❝I bet you got pushed around
Somebody made you cold
But the cycle ends right now
'Cause you can't lead me down that road❞

I missed the dinosaur-sex.

Not the having of it, no. But after enduring my new roommate's self-inflicted torture of playing Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Jeremy Zucker on repeat for hours every day, I'd started having a newfound appreciation for the dino-wails I'd heard coming through the walls just the week prior.

And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

My hand shook off balance, the blues on the edge of my paintbrush crushing into the wrong portion of the canvas. I stared at the thirtieth mistake I'd made in the last hour.

This was no New York skyline I was painting. This was a New York disaster.

I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake.

"Shake it off! Shake it off, ooh-ooh!"

That's it.

I threw my paintbrush back on the palette and rose to my feet, marching out of my room and down the hall to hers. I didn't bother knocking like any decent adult man would do. That was a courtesy reserved for decent adult women who weren't tone-deaf.

I twisted the door handle and threw it open, barging into her room.

"Would you turn that racket down?" I shouted, then looked around, greeted by empty air. She was no where in sight.

"Down here, chico."

My gaze fell to the floor. There was a pink yoga mat propped near the foot of her bed. And oh, she was on it. Doing butt bridges or whatever they were called.

Her hips and ass were raised in the air with her arms extending flat on the floor, neck perfectly still. Her face was red and sweaty, veins popping in her forehead as she held the position and stared at me, eyes intense with murderous concentration.

"I never miss a beat..."

She. Was. Still. Singing.

I resisted the urge to sushi roll her into the mat, carry her to the bay window in the living room, and yeet her out into the street. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the way her eyes fell to what I wore. She was fighting a smile.

"What corner of hell did you come from, lady?"

Her lips stopped twitching and her ass fell back to the floor. She sat up and took the towel off her bed, mopping her face.

"It's Harper. Not lady."

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered and moved over her to the small desk set up against the wall. I ignored her protests and closed her Spotify, welcoming the silence that followed.

Thank fuck.

"Stop touching my stuff without my permission!"

I felt a hard smack land on my back and I turned around to see her standing in front of me, face skewed with irritation.

"Stop playing pop songs 24-7. You've been assaulting my eardrums since you moved in."

She opened her mouth to say something before stopping and doing a once-over of me.

"What?" I grunted, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

"I don't see you in days and now I'm starting to see why," she said, hints of amusement lacing her words. "Do you go to sleep in that nightdress or something?"

My eyes flickered past her to the wall-mirror on the door of her sliding wardrobe. I was the picture of 'engrossed artist,' with my stubble having grown more scruffy and my hair an uncombed eagle's nest. But that wasn't what she was making fun of.

"It's called a smock," I corrected her, testy.

Suddenly, I panicked and looked down.

I was wearing pants. Whew.

"Well, it looks like a nightdress."

She crossed her arms too, mirroring me. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of her breasts rising higher under her sports bra, the beads of sweat glistening like drops of water on Mount Everest.

Aiden Jr. stirred.

"It's a smock!" I repeated, strained in more ways than one.

"Right. Well, whatever it is, you're not making very good use of it, are you?"

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

She sighed and gestured at the length of my upper torso.

"Isn't that...like, supposed to be covered with paint? It's spotless. That means you're not doing a good job."

Was I really being lectured by a butt-lifting, pop-listening, devil in disguise? I was too stunned by the implication of her back-handed insult to notice she was halfway out the door.

"Why don't I see what I'm working with here?" I heard her voice echo from the hallway.

She was going to my room. She was going to see my painting.

My first painting in years.

Oh, hell no.

I charged out of her room and into the doorway like a bull with diarrhoea, narrowing my eyes at the sight of her frame happily skipping over to my bedroom door like she was on her way to Disneyland.

Not today, witch.

Before I could process the fight-mode instincts that my body kicked up, I had barreled into her with a roar and pinned her to the floor. She started to kick against me with her long legs but I sat back on her knees, putting the entire weight of my body into keeping her still while wrapping my fingers around her wrists.

