Chapter 3: Natasha

If Tate doesn’t openthat door, I’m going to break it down because I am nearly 100% sure that man has a dog in there. I am breaking out into a sweat. At least it doesn’t sound like a big killer dog, but puppies grow. Puppies grow. This one could end up being the size of a wolf for all I know.

I knew my roommate was crazy, but he has lost it. We can’t have pets in this apartment. He spends so much time working that the dog would essentially become my responsibility. This man has finally pushed me to the limit. I have to take action – spell or no spell!

“Tate, open the door,” I command him firmly. I hear shuffling and just before I’m about to slam on the door again, Tate replies.

“I can’t.”

I stifle the desire to yell at him. “Why not?”

I hear him groan from the other side of the door. “I don’t want to.”

How the hell did I get stuck with such a man-child as a roommate.

“TATE!”

Just when I’m about to lose my mind, he opens the door holding a chihuahua and wearing an annoying grin on his face. It’s not a pit bull. Thank goodness.

I can’t even let my relief sink in because Tate’s annoying smile reminds me of this arrogant, egotistical bastard’s decision to bring a puppy home when we can’t even have pets according to our lease. I’ve already put up with his ass for so long, I’d rather give my spell a chance to work than give up my cheap rent over something stupid.

But he just keeps smiling. Oblivious to our pending eviction. I want to slap the joy off Tate’s face so badly, but he’s so much taller and bigger than me, that I think twice before hitting him even if it’s so damn tempting. The rage courses through me and hopefully helps my spell power up with all the hatred flowing through my veins. To be honest, I have no idea how it works.

“I was only joking,” Tate says. “Meet our new baby, Terrorist.”

He pushes blond hair out of his face and fixes his grey-eyed stare on me. He looks like a goddamn vampire. Ugh. The chihuahua tilts its head as it looks at me and pants quickly. Its little tongue hangs out as Tate pulls the dog against his bare, hairy chest. I feel a weird throb in my chest because Tate has his nipples pierced. Gross. What would possess a man to stick gold barbells in his nipples?

“Every part of that sentence makes me want to kill you,” I say slowly, trying to ‘find my inner peace’ and speak from a place of positivity. I don’t look at his barbells, which he obviously just has to attract attention.

I immediately cut the shit when Tate holds Terrorist out for me to give the dog a kiss and the dog licks my face like I’m an ice-cream cone. Ew. I find dog spit to be insanely nasty. I squeal and stumble backwards while Tate laughs at me.

“Tate, that’s DISGUSTING!” I screech as Tate pushes Terrorist out so he can keep licking up and down my face.

“He loves his mommy already. This is going to be perfect,” Tate says, chuckling like this is some cute family moment.

Disgust floods me completely. I wipe my face off furiously with my towel while yelling the word “NO” at Tate, who keeps laughing and then sets Terrorist down. The chihuahua runs back into Tate’s bedroom, entirely in love with his new owner. The man I’m about to kill. I don’t have time to wait for my magic spell anymore. I have to take matters into my own hands and do the job myself.

“What is wrong with you!?” I screech, glancing around for a weapon and finding nothing that sticks out. No candlestick. No rope. No goddamn knife.

“Nothing,” Tate responds calmly, grinning and staring at me with oddly hypnotizing eyes. It’s so unfair that Tate looks like this. He is such a douche bag, so those thick long eyelashes and gorgeous large eyes don’t belong anywhere near him. “I thought this could bring us together.”

“Why would you want to bring us together? I h?—”

I stop myself from saying what I mean at the last second. It’s a bad idea to blurt out that I hate him, even if it’s on the tip of my tongue. Tate keeps staring at me and he has a goofy smile on his face that confuses me. He acts like he didn’t almost hear me say that I hate him.

“We’re roommates. I get the feeling you aren’t entirely comfortable here.”

“What would give you that idea?” I add, my voice vibrating with obvious tension. I don’t hide my feelings about Tate, but he has never given a shit about my feelings before.

Tate flutters those insanely long lashes at me. His eyes are so unfairly distracting. He runs his tongue over his lips and says confidently, “You act like you don’t like me. But… we’re basically family, Natasha.”

FAMILY?!

He pushes me too far and I can’t hide my feelings.

“Ew!” I cry out. My face twists up like I just inhaled the scent three-day-old dookie.

Tate laughs. “Wow. You have no sense of humor.”

I have a sense of humor. Just when I’m about to tell Tate, I feel something warm and wet soaking my feet and toes. What is that? I look down and Terrorist somehow got himself down there and the puppy is pissing on my foot. The warm stream of piss splatters between my toes and fills up my house shoes like a soup bowl.

“Terrorist, no!” I scream and stumble backwards splashing the pee everywhere. The chihuahua puppy vibrates violently and squirts out the rest of the pee in a surprisingly large puddle. I screech again, trying to get ahold of myself and failing as my splashing spreads everywhere and I stumble around trying to find dry ground to step on.

Terrorist finds my fear hilarious and starts yapping and jumping around my feet, going crazy. Tate is laughing his ass off while trying to catch the dog. I leave his ass in hysterics as I run down the hall back to my room, splashing piss everywhere and stripping my clothes off so I can jump into the shower.

I am not a pet person. It’s nothing against animals, I just never had another living thing piss all over me and I don’t know what to do. I get my clothes off and leap into the shower while I’m screaming from disgust. I don’t even care that I just took a shower. I’m not running around with dog piss all over me.

Over the sound of water roaring out of my shower head, I can hear Tate talking to the dog and then talking to himself. Nasty ass. I bet he’s stepping in the dog piss on purpose or something equally depraved. I lather my body with soap and scrub myself like I am covered in a thick layer of dirt until I hear a voice coming from two feet away. That voice is too damn close.

