Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

JANE

I 'm so upset, so exhausted , I forget to pick up coffee on my way to work. But I don't even notice until I've walked into the former elementary school building which houses the women's center and drop my purse into the drawer under the desk.

"Damn it," I hiss under my breath, storming into the lounge, to prep the coffee maker.

Tucked off to the side of the lobby, the tiny break room has yellowed walls, a round table, four chairs, and a microwave. Very non-profit chic.

Florenza, my boss and the one who runs the women's center, enters the room, her wavy, chocolate brown hair tied up into a loose bun.

"Do we have caffeinated coffee?" I ask her over my shoulder, searching the cabinets.

Her laugh is deep and raspy. "No, tesoro . Only that decaf merda ." She draws the vertical blinds, letting some light into the dark room and checks her watch. "You have time. Go to the shop."

"You mean like I was supposed to?" I snap back.

Flo is the loveliest soul I've ever met, and so many women owe their lives to her. The center provides a haven from abusive relationships and offers free classes, job search help, and collects donations. She's built this place from the ground up and she's only fifty years old, which convinces me she's Mother Teresa reincarnated.

"What's a matter, bellezza ?" she asks, her charming Italian accent easing my anger.

"Nothing." I pinch the bridge of my nose and return to my desk, reaching into the drawer to pull out my purse. "I didn't have my coffee. It's been a terrible morning."

"Is that all?"

A young woman with a sharp angular chin and a faint bruise on her cheek, walks in, distracting me from my petty issues.

"Yes. It is." I refuse to whine when someone fearful yet brave is standing in front of me, desperate for help.

Florenza welcomes her, explaining the services we offer and the procedure to get her checked in.

"Do you want anything?" I ask Flo. She shakes her head, smiles, then wraps an arm around the young woman and leads her into the other room.

The walk to the coffee shop is only a few blocks, and I know she'll manage on her own, but I hurry because I hate leaving Florenza alone. Other volunteers will be in soon, but I can't help it—I don't like missing any amount of work, which is exactly what I'm doing now. The memory of who's fault this is reignites my anger.

Distracted, mentally chastising Joe, I round the corner too fast and bump into someone.

"Shit," I cuss, as a box he was holding smashes to the ground. "Oh, crap. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry. It's all good." He bends down, picking it up, then turns it around a few times, inspecting it.

The guy is my height, with pale skin and red, wavy hair and despite his uniform, he's kind of cute, in an adorable Ed Sheeran sort of way.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

I nod with a cringe. "I am, thanks. Hope the box is okay."

"I'm sure they have insurance," he replies with a kind smile, the sunlight hitting his icy blue eyes. "You have a good day, miss."

"You, too."

I continue down the sidewalk, but glance over my shoulder, and our gazes lock. He smiles at me before entering the building. Thank my lucky stars he isn't watching me anymore, because that's the moment I trip on absolutely nothing, fall down, and my left hand lands on a sticky piece of gum.

"Wonderful."

Once I've peeled myself off the ground, and the disgusting, gummy pink blob off my palm, I dust my skirt off and take stock of any injuries. The only victim of the collision is my left Birkenstock strap, which has ripped off.

"You've got to be kidding."

I find a hair tie in my purse and salvage the shoe with it, then raise my head, determined not to let this day get any worse.

After overpaying for my coffee and a croissant for Flo, I return to the office, miraculously unscathed and settle in for the day, but not before adding a reminder in my phone to pick up milk after work.

Joe reads a book, spread out across my couch like he owns it. His white V-neck tee stretches across his chest and lifts at his waist high enough to give me a clear view of the rigid planes of his lower stomach. I'm so exhausted after the day I had, but his body attracts my eye like a magnet and mine reacts, becoming alert and needy. And I fucking hate it.

I drop my purse and keys on the table by the front door.

"Bad day?" Joe asks, not bothering to lift his eyes from whatever he's reading.

"Sort of." I walk to the kitchen for a glass of wine, but the sight of the green and white carton in the fridge stops me cold and I cringe. "I told you I was getting milk."

"You did?" he shouts back from the living room.

Since he doesn't see me, I flip him the middle finger before walking out to face him. "You know very well I did."

He shrugs. "Now we've got extra. No big deal."

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, and his T-shirt slides up a few more inches. Again, my eyes drag down his chest. I tear them away—the traitorous little bastards.

When he stands, his wide smile dimples his cheeks in a way I'm sure would make most women swoon. Not me though.

"I'll make you a milkshake or something," he adds, brushing past me into the kitchen, then I hear the contents in the fridge door rattle. "Where's the milk?"

"In the fridge." I bite the inside of my cheek.

"No. The one you bought." When I don't answer, he peeks out from the kitchen. "Jane? Where's your milk?"

I turn around, crossing my arms and clench my fists. "I didn't get any."

I focus on the ground, but feel his intense stare searing into the back of my neck.

"Hang on a second." He twists the cap off his beer, and I hear it drop into the garbage. "You're bitching at me for getting milk, but you didn't even get any?"

"That's not the point."

A deep v forms between his amber eyes. "That's exactly the point."

"I told you I'd get it, so you should have let me get it." I busy my hands by folding the throw he let fall to the floor, then lay it neatly on the back of the couch.

"I forgot, okay? Anyway, I got some, so why are you so angry?"

Sighing through my nose, I press my lips together. "I'm angry because yet again, you didn't listen."

"But you didn't get the milk, so what's the difference?" There's amusement in his tone, even though we're both shouting. He steps closer and my breath hitches. As if picking up on it, Joe shakes his head with a light chuckle, then runs a hand down his face. "You never cease to amuse me, Jane."

"And I am so pleased to bring you such joy, Joe." I impale him with my icy glare. "I'm taking a shower."

"Kay." He plops down on the couch— my couch—and I glimpse the small spill of beer on the red fabric. My jaw clenches and I head to my bedroom, grab a load of dirty clothes, then bring it to the laundry room.

Big surprise, the washing machine is full with Joe's wet load. I consider giving him hell for it, but I'm too tired.

I stifle a curse as I reach into the basin, pulling everything out. They're not his fancy work clothes, just sweatpants and T-shirts, and for a few seconds, standing with the pile in my arms, I consider what I should do:

Should I put the clothes in the dryer like a good roommate and human being?

Should I bring it to Joe and dump it onto his lazy mass that's dirtying up my expensive couch or;

Should I drop it on the floor to teach him a lesson?

I purse my lips in thought, but I've already made my decision. The clothes make a loud, wet smacking noise as they splat onto the tile floor. I throw my clothes into the washer and leave the room, a satisfied smirk on my face.