rent price on my post and delete my address. "I just need to find a roommate and fast, otherwise my troubles will escalate come rent day."
"Don't worry. I'm betting you'll have a fabulous new roomie by the end of the weekend."