"Shortcake, what the fuck do you think you're—"

She stopped shouting and pressed her lips together, seeing the look on my face.

"What did you just call me?" I asked calmly.

"Uh. Nothing."

Her fight had gone out as she peered up at me with wide eyes, the coals in her ambers putting out.

"Shortcake?" I repeated, mouth drying. "Is that what I am?" Before she could answer, I prattled on, "I might be shorter than the average American man but I'll have you know, I'm just as strong if not more."

"I don't doubt that."

I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic. Everything she said to me came through this filter of high irony and venom at this point, it was hard to differentiate.

Nevertheless, she stopped shifting underneath me. I was suddenly very aware of how she smelled.

"You stink."

Of sweat and sex.

Her lips turned down.

"And you reek," she countered, jutting her chin up at me haughtily.

I was momentarily distracted by the freckles on her cheeks again, my eyes starting to count them unconsciously before I pulled myself back to the present moment. I was surprised to see her attention was elsewhere, eyes fixed on my neck.

"Did you put anything on them?" she asked, voice softer.

I blinked and pulled back, sitting back on my knees. She sat up and looked at me with a face that mirrored maternal concern. I covered the bruises on my neck with my hand and looked away, feeling annoyed.

"They'll go with time."

"Right."

We sat there for a couple seconds in awkward silence before she got to her feet.

"So the painting—"

"Don't, Harper."

It was the first time I'd addressed her by name. I didn't look up. I didn't even make a move to stop her. My words were enough though. Her shadow stilled and turned back in my direction.

What came out next was a thoughtless rush of uncensored anger.

"I don't know what it is with you people feeling entitled to mess around with my work but I don't like it. I don't want you anywhere near my room or my paintings or my computer or me. You're just a ghost that's taking up this space. And as far as I'm concerned, you're not even here."

It was the harshest thing I'd ever said to a woman. Well, actually second-harshest. But it was definitely the harshest thing I'd said to a stranger. The funniest part was it wasn't even meant for her.

I thought I heard a sniff. I definitely heard the sound of retreating footsteps and a door slam so loud it rattled the entire hallway. With a sigh, I crumpled back against the wall and dropped my face into my paint-stained hands.

Fuck.

I should add 'ability to make women cry' to my list of special skills. Lifting my head, I stared at her room door and wondered what to do next. An apology was probably in order. Yeah, I wasn't going to stoop any lower than what I'd just said.

Sighing, I pushed off the floor and to my feet, patting my smock down as I made my way to her room for the second time since we'd started this whole debacle.

This time, I knocked. And waited.

The door stayed shut.

Clearing my throat comically loud, I knocked again.

I could hear her feet shuffling from the other side so I knew she hadn't fainted or something dramatic. She was icing me out.

"Hey," I said and knocked on the door. "Listen, I didn't mean what I said. I was just—"

You, with your words like knives and swords and weapons that you use against me.

My fist froze mid-air.

You have knocked me off my feet again, got me feeling like I'm nothing.

She didn't.

I brought my hand to my forehead and pinched it, letting out my breath.

Stay patient, Aiden. She's just acting out like a child.

"Harper, can you please open up—"

She dialled the volume up in response.

You, with your voice like nails on a chalkboard calling me out when I'm wounded.

Wow.

The insult.

My voice was a fucking symphony.

I stepped back from the door as the music got even louder and she consciously skipped to the chorus for my benefit, blaring it through the thin walls.

Someday, I'll be living in a big old city, and all you're ever gonna be is mean.

I was done here.

I stomped back to my room and slammed my own door shut, twice for added measure. But it couldn't be heard. Not with Tay-Tay's voice calling me out for being a grade-A asshole.

I sunk down into my bed, not giving two shits about the dirty smock on EJ's pristine white sheets. One look around my room and it felt like a stranger's. If anything, I was the ghost living here.

I still hadn't unpacked and for a reason inconceivable to me, I hadn't wanted her to see that.

All you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life and mean.

And mean.

And mean.

"AND MEAN!" Harper shout-sang

Sitting up on my elbows, I glowered at the door.

