she could feel the good-looking boy look her over.
“Don’t do her any favors,” he growled, “she doesn’t deserve it.” And he looked so annoyed that for a moment Paxton wondered if they were married. But something about the similarity of their profiles suggested that they were either very narcissistic or related.
“I’ll give you a hand with it, if you like,” Paxton offered again, tossing her long blond hair away from her face, and looking at the smiling redhead.
“That’s nice of you. My brother’s being a big pain in the ass over carrying one small bag.”
“One small bag!” he shrieked, as his words echoed down the stairs. “Do you have any idea what this thing weighs? It must weigh four hundred pounds if it weighs an ounce. And I’m not even sure the three of us could carry it.”
“We could try,” Paxton reassured him, and he looked her over again with warm appraisal.
“Why don’t we just leave her with this mess of her own making, and you and I go have a beer at Kips? That sounds a lot better.”
Paxton laughed, as his sister threatened him with a look that didn’t begin to suggest amusement. “Peter Wilson, you go anywhere and I’ll strangle you. Don’t forget that your sheets are in my other bag, and if you don’t carry this stuff for me, you can sleep on your mattress for the rest of the year for all I care.”
“You’re breaking my heart.” He looked past her at Paxton again, smiling. “Come on, let’s go have a beer and ditch her.” Paxton was laughing, too, but she was gamely trying to lift the other end of the trunk with the redhead.
“Come on, asshole … pick up your end!” the girl was instructing him, and finally with a groan of complaint, he did and they made it up the stairs, but barely. He was right, Paxton realized. The thing weighed a ton, and she couldn’t begin to imagine what the redhead had put in it.
“Where’s your room?” He was looking annoyed again, and he glanced at his watch. He had better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than play porter for his sister.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Christ, are you even in the right building?” He looked like he was going to murder her again, but she nodded.
“Yes!” She fumbled in her handbag and found a piece of paper. She was wearing jeans and a flowered shirt, and what looked like a pair of very expensive loafers. But nothing else gave her away, except for the fact that she must have put gold bars in the trunk, and all of her luggage was leather. “Okay, here it is.” She read off the number and Paxton stared at her in surprise and then smiled. She was lucky. It had turned out okay. She already liked her.
“You’re my roommate,” Paxton announced, and the tall young man groaned, and sat down on the trunk with a sympathetic look at Paxton.
“You poor thing. You have no idea what you’re in for.” And then he stuck out his hand and shook Paxton’s. “I’m Peter Wilson, by the way.”
“I’m Paxton Andrews.”
“I’m Gabrielle. Gabby Wilson,” she explained, and then smiled warmly at Paxton. “Where’re you from? I love your accent.”
“I’d never thought I had one till I came here.” Paxxie laughed. “And I’m glad someone does. As you’ll see in a few minutes, one of our roommates is not exactly crazy about it.”
“Tell her to go screw herself,” Gabby said chattily, as Peter stood up and began wrestling with the trunk again with a look of disapproval.
“That’s my little sister, ever the lady. Come on, big mouth, if you can pack this stuff, you can carry it too. Help me get this to your room. I have a date at five-thirty.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” she said unsympathetically as she picked up the other end, and Paxton helped her.
“You’re breaking my back, which is worse,” he complained, but a moment later they got the enormous trunk to the living room, and set it down on the orange carpet, and then the threesome went back for her valises.
“Don’t do her any favors,” he growled, “she doesn’t deserve it.” And he looked so annoyed that for a moment Paxton wondered if they were married. But something about the similarity of their profiles suggested that they were either very narcissistic or related.
“I’ll give you a hand with it, if you like,” Paxton offered again, tossing her long blond hair away from her face, and looking at the smiling redhead.
“That’s nice of you. My brother’s being a big pain in the ass over carrying one small bag.”
“One small bag!” he shrieked, as his words echoed down the stairs. “Do you have any idea what this thing weighs? It must weigh four hundred pounds if it weighs an ounce. And I’m not even sure the three of us could carry it.”
“We could try,” Paxton reassured him, and he looked her over again with warm appraisal.
“Why don’t we just leave her with this mess of her own making, and you and I go have a beer at Kips? That sounds a lot better.”
Paxton laughed, as his sister threatened him with a look that didn’t begin to suggest amusement. “Peter Wilson, you go anywhere and I’ll strangle you. Don’t forget that your sheets are in my other bag, and if you don’t carry this stuff for me, you can sleep on your mattress for the rest of the year for all I care.”
“You’re breaking my heart.” He looked past her at Paxton again, smiling. “Come on, let’s go have a beer and ditch her.” Paxton was laughing, too, but she was gamely trying to lift the other end of the trunk with the redhead.
“Come on, asshole … pick up your end!” the girl was instructing him, and finally with a groan of complaint, he did and they made it up the stairs, but barely. He was right, Paxton realized. The thing weighed a ton, and she couldn’t begin to imagine what the redhead had put in it.
“Where’s your room?” He was looking annoyed again, and he glanced at his watch. He had better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than play porter for his sister.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Christ, are you even in the right building?” He looked like he was going to murder her again, but she nodded.
“Yes!” She fumbled in her handbag and found a piece of paper. She was wearing jeans and a flowered shirt, and what looked like a pair of very expensive loafers. But nothing else gave her away, except for the fact that she must have put gold bars in the trunk, and all of her luggage was leather. “Okay, here it is.” She read off the number and Paxton stared at her in surprise and then smiled. She was lucky. It had turned out okay. She already liked her.
“You’re my roommate,” Paxton announced, and the tall young man groaned, and sat down on the trunk with a sympathetic look at Paxton.
“You poor thing. You have no idea what you’re in for.” And then he stuck out his hand and shook Paxton’s. “I’m Peter Wilson, by the way.”
“I’m Paxton Andrews.”
“I’m Gabrielle. Gabby Wilson,” she explained, and then smiled warmly at Paxton. “Where’re you from? I love your accent.”
“I’d never thought I had one till I came here.” Paxxie laughed. “And I’m glad someone does. As you’ll see in a few minutes, one of our roommates is not exactly crazy about it.”
“Tell her to go screw herself,” Gabby said chattily, as Peter stood up and began wrestling with the trunk again with a look of disapproval.
“That’s my little sister, ever the lady. Come on, big mouth, if you can pack this stuff, you can carry it too. Help me get this to your room. I have a date at five-thirty.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” she said unsympathetically as she picked up the other end, and Paxton helped her.
“You’re breaking my back, which is worse,” he complained, but a moment later they got the enormous trunk to the living room, and set it down on the orange carpet, and then the threesome went back for her valises.
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