“She’s a slob.”
To be honest, I don’t usually fucking notice. “She’s cleaner than me.”
Emilia bumps into a wicker chair, and it knocks over a purple surfboard that was leaning against the wall. I catch the board before it hits her in the head.
Her eyes widen. After she exhales in relief, she says, “She surfs and she lives in Philadelphia?”
“She’s learning, and she flies out to California when she has free time, which is rare.” I don’t add that I go with her so I can climb at Yosemite while she’s on the coast with Mikey.
Understanding washes over Emilia’s face. “This is Daisy Calloway’s apartment.” She nods to herself. “She’s rich.” Her lips tighten, and she’s now glaring at every piece of furniture, every article of clothing. “You have keys to her place?”
I don’t answer her. I just walk into Daisy’s bedroom. The bathroom door is already unlocked, and I point to it. “After you.” I don’t want her fucking dawdling in Daisy’s room.
But she does anyway.
Her eyes float to Daisy’s bed, the green comforter tucked in with half-assed effort. On a chair next to her, she lifts a white bra by the strap and twirls it around her finger.
I grab it out of her hand with a glare. “Don’t touch her shit.” I toss the bra on her bed.
“Why not? I’m about to use her soap, aren’t I?” She waits for me to refute.
I stare at her hard.
Her eyes travel around the room again and land on the bathroom. “How about I just take one here?”
“Why does that interest you?” I ask with narrowed eyes. “It’s not any different from my shower.”
Emilia shrugs. “Do you know how many girls would love to be her? Billion-dollar heiress. A supermodel at seventeen—”
“She’s eighteen,” I retort. I rest my elbow on the fucking chair. “Look, she’s my friend. She’s nice enough that she won’t fucking care if you use her soap or touch her things. But I fucking care if we spend more than a few minutes here.”
“I’ll be quick,” Emilia says, and then she moves her feet and enters the bathroom. I trail her, and I shut the door. She’s already out of her dress before I look over. She waits for me to appraise her. I don’t. I’m not fucking sorry either.
She steps into the shower, closing the curtain. “Couldn’t she afford a glass shower?” she asks, standing in the tub.
People forget that I have almost as much money as the Calloway girls, all pooled in my trust fund. I just never break into it for more than I need. The most expensive thing I own is my fucking car.
“It wasn’t high on her priority list,” I tell her, speaking loudly as she turns the water on.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Hey, you there?” I already know she’s caught that whole conversation through the speaker.
“Yep,” Daisy says. “Tell her not to use your shampoo. It doesn’t smell as good as mine.”
I end up smiling at that. She’d probably grin so fucking hard if she saw my lips lift this much too. “Mine does its job. That’s all that matters.”
“Normally, I don’t care about prices, but it’s a ninety-seven cent shampoo. The only job it does is pretending to smell like lemongrass.”
“Ryke,” Emilia calls. “She has men’s shampoo in here.”
I move the phone from my ear and say, “I know, and I don’t fucking ask.”
“You don’t care?” Emilia wonders.
“No.” Because it’s mine.
After a moment’s pause, she asks, “Does she have an extra razor I can use?”
I’m about to say, I thought this was going to be a quick fucking shower. But Daisy’s voice sounds through the receiver. Only I can hear her. “Cabinet behind the box of tampons.”
For some reason, I gravitate towards high-maintenance, jealous, out-of-their-fucking-mind girls. I’m used to the impulsive, the rash, and the confusing as all hell. My mom used to chastise everyone I brought home, saying that I look for the “crazy” in people. Maybe she’s right.
Maybe I like a little crazy.
I dig though the cabinet, knocking over the tampons to find a package of razors. Just as I grab one, I spot a plastic circle with bubbled capsules. I know what it is. I just don’t fucking understand what it’s doing in Philly and not Paris. I take Daisy’s birth control and inspect the dates. It’s almost all full, except for a couple pills missing. It looks like she stopped taking them weeks ago, which would be fine if she didn’t admit to almost fucking a guy in France.