Читать книгу Make Me Scream - P.J. Mellor - Страница 8

“Excuse us,” Devon said to Jamie. Grasping Francyne’s upper arm, he all but dragged the older woman out of his apartment. “Sexual-aids tester?” he asked in a hissing voice once they were on the other side of the door. “An ad? Have you lost your mind?”

“Hey, I’m an old woman! You wouldn’t want me to have a heart attack, would you?” Francyne tugged her arm from his grasp. “Darlin’, you know I love you like the grandson I never had. But, well, face it, your love life is pitiful. I thought maybe—”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with an eighty-year-old woman,” he mumbled, forking his fingers through his hair then gripping his skull. “Francyne, I can get my own women!”

“Oh, is that right? And for your information, I’m still seventy-nine. Won’t be eighty until fall.” Fists on hips, she glared up at him. “About those women you can allegedly get…well, hotshot, I haven’t noticed a harem coming and going from your apartment. In fact, as far as I can tell, until today, Petunia and I have been the only females to come around for nigh onto a year now.”

“Thanks for pointing that out. But…a sex-aids tester?” He leaned down to look her in the eye. “What were you thinking?”

Francyne sniffed and glared right back. “Maybe that you’d finally get lucky?” Her shoulders slumped. “Hell, I was just trying to help. Face it, I’m old. I can’t do justice to product testing like I once could. Guess I thought I could find a replacement and get you a girl in one fell swoop.” Glancing coyly up through her lashes, she said, “She’s not married, is she?”

“Hmmm?” His active imagination had Blond Barbie stripped naked, spread on his table, helping him test the shipment of new flavored condoms. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Would his knees hold up to climb up onto the table with her? Not that it mattered. The old table probably wouldn’t support their combined weight, not to mention any action.

Francyne smacked him on the butt as they walked toward his door. “Go get her, tiger! I’ll just collect Petunia, and we’ll be on our way.” She winked. “You can thank me in the morning.”

Jamie scratched and eyed the big black dog and then warily shifted on the hard seat of the old wooden chair. The dog did not even blink. Jamie gauged the distance to the door and realized the dog would be on her before she reached it. She hadn’t survived this long, come this far, to end up Jamie Chow.

Devon and the old lady, Francyne, stepped back into the apartment.

“Petunia!” Francyne rushed to grasp the rottweiler’s collar. “Shame on you, scaring our new neighbor!” She looked at Jamie. “She’s really harmless.”

“More than harmless,” Devon piped in. “She’s such a coward, she lets Killer boss her around.”

As if to demonstrate, Killer trotted over and proceeded to hump the huge dog.

“Killer! Knock it off!” Devon grabbed his dog and dragged it away from Petunia. Devon grinned. “He was neutered at the shelter, but he still has high hopes.”

Francyne snorted. “He’d also have to be hung like King Kong to get any action from Petunia.”

Jamie shifted from foot to foot. Did she really need the apartment that badly? All the frank sexual talk and activities were more than off-putting. Sex—the act, discussions or otherwise—made her uncomfortable.

“Here is a traveler’s check for the first and last month’s rent,” Jaime said, shoving the check at Devon. “I signed the lease. May I have the key?”

“Uh, sure.” Devon looked at her like she was the weirdo. “Let me grab it, and I’ll walk you over.”

She started to tell him it wasn’t necessary, then she remembered the men in the courtyard. “Great.”

“Petunia and I need to take a walk,” Francyne said, “if we want to get back in time for Matlock. Nice to meet you, Jamie.” She batted her eyes at Devon and flashed a saccharine smile. “Have a great evening, stud muffin.”

The men in the courtyard laughed, and Jamie flinched. Lightly grasping her elbow, Devon steered her to the other side, giving the men a wide berth. While she didn’t try to pull away from him, her back straightened, and she picked up her pace.

“Here we are.” He stuck the key in the door of unit three and jiggled the knob. “You need to fiddle with it a little, but the key works. After you live here a while, it’ll loosen up.” At her stare, he babbled on. “I lived here before I was the manager. It’s been vacant for a while, but it should still be clean.” He swung open the door, reaching in to flip the light switch.

Jamie peeked around Devon’s shoulder and scanned the small living room now bathed in the weak light of an ancient-looking floor lamp.

“It’s…orange,” she said. Orange and yellow shag carpeting covered the floor, proving her grandmother’s theory that ugly never wears out.

The couch, with its cannonball-wooden-post arms, had plaid upholstery comprised of orange, yellow and lime green bright enough to make your eyes bleed. Next to the saggy couch was a spindly looking end table made of what appeared to be genuine imitation wood. How it held the massive glass lamp with the light-up orange base was a natural phenomenon. The wall behind the furniture was painted a bright orange, too. At least, she thought it was. It could have been reflected from the upholstery.

