Room for Love by Andrea Meyer

Author:Andrea Meyer [Meyer, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 0312370784
Google: kWr1AAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B003F76GXK
Barnesnoble: B003F76GXK
Goodreads: 1264885
Publisher: Griffin
Published: 2007-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

9

* * *

Misery loves company. I need a roommate. No, I’m not clinically depressed. My girlfriend moved out and left me with a big 1 BR in Gramercy I can’t afford on my own. Sm office can fit a bed. Don’t worry, there’s space for two. 24hr drmn, great vus, cable modem. Call if interested (or if you want to help me drown my sorrows at bar downstairs. Grt bloodies). Rory

* * *

“I told my parents we’d come over for dinner when I get back from my shoot,” Anthony says, lounging on the couch, picking up a piece of tuna sashimi with his fingers. He pulls the bright red flesh apart with his other hand, puts one half in his mouth, and gesticulates with the other. “Take a trip to the ’burbs for a night. That cool?”

“That is so gross,” I tell him, amused.

“What?”

“Picking up fish with your fingers.”

“Does that gross you out?” he says, waggling the fish at me. Lucy lifts her head up out of dreamland and sniffs it, and Anthony pushes her away with his elbow. He plops the stinky pink morsel into his mouth and wiggles his fishy fingers as he scoots over to me on the couch.

“Eeeuw!” I yelp as he pins me down and tickles me with his rank, sticky fingers. I’m the most ticklish person on the planet and laugh so hard I’m afraid I might choke. Lucy lifts her head, shakes her droopy jowls at us, and goes back to sleep. Once I calm down, Anthony kisses me. We’re just getting into it when the phone rings. We ignore it. He takes off his shirt and flings it toward an armchair, but it doesn’t quite make it and lands on the plate of half-eaten sushi. I giggle and run my fingers along his lovely bare chest. His cell phone rings.

“My mom or my sister. They’re the only ones who call both lines,” he says before wrapping his arms tightly around me and kissing me again, more passionately this time. Suddenly the TV comes alive, with Elizabeth Taylor squawking at Richard Burton about what a pussy he is. We paused Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? when the delivery guy buzzed and forgot to turn it back on. “Jesus Christ, it’s the attack of the technology!” Anthony says and grabs the remote off the coffee table to turn off the TV. His cell rings again and, before it’s even stopped, mine joins its irritating jangle.

“Oh my God!” I scream, and Anthony grins at me while jumping off the couch.

“Come here, baby, let’s go hide from the world.” He holds out his hands. I reach up and he pulls me off the couch and into the air. As I land on my feet, a brutal buzz from the kitchen announces that our clothes are dry. Lucy barks at it three times before going back into her coma and a car alarm screeches outside. We laugh our way into the bedroom, where I leap onto the

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