The reason was no longer a mystery.

The reason being I was living with a raging, judgmental bitc—

I had a raging, gigantic boner.

Through no fault of my own, I should add. In fact, if there was a refund system on boners, I would definitely be cashing in on this one. I didn't want it but Aiden Jr. could only take so much.

When the clock had dinged 6 p.m., I decided to leave my room and finally make use of the premium kitchen in the apartment. In my efforts to avoid the supervillain I was living with, I'd constructed a simple but effective regiment that I'd written onto a sticky note and stuck to my wall:

- Morning run at 5:30 a.m.

- Breakfast at the French cafe at 7:30 a.m.

- Pre-order lunch for noon → have in room

- Diner down the street for dinner at 7 pm

After Harper's Taylor-Swift-infused declaration of war, I had no intention of playing nice or hiding from her to avoid further confrontation. Well, that and the fact that I couldn't live off croissants and bagels forever with my savings taking a considerable hit.

If I wanted to cook, I was going to cook.

With that completely innocent intention, I'd left the room and hurried down the hall to the kitchen. I'd stocked the fridge with a couple limited items, enough to make a decent salad and pasta. I was just about to open the fridge when something from the corner of my eye caught my attention.

My iPad was sitting on the kitchen island. I was positive I'd left it in my room but I hadn't seen it in a while either. Sighing, I'd picked it up only to stumble across something that was very much not my work.

Now, answer me this universe. How is it my fault that Harper had the exact same iPad as I did and also, like me, hadn't equipped it with a case? How is it my fault that she'd left it unlocked on the kitchen counter and disappeared from civilization?

And lastly, how could I be blamed for the fact that my hands refused to put down the device after seeing the word 'cock' on the screen?

I admit that normally, a straight man like myself would not be drawn to that word. On its own, it didn't do much for us. But with the very flattering 'licked his' as a precursor to the word, interests would pique. Among other things that peaked.

"Holy shit."

I'd sunk down onto the closest bar stool and devoured the open Google Doc like a man making sense of why the alphabet existed for the first time.

She couldn't comprehend it. She couldn't comprehend much anything but the man in front of her, baring his body and soul to her in a way no one had before. With her heart ramming inside her chest, she dropped to her knees before him.

"My Queen," he rose, seemingly offended by the gesture but she shook her head, silencing him with one icy look.

"Stay still."

An order he reluctantly followed, like most others he'd received. He was only reluctant at first, of course.

Things changed the moment Queen Guinevere took the length of him in her hand and lowered her head to Lancelot's throbbing hardness. She paused for a moment with a smirk and then, she licked his coc-

Aiden Jr. rejoiced as my grip on her iPad tightened.

Knights of the Round Table? More like Knights of Cum-lot.

I snickered at my own joke, making a mental note to write that one down somewhere incase I ever decided to do stand-up these days. Much to my horror, I didn't get a chance.

"What are you doing?"

My head snapped up, my hand dropping the iPad back on the counter. It was too late.

The front door clicked shut behind Harper. She stood still, a plastic bag of Chinese take-away in her right hand and the other curled into a fist. Her eyes widened into an expression of sheer mortification as she glanced between me and the iPad that contained her writing.

The woman who'd waged a war with me over a pizza...the Swiftie who'd blared the song Mean on repeat like an insolent little girl...

Who would have thought?

"You write porn!"

My voice was filled with as much glee as a man could muster.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed.

Two seconds later, I ducked as a bag stocked to the brim with hard plastic containers came flying at my face.

_____

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Song: Mean by Taylor Swift

P.S. Hello, my darlings. Thank you again for reading this chapter and I'm hoping you're enjoying the new dynamics between this fun, artsy little duo.

I'm out traveling and probably won't be posting the next chapter this Friday, so once again, you'll be limited to just this update this week. If y'all would like an update this weekend, I might be able to get one out if I'm motivated. 😉

The good news is, I DO have some other fun INKS AND PIXELS related side-projects in the works and will probably be announcing that next week. 

I can't wait to share them with you! In the mean time, please let me know your thoughts on the chapter!