“Hey Natasha, are you all good?” Tate asks from the other side of the shower curtain.

I shriek. Loudly.

“TATE! I am naked!”

He’s in my bathroom. My crazy ass roommate is inches away from me while I’m naked in the shower and he doesn’t appear to think this is a problem.

“I hope so. You’re in the shower.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

I freeze beneath the stream of hot water because I obviously can’t leap out there and fight him. I’m naked. My throat feels like it’s going to close up. Tate has never been this close to me before. Even if there’s a shower curtain between us, his closeness while I’m completely naked feels wrong and gross.

He’s the worst person I’ve ever met and apparently, he’s even worse than I thought, because I know he’s about to do something unhinged. I know it’s wrong to wish death on a firefighter when they are technically small town heroes, but this man is not a hero. He is insane.

“I’m checking on you,” he says calmly. “Making sure you survive pee-gate.”

Okay, maybe there’s nothing sexual about him standing there. The lump in my throat expands, but I do my best to sound totally chill and swat down that idiotic roommate of mine.

“Shut up, Tate. Don’t violate my privacy just to make fun of me.”

“How am I violating your privacy?” he asks with genuine confusion. Then, I hear him peeing. Thankfully, it sounds like he’s peeing in the toilet but I let out the most aggressive shriek of my life.

“What?!” he asks. “Everything okay in there?!”

“Do not touch that shower curtain Tate Whitmarsh!”

I don’t even bother telling him to stop peeing. I just hope he finishes soon. The stream continues for a few more seconds.

“Fine,” he says. “I won’t touch it. I swear.” I hear the sound of him shaking the pee off his dick. I want to die. This is the worst day of my life. My roommate has no boundaries and he just peed in front of me. There is something seriously wrong with him. Sure, there is a shower curtain between us, but I heard everything. And I mean everything.

“You are an animal,” I say coldly, hoping he doesn’t start tooting on the other side of that damn shower curtain. If he starts to fart and shit, I will kill him on the toilet.

“What is your problem?” he says in a frustratingly arrogant tone, like I’m the problem. “Terrorist only peed on you because he likes you. There’s no need for you to panic.”

“We can’t have a dog in this apartment. I don’t want to look after a dog and… most importantly… Why are you in my bathroom, Tate?”

“Terrorist already lives here,” Tate responds. “I’m not taking him back. And I know where I am, Natasha. Exactly where I am.”

That does not answer my question. This defiant, uncontrolled bastard is the most entitled and delusional man I have ever met. I get ready to tell him that when he does something even crazier than all the other crazy shit he did already.

I hear a sound almost like a rip and Tate yanks the shower curtain back. I yelp loudly. Tate just stands there clutching a shower curtain and staring at my naked, soapy body with a look on his face that can only be described as disturbing me to my core. He has absolutely no remorse on his face, just pleasure.

“Hot damn,” he whispers as he looks me up and down slowly from the top of my head all the way to my feet. He stops staring right when his eyes land down there and I grab the shower curtain, trying to snatch it away from him, but Tate clutches it tighter.

“Stop,” he says. “I’m taking a look.”

I yank again, failing to grab the curtain from him.

“I know what you’re doing, you big idiot. I would rather not have you look at me naked.”

He stares at my boobs and runs his tongue slowly over his lower lips. Heat rushes to my cheeks as Tate keeps staring at me shamelessly.

“Why not?” he says. “I’m hot. You’re hot. We already live together. We should fuck and get it over with.”

What the hell type of male logic is that?

If he won’t let me grab the shower curtain, I’ll use another weapon. I grab my shampoo bottle and throw it at Tate. He’s a fireman and part of one of our small town’s “football families” so he catches the shampoo bottle effortlessly even if I have the element of surprise. He keeps smiling and staring at me. I throw the conditioner and Tate swats it away with the shampoo.

“Get out of here, Tate!”

“Why? I haven’t seen tits like yours in a while. If I’d known you had tits like that… I would have adopted a dog with you sooner.”

My boobs distract him enough for me to aggressively snatch the shower curtain away and cover myself up. Tate scowls.

“What is your problem?” he snaps like I’m creating unnecessary drama and he’s not some muscular creep who just followed me into the shower. And “we” did not adopt a dog. Tate probably stole it from an innocent family.

“Stop looking at my boobs, Tate!”

Terrorist barks, distracting my stupid roommate. When Tate looks over his shoulder, I jump out of the shower and wrap my towel around me tightly to cover my body and make an effort to push past Tate. He goes football mode on my ass and tackles me against the bathroom door while I scream.

“TATE, LET GO OF ME!”

“Where are you running!?” he says, slamming my back against the door and knocking the wind out of me. I clutch my towel for dear life. There is no way in hell I’m letting this man use my body to ‘take a look’ or whatever other sick intentions he might have running through his mind. I cough as I gasp for breath and claw at Tate’s chest, desperate to do anything to attack the shit out of him.

“I don’t want you touching me or looking at me naked,” I repeat emphatically.

The look of genuine confusion on his face makes me wish I was bigger than him instead of the other way around.

“Why not?” Tate asks.

“Because! I don’t just give my body to random guys just because we’re stuck together in the same location. I’m not that desperate and you’re not that hot.”

I didn’t have to add that last part but it feels like insurance against getting Tate to take this further. I think it’s working. He scowls and then pulls away from me.

“I see.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m just… not attracted to you.”

“Right. Tall muscular white men aren’t your type.”

“Exactly.”

“Got it,” Tate says darkly. “I’ll see myself out.”

I did it. I got him to give up and now, my spell is about to work. I can feel it. That man is going to die…

* * *