“And here’s the dining area,” Devon said, hurrying to flip the switch illuminating a yellow and orange daisy swag lamp dangling precariously over a once white formed plastic table. Stained yellow and orange cushions on the plastic barrel chairs completed the ensemble. Shiny bright yellow and orange large daisy wallpaper covered the end wall.

“I feel like I should say groovy, for some reason.” Jamie walked farther into the apartment and peeked into the tiny kitchen. “Are those brown appliances?”

“Um, I think they’re called Coppertone.”

Biting back a smile, she turned to him. “The owners have never updated?” No wonder the rent was so reasonable.

He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jean shorts and rocked back on the heels of his clunky sandals. “Oh, sure, they did. I think it was in 1972.” A lopsided grin transformed his face from scruffy to kind of cute. “I told you, we think they’re planning to sell the complex.”

She nodded and pushed open a door next to the kitchen. At least the bathroom was clean. Small and brilliantly yellow, but clean. “Well, this should wake me up in the mornings.”

“Yep, it sure did me, I know.” He motioned toward the bathtub. “I left the shower massage. It still works,” he added.

“Thanks.” She pointed to another door next to the bathroom. “Is that the bedroom?” At his nod, she pushed the door open.

“It’s a new mattress.”

She gazed at the big bed that practically filled the small room, intensely aware of the heat coming from the man behind her.

Okay, big guy, strip down and let’s take this baby for a test drive. She blinked, heat suffusing her cheeks. Where on earth had that thought come from? They’d just met. Sex was bad enough with someone she knew.

“You’ll need to get some sheets,” he said, close to her ear.

Startled, not to mention horrified, she jumped back, eyes wide. “I don’t think so!” Did she have the word slut across her forehead?

Devon looked at her like he thought she’d lost her mind and then shrugged. “Whatever. I personally like to sleep on a mattress pad and sheets as opposed to a bare mattress.”

Jamie did a mental head slap. Duh. Get your mind out of the gutter. “Of course. I knew what you meant.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I don’t have a car yet. Would you happen to have an extra mattress pad and a set of sheets I could borrow for a couple of days? Just until I can get to a store,” she hurried to assure him when his eyes widened.

He nodded. “Sure. I could even spare a blanket. It gets kind of cold at night, especially if you leave the windows open, with the breeze off the Gulf.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced around. “If you tell me where your stuff is, I can help you carry it in.”

She looked at her feet for a second and then met his gaze. “All I have is a small suitcase. I left it outside your door. I hope that’s okay. No one will bother it, will they?” To her knowledge, the men in the courtyard had barely acknowledged her existence, but that didn’t mean they could be trusted.

“No. It’s safe.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I’ll go get it while you finish looking around.”

Practically tripping over his own feet, he didn’t breathe until he closed the door behind him.

Following her around the small apartment, watching the sway of her sweet little ass, his shorts had shrunk two sizes. When she’d licked her lips, his respiration changed. Then when she’d puffed out her chest, he thought for sure she’d fall out of the low-cut neckline. That’s when he knew he had to get out of there.

He adjusted his shorts and took the long way back to his door in order to get his body to calm down. After months of abstinence, it was primed and ready for action.

Jamie was the first woman in a long time his dick had been even remotely happy to see. He sure as hell didn’t want to scare her away.

Jamie opened a vanity door and looked under the sink in her new bathroom. Maybe Devon would also loan her a couple of towels. She frowned. And soap. And shampoo.

Allowing her legs to push out in front of her, she sat back against the open bathroom door. She’d been in such a rush to escape Fred, she’d taken off without much more than the clothes on her back.

Thoughts of Fred sent a shiver through her. Money was getting low. If he found her again, she wasn’t sure how much farther she could run.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” she whispered. She had no reason to think Fred would find her. He wasn’t that smart. The last two times were just dumb luck. She hoped.

Her thoughts strayed to Devon. He had a nice smile, an open, friendly face. Of course, he could stand a shave. But he was still kind of cute, in a frumpy kind of way. He seemed harmless enough. And she could sure use a friend.

Jamie’s suitcase felt almost empty. Tamping down the urge to unzip it and see what was inside, Devon strolled toward the group of men at the fire pit.

Dropping the small suitcase by the center fountain, he plopped down on a vacant wrought-iron chair and stretched his legs toward the fire.

“Hey,” he said to the group.

They mumbled their greetings.

“So who’s the blond chick?” Drew from unit two asked, stretching to look past Devon as if he might find Jamie hiding behind the chair.

The others quieted, waiting for Devon to answer.

“Jamie,” Devon answered. “Jamie Cartwright. And before you ask, no, I don’t know much more than that, and, no, she is not interested in being shown around. Keep away from her until she at least gets settled in. Remember what happened with Alexis.”