Grumpalicious by Mia Faye

Chapter 1

YVETTE

I knew I had made a mistake.

I let the box drop from my hands and sank onto the pavement. I took a quick peek into the back of the truck and let out an exasperated sigh. I was nowhere close to being done. Moving always seemed so easy in the movies; a quick montage with music and the whole apartment was transplanted magically into the new house. Turns out it wasn’t so easy; there was the whole process of actually grabbing boxes and carrying them up to three flights of stairs, again and again, until your arms turned into spaghetti.

The mistake was not getting a professional moving company to do the whole thing for me. It’s not that I didn’t want to, really. Hiring professional movers would have cost an arm and a leg, and I was fresh out of body parts after spending all my money on rent and the move to Bend. Then there was the fact that Tyler, my best friend, had offered to help me move and volunteered his own van. So, at the time, it seemed like a reasonable plan.

It didn’t seem so reasonable anymore. Tyler emerged from the apartment complex, and I could tell from his face he was thinking the exact same thing as me.

“We’re right on track,” he said. “Only about 600 boxes to go.”

He sat down next to me on the pavement, patted himself down, and extracted a cigarette from one of his pockets. He put it between his lips but didn’t light it; it just sat there, dangling idly in his mouth.

“Can’t we take a break?” I asked him. “I just want to lie down here and let the feeling return to my fingers.”

“Bad idea,” Tyler said. “If we take a break, we won’t be able to get back to work. Trust me.”

“I’m starving. Are you starving?”

“Oh, I’m famished. But I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. We can’t get a quick bite.”

“Why not!” I whined, swayed slightly, and laid my head on his shoulder.

“Well, because one of us was adamant that we finish moving you in before we go exploring the city, and it wasn’t me.”

“Why do you always have to be the voice of reason? Just once, support me! You’re supposed to be my best friend!”

“I am your best friend. I’ve been lifting these heavy ass boxes all morning, haven’t I? What is all this shit anyway? How can one person own so much useless stuff?”

“It’s not useless; how dare you?” I lifted my head from his shoulder and gave him a withering glare.

“No?” Tyler got up and walked over to the back of the van. He opened the nearest box and pulled out a battered-looking record.

“Vinyl,” he said smirking. “In the year of our Lord 2019. Pretty unusual for a 25-year-old woman.”

“You know that’s my dad’s old collection. What was I supposed to do, leave it behind?”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. Donate them, chuck them into a river… anything.”

I got up and went over to the truck as well.

“More lifting and carrying, less complaining. Come on.”

Tyler shook his head, but his eyes were twinkling with mirth. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket. It was an odd little habit of his; I don’t think I’d ever seen him actually smoke. He grabbed the box of records and gave me a playful shove with his hips, and then he set off toward the apartment.

I let out a long sigh and shook my head to spur my reluctant body into action. I reached for the next box and flipped it open. It contained part of my extensive shoe collection, and from the way it settled heavily into my arms, a few bricks too.

I only made it a few steps away from the truck. The apartment block seemed so far away, and the box was beginning to cut into my fingers. I tried to adjust my body, sinking low to transfer the weight onto my legs as I shifted the box so that I had a better grip. It was a bad idea. The movement only made me more aware of how tenuous my grip was in the first place, and when I tried to go back to the way I had been holding it, I felt it start to slip.

I froze, muttered a quick prayer, but knew it was pointless. My fingers got slicker and slicker, and I sank lower and lower, and then I lost my grip altogether, and suddenly the box was falling. I heard myself curse, letting out a string of choice expletives.

But the box did not make it to the ground.

I didn’t see or hear him approaching. He seemed to come out of thin air; one minute I was alone, the next he was just there. I saw his hand shoot out, and the alarm caused me to let go of the box completely.

“Careful!” he said, reaching out with both hands and grabbing it, securing it inches from the ground.

I took a stunned step back to examine the stranger. It might have been the exhaustion, or the sun, or maybe even the fact that little stars were popping up in my vision. But it occurred to me that this was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on.

He towered over me, so I had to look up at him, into the sun. It created a sort of halo around his face, making him look even more beautiful.

He had the bluest eyes, soft pools of shimmering aqua that burned with intensity, the corners of which were crinkled from smiling. His hair was blond, long and wavy, falling into his face and around his ears. He had a strong square jaw with a hint of stubble, and a mouth that seemed to curve naturally into a permanent smile. But that wasn’t the most remarkable thing about him. He was imposing enough, physically, but there was an air of masculinity about him that I couldn’t describe. It was everything about him; his scent, the way his muscles tensed as he held on to the box, and the way he looked at me, his eyes assessing, caressing, and—I was sure I was imagining it—undressing me.

