“Miranda, I need you to do me the biggest favor.”
I was on my hands and knees when she asked, my ass wedged between the toilet and tub, and elbow-deep in bleachy, abrasive cleanser. I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, especially since Rachel had shirked her bathroom cleaning duty for months. She wasn’t the worst roommate I’d ever had. She was hardly ever home, so that was a plus. But she was a slob and selfish to the extreme. Yeah, definitely one of the top three worst roommates I’d ever had. Depending on her favor, she might be moving up the list quickly.
“What is it?” I hoped my tone conveyed my utter lack of enthusiasm for whatever crap she hoped to unload on my plate this time. My three months past breakup with Derek was still taking up nearly every inch of my plate, and I knew I couldn’t accommodate much more.
“I am heading to the coast for the weekend, and Liam is on his way over.”
This one was easy. Sometimes Rachel missed the obvious. “Why don’t you just call and let him know you’re heading out?”
“Because I want him to come over.”
I twisted around, scooting out from the tight space between porcelain bathroom fixtures, and gave her my full attention. She looked stunning. Way overdressed. And I’d never seen her hair so perfectly arranged. She wasn’t just going to the beach. She was meeting a guy.
“Why do you want him to come here when you’re on your way out the door?” I wanted to add “and into another man’s arms” but rejected it as too dramatic, too emotional. Rachel treated relationships as a business venture. I, on the other hand, had been crying in my coffee (and wine and the occasional brandy) over Derek for months. Drama was lost on her.
“I want him to come over so you can break up with him for me.
The comment, said so nonchalantly, knocked the air out of me a bit. I’d known she was cold, but could she seriously be this callous? And did she think I was such a friend that I’d do her dirty work for her? Staring down at my rubber-gloved hands, I realized that I already did her dirty work for her.
“You can’t be serious.” But I knew she was, and there was something almost tantalizing about the idea of being the dumper rather than the dumpee. Or the dumper by proxy, at least. But then I pictured the actual human being on the other end of the news she was asking me to deliver and it wasn’t such an appealing prospect anymore.
“Of course I’m serious. You’ll be so much better at this than I will be. You have a way with people.
Rachel’s main persuasive tactic was compliments. I wasn’t sure if she was right. Maybe I had people skills. Maybe I didn’t. It still didn’t make the notion of breaking some guy’s heart any more appealing.
“Okay, I have to run. Liam is a good guy. He’ll take it well, I think.” She said the words in an airy, nearly giddy tone, as if the matter had all been tied up with a bow. She even backed out of the bathroom and started clipping down the hallway in her three-inch heels.
“Hold it, missy. I haven’t agreed to anything.” My cleanser-caked hands were on my hips and I mentally cringed at the realization the bleach would probably ruin my denim shorts. I’d add the cost of them to her half of the rent.
She turned on me then and used her secret weapon. It was a thing she did, though I’d mostly seen her use it on eager-to-be-duped men. She gazed at you with her striking hazel eyes. It was a look that was full of emotion and vulnerability, as if a window had been opened for just a moment on the heart she usually kept locked behind her perfectly made up facade.
“Please.” The please was the clincher. And in a tone that was laced with need, hope, and a dollop of fear. It was Bambi-esque. The look and then the pleading. It had brought big, hunky men to their knees. I’d seen it with my own eyes. I found it fascinating that she thought it would work equally well on me.
“Why can’t you just tell him yourself? Send him a text or something.” This Liam whoever he was wouldn’t be the first poor sap she’d dumped via technology.
“I think he deserves better than a text.” Wow. Rachel had scruples. “He’s a decent guy. And I can’t do it in person because…” She looked dreamy for a minute. Dreamy! Miss all-business looked like she was in la la land. “I would cave.”
“Cave? What do you mean?”
“There’s something sort of… I don’t know. Irresistible about him.”
I was truly confused. “Then why break up with him?”
She lifted her right hand and rubbed her first two pink polished fingers against her thumb, as if sifting bills of money. “He’s got everything but money, and it’s one of my requirements. You know that.”
Then why did she date him in the first place? Oh yeah, irresistible.
“So I’m supposed to dump this irresistible guy for you. What if I can’t resist him?”
A moment of irritation, just a second that someone who didn’t know her might miss, flashed across her pert features.
“Oh, he won’t be irresistible to you. You hate his type.” She looked back at me and must have read the question in my expression. “He’s big, blond, muscles everywhere.”
She was right. Blond men weren’t really my thing. And muscle-bound bohunks without a single interesting thought in their heads bored me to tears. Also, I had this thing about not dating men who are prettier than I am. It narrowed my options, admittedly, but it salvaged my self worth. Rachel was beautiful, so she didn’t have to worry about such a policy. Most of Rachel’s boyfriends were way prettier than I’ve ever been on my best day.
“Sounds thrilling.”
“See. You’ll have no problem letting him down easy and then sending him on his way. I can barely exchange five words with him without wanting to rip his clothes off.” She sounded dreamy again.
“Are you sure you want to break up with him?”
She didn’t even miss a beat, and the dreamy tone had evaporated. “Absolutely. I mean I’d be happy to rip his clothes off again somewhere down the line, but it would have to be after some time. After he knew it wouldn’t be anything else. Poor guy’s not there yet.”
I’d followed her into the front room and now saw her luggage stacked by the front door. She stopped a moment to check herself in the mirror, wiping at the corners of her mouth, and tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. She picked up her purse and opened the front door.
She had never been offering me a choice. She was leaving. Her bohunk was on his way over. I could either send him on his way thinking she was possibly his Miss Right or tell him the truth. I had always believed in the truth. She knew that, heartless bitch that she was.
“So, when should I expect this guy?”
She turned her tanned arm and glanced down at her gold wrist watch. “Wow, in about fifteen minutes. I’ve got to run.”
Fifteen minutes. And I was a sweaty mess. Not that it mattered. Mr. Irresistible wouldn’t even notice me, and even if he did, he’d only remember me as the woman who delivered shitty news.
Still, even as Rachel closed the door, shouting a “thanks, Roomie” before it snicked shut, I hightailed it back to the bathroom and grabbed a quick shower. I threw on a t-shirt and jeans and remembered that most of my underthings had just gone in the dryer. It was laundry day as well as bathroom cleaning day.
I wasn’t the type that could go without a bra without causing a scene, so I dug in the chest of drawers for the bra I hated but suffered in emergencies. The doorbell rang. I continued to dig for the bra and couldn’t find it. Maybe I’d thrown the damn thing out. The doorbell dinged again, sounding somehow more insistent.
As I jogged through the apartment on bare feet, I realized I was not only braless, but my long, wet hair had turned my t-shirt sodden. I looked like I was prepped for a wet t-shirt contest. Hell with it. It was summer. My shirt would dry and Liam Irresistible would be more concerned with his stunning blonde girlfriend dumping him than the dripping wet redhead delivering the news. I pulled my hair forward to cover as much as I could, took a deep breath, and reached out to pull the door open.
