“What’d I tell you?” Connor stretches his sinewy arms out to either side, grinning wide at the crowds milling along the boardwalk. There must be thousands of people. Tens of thousands, even. Everyone says nights in Miami are crazy. The street festival would only up the mayhem.
His bright blue eyes rake over three girls that stroll by, their matching black shorts like second skins hugging their perfectly round cheeks. They smile, they wink, their made-up eyes flash from Connor to me—to my sleeve of ink, to my face, where they linger, not even pretending to play coy.
“All right. Time to move,” Connor announces.
“Give me a sec to finish this.” I puff on my Marlboro.
He frowns. “I need a solid wingman, so ease up on the chain smoking. That may have worked for you in Indianapolis, but a lot of chicks don’t dig it down here.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry about chicks digging me.” The real problem is that I’m having a hard time being interested in any of them. I’d rather just lean against this stucco wall and smoke my brains out than go to all the effort of searching for a girl, striking up a conversation, and pretending I care what she has to say, all while waiting for her to inhale enough drinks to make her hands get bold.
Why can’t they make cigarettes to replace a good fuck? I mean, sure, a smoke is a nice way to cap it all off when you’ve blown your load and you’re sprawled out on your back, sweaty and panting. But when you’re alone—because your girlfriend of four years decided you needed “time apart” and is probably riding someone else’s dick already—and you’re not in the mood for the energy it takes to pick up, it sure would be nice to just pull a smoke out of your pocket and get your release that way.
It would be effortless.
Peaceful.
Uncomplicated.
I can’t say any of this to my new roommate Connor, though. I only met him two hours ago, fresh off the plane. He gave me just enough time to drop my luggage in my room and take a piss, and then he said we were going out to “pop my Miami cherry.” I can’t help but feel like this is some sort of vetting process, a test to see if he and I can be friends. And I can already tell he’s the type to tell everyone I’m a pussy if I don’t go along with it.
I butt out my cigarette. “Lead the way, Casanova.”
~ ~ ~ ~~
I light up a smoke. “Better luck tomorrow night.”
“I fucking hope so,” Connor grumbles, slamming the taxi door and earning a curse from the driver. “I was so sure I had that redhead.”
“And I was so sure you were gonna get your skull crushed in by her boyfriend.” An angry-looking beast who could pass for a professional wrestler, bulging arms, veiny trunk of a neck and all.
“You weren’t exactly a big help.”
“Sorry, man. I haven’t slept much. The guys at work had a little going-away party for me last night.” At Racey’s, a low-class strip club in downtown Indianapolis, where the drinks are overpriced and the girls are extra sleazy.
We stumble past a guy in the narrow alleyway taking a piss against the wall, the stench of booze and fresh urine assaulting my nostrils.
“Don’t worry. It’s a good area. Mostly a young crowd,” Connor explains, climbing the steps to the front door of our condo building. It’s not high-end, but it’s definitely not the slums. There are six identical buildings lined up in a row—all white stucco with red tile roofs, clean pathways lined by shrubs that get bare-bones landscaping attention. Lots of palm trees. The best part, though, is that we’re a five-minute drive to the beach and our jobs at the Wolf Miami hotel. That was a selling point for me when I was looking for a place to live, seeing as I don’t want to buy a car.
“So, what do you think about Miami so far?” Connor punches in the passcode to get into the main entrance.
“Definitely warmer than back home.” It was snowing when I kissed my mom’s worried cheek good-bye and walked out the front door, my duffle bag slung over my shoulder.
“Enjoy it now. You’ll be sweating your balls off in the summer. Still, it’s worth it. I’ve been down here for six years now. Love it.” He leads my travel-weary body toward the elevator. “And our team at Wolf is pretty kick-ass. Good bunch of guys.”
“Great, because I left an awesome team back home.” For two years, I’ve worked in outdoor maintenance at the Wolf in Indianapolis, doing landscaping and other grounds work for the luxury hotel chain. Not exactly a glamorous job, but it pays well and there are certain perks, like discounts to rent rooms at any of the Wolf locations around the world. Not that I could afford to, anyway.
“Why’d you leave, anyway?”
I hesitate. “Needed a change, is all.”
“A chick?”
He’s more perceptive than he lets on. “Yeah. A chick.” The girl of my dreams. The girl I’m still madly in love with, even though she pulverized my damn heart.
Connor leans back and closes his eyes, his gelled blond hair leaving smudges against the mirrored elevator wall. “Don’t worry. You’ll get enough beautiful Miami pussy to forget that one. You’re gonna fit in great with the guys here.”
And I meet them in… five hours, based on my watch.
The plan was to fly in tonight—Thursday—and get settled so I was ready for a Monday morning start. But they called me yesterday, asking me to start tomorrow. I agreed.
I probably shouldn’t have drunk so much tonight. I can already tell Connor’s going to be a bad influence—not that I need much help. But at least we’re going to get along well. Thank God, seeing as I have to live and work with him.
I had very few requirements when I answered the housing ad on the online Wolf employee bulletin board. Are there four walls and a bed? Check. Bathroom? Check. Cheap rent? Check. Connor asked me where I’d be working, I said maintenance, and he told me the room was mine. Just like that, a minute into the conversation. No reference checks, no “I’ll call you back.” That probably would have raised some red flags with other people, but I didn’t give a shit.
I follow Connor along the bright hallway of the fourth floor to our condo on the end.
“Shit.” Connor drops his keys twice before managing to get the door unlocked, only to drop them again once inside. They land on the doormat, on a pair of women’s gold sandals. “Why is she home?” he mutters, more to himself.
“Why is who home?”
“Ryan.”
I can’t tell if Connor is a bit dense or just hammered. “Who’s Ryan?”
Connor tosses his keys on the counter, causing a loud clatter. “My sister.”
I stop dead. “Your sister lives here?”
“Yeah.” Connor frowns. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.” And the ad neglected mention of a third person.
“Oh. Well, yeah, my sister lives with us. She has the room next to you.” Connor stumbles over to the fridge to pull out two Gatorades, tossing one to me. “She said she was staying at her boyfriend’s tonight. Don’t know what happened there.” He chugs half the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why? You got a problem with my sister?”
“Nah, man. It just would have been nice to know that I was living with two people instead of one.”
He waves me off. “Whatever. She’s easy to live with. She’s always at work, or in class, or at the library. She’s never here. And she’s super nice. Cute. You know, in that smart girl way. You guys share the bathroom but you’ll be heading to work before her, so it’s not a big deal. Make sure you put the toilet seat down and you’ll be fine.”
I shake my head. “Is that all?”
“Uh… yeah?”
“Aren’t you supposed to threaten me and tell me not to try and get into her pants?”
Connor bursts out with hearty laughter. “Yeah, go ahead and try. I doubt her boyfriend can get into her pants half the time.”
I frown at his back as he staggers down the hall toward his room on the opposite side of the condo.