I was suddenly aware of the old, oversized shirt I was wearing, the wildness of my hair, and the complete lack of make-up on my face. I was dressed for a lazy afternoon on the couch, not a chance encounter with a gorgeous man. I felt simultaneously shy and bold. I wanted to reach up and pull the errant strands from his forehead, that slick little clump of blond hair that was clinging to his face. And I wanted to melt and disappear into the earth.

“You can let go; I’ve got it,” the man said, and I forced my mind back to the present. I didn’t have as much luck with my heart, though, which I hadn’t even noticed was hammering at top speed.

I did as I was told, letting go and stepping back.

The man readjusted his grip on the box. It didn’t seem as heavy in his hands, somehow. I noticed the grey T-shirt for the first time, the grey slacks and running shoes. Going for a run in the middle of the day?

“Where are we going?” he asked me.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. It seemed to take a long time for my brain to put two and two together. Was he asking if he could carry it up for me? As in up the stairs, to my tiny one-bedroom apartment? Where I would no doubt die from shame?

“No, that’s okay,” I said, my voice feeble. “I think I can manage.”

“Are you sure?” He was beaming now, and I knew it was from the irony of the situation. I hadn’t been managing too well 10 seconds ago.

“Oh, yeah. I just lost my grip a little, but I’m sure I’ll make it.”

“What’s your name?” he asked me, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Yvette,” I said. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Cameron. Cam. Listen, Yvette, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of carrying this and any other boxes up to your apartment. I’m simply offering to help. You can grab one of the others, ideally not as heavy as this, and we’ll get going, how about that?”

He must have been in his mid-thirties and had a natural charm I was sure had left a string of broken hearts in his wake. Despite myself, I found myself nodding. I did need some help with the boxes; at the pace Tyler and I were working, it would take us most of the day to finish, so I mumbled my agreement, trooped back to the truck and picked out a much lighter box, this one containing some of my old clothes.

Cameron made a ‘shall we’ motion with his head, and I pointed with my chin in the direction of the building. He stepped aside, indicating that I should go first, and I obliged. We set off walking slowly, and I promptly realized the problem with the formation. It seemed silly to even worry about it, but I was suddenly very conscious of my walk. An ex-boyfriend used to make fun of the way I walked, calling it ‘my adorable waddle’. Worse, though, I was treating him to an unrestricted view of my ass.

It got especially pronounced when we got to the stairs. I could almost feel the heat from his gaze, and even though I was sure it wasn’t really the case, it felt like his eyes were on my ass. My cheeks felt like they were under a microscope, as though there were two white-hot beams burning holes into the seat of my pants. It went on and on. Three flights of stairs had never seemed so long; I wasn’t even aware of the box in my hands, or the increasing raggedness of my breathing, or the way my legs were starting to get heavy. All I knew was that this handsome stranger was ogling me, and it pushed me faster up the stairs.

I emerged into the third-floor hallway with a sigh of relief. I sped into apartment 23, pressing myself into the wall when the door swung open before I could reach for it. Tyler stepped out, saw me, and opened his mouth to say something. But then he saw Cameron, and I felt a flush of pleasure at seeing him react to Cameron the exact same way I had.

“Hey!” Cameron greeted him cheerily. “Where do I put this?”

Tyler stepped aside, kicking the door with his foot. He shook his head like he was just coming out of stupor. “My God!” he said, looking from me to the back of Cameron.

“I know, dude,” I said. “I know. Go get more boxes. Cam said he’ll help.”

“Oh, he can definitely help. Maybe he can help you set up your bed.”

“Boxes, Tyler.” I blushed and shouldered my way into the apartment after Cameron.

“This is a lovely place,” Cameron said. He was standing in the middle of the room, hands-on-hips.

“It’s a dump,” I said. “But it will do.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a dump. It has an excellent view.”

He beckoned me over to the window, and I reluctantly walked over. I had looked out the window several times since getting here; there was nothing outside but a long stretch of a boring brown wall, and on the other side of it, a far more luxurious apartment complex.

“Spectacular,” I said, trying and failing to conceal my sarcasm.

Cameron laughed. “Look over there,” he said, pointing to one of the windows on the apartment building. “The same floor, a little over on the right. See that window?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s my bedroom window.”

My head snapped around to him. “Wha… what do you mean?” I asked.

“I live there,” he said. “Right across from you. I think that makes us neighbors.”

He flashed me a cheeky smile. This time there was no mistaking the innuendo, or the twinkle in his eyes.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Yvette.”