This is a messed-up time we live in, all thanks to social media like ClikClak. Well, since social media created this mess, we should definitely use it to clean it up.
Except ... I don’t know anything about posting there. I mainly use it to see what people are saying about me and to watch funny videos of people falling. And the occasional pimple popping.
I know it’s gross, but I can’t look away.
I look up Andi, but she doesn’t have a public account. But the videos talking about the two of us ...
Now I know why she’s desperate.
There’s no way she’s keeping her job.
This is complete and utter bullshit. There’s nothing going on between us, other than I’m a decent human being who’s trying not to let someone die on my watch. Speaking of which, it’s time to check on her again.
Andi’s leg is twitching. Is it a normal sleep thing or a seizure? I turn on the bedside lamp and sit down on the other side of the bed to watch her for a moment. I’m not comfortable, so eventually I shift so I’m propped up against the headboard. This is much better. Did I mention there are no pillows on the couch? I’ve never met a female without tons of useless pillows around.
The motion in her legs stops and she rolls over toward me. “You okay, Andrew?” I whisper. I don’t know why I called her that. Maybe because in the middle of the night, in the soft glow from her lamp, with her sleeping next to me, this feels more intimate than it should.
She mumbles something that sounds like an affirmative response.
“Okay, I was just checking on you. I’ll go back to the couch now.” I start to get up.
She mumbles again, this time the word is more clear. “Stay.”
I freeze, one leg hanging over the side of the bed. My gut clenches. Does she really want me to stay in her bed with her? It’s not like anything’s going to happen. I’m here for her. To make sure she’s okay. I still need some sleep.
That’s all this is. Sleep.
I close my eyes, knowing I’ll open them again in a few minutes.
Chapter 26: Andi
My head hurts.
There’s avocado toast wilting on my nightstand. How the hell did that get there?
At the hospital, they told me I could have some memory loss. I didn’t expect it to be this bad. How could I not remember making avocado toast? It’s like a four-step process and includes the use of a sharp knife. Maybe I shouldn’t be here alone.
I’m curled up on my side staring at the food on my nightstand with absolutely no recollection of how it got there. All I remember is having weird dreams about a dog—I think it was a corgi from one of Hannah LaRosa’s videos. I was chasing after it, trying to give it a red card. No matter how many times I yelled at it to stay, it just kept running away.
My heart stops when I feel the other side of the bed depress with movement, like a dog jumped up on it.
Except I don’t have a dog, unless Sir Fluffybottom really is here.
I glance behind me.
What the hell is Brandon Nix doing in my bed?
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment? Why are you in my bed?”
“Isn’t this a condo? Would you call it an apartment?”
I blink slowly. Is he really arguing with me about this?
I’m so disarmed that I answer his questions for lack of anything else to say. “I guess technically it’s a condo, but I feel stupid saying that. When you say condo, people think of high rises with shiny amenities. This is so not that. They just say condo so they can collect an HOA fee. It doesn’t matter. Why are you here? You’re in my bed!” I pull a blanket up around me, as if to cover myself in modesty. It doesn’t matter that I’m fully dressed.
“Making sure you don’t die. That would not help our case.” He stretches out, placing his arms behind his head. Like he belongs here.Like he should be comfortable in my bed!
“I’d be dead. I wouldn’t care.”
