No, I wanted to say. But my guilt suffocated me. “Always.”
She grinned to herself and pulled out her phone, no doubt texting a friend.
Our food arrived before long and unease twisted my gut. There was so much I had left to do before I could go home. The seconds ticked by, heedless and unyielding.
And I remembered something else.
“By the way,” I began, cautious with the words I used. “With this new gig of yours, will you still be staying at the condo?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, displeasure igniting in their depths. “Why wouldn’t I?” she snapped, her defenses hauled up one by one.
“The condo is on the other side of town,” I pointed out. “It’ll be harder for you to get to the bar every day than if you had a place downtown.”
“I’m not livingdowntown,” she spat, as if the thought alone was an insult. “And I love my condo.”
Mycondo, I wanted to correct her. But I let it go.
As I did with most things.
“Right, of course,” I quickly said. “You don’t mind driving all that way then?”
“I’ll get someone else to drive me,” she scoffed, digging into her pasta dish. “You know I hate driving.”
I sighed internally and forced a smile. Not much would change then.
7. House Rules
Devon
“Devon!”Tamerayelled.“Ihope you’re decent because I’ve arrived with snacks!”
I chuckled from inside my bathroom. Tamera had let herself in with her copy of my apartment key and I was willing to bet my life savings that she’d already pawed at the snacks she brought with her.
“I hear you,” I shouted back and wrapped my towel around myself. “I think the entire apartment building heard you, Christ.”
I rounded the corner that led into my small living room and spotted Tamera sitting cross-legged on the carpet. She’d already eaten her way through a bag of potato chips.
“Hallelujah,” she said through chipmunk cheeks. “You take forever in the shower.”
“I take exactly the right amount of time.” I sniffed. “Maybe your ten-minute showers are just jealous of me.”
Tamera snickered and shoveled another handful of chips into her mouth. “Won’t you offer me something to drink?” she said instead. “I am a guest, after all.”
“You raid my kitchen whenever you visit, asshole.” I chuckled, throwing one of the pillows from the sofa at her.
She raised cheese-stained fingers to protect her face. “And yet I always make sure to shop before I come here,” she shot back with a grin. “You could be a little more grateful.”
“I could,” I called as I walked back to my room. “But then we wouldn’t have these lovely conversations, would we?”
She muttered a response but I chuckled, making quick work of getting dressed into my comfiest sweats and a hoodie. When I reemerged from my room she’d buried herself beneath one of my fluffiest blankets and was surfing through Netflix for something to watch.
“Wow, you make yourself comfy quicker than I get dressed.” I chuckled. “Are there any snacks left in that little fort of yours?”
She lifted one arm, flapping the blanket open to offer me a view of the hoard of treats buried inside. “I left most of your favorites,” she said, pointing at the bags of gummies and jellies. “What are we eating for dinner?”
I laughed. “You still have an appetite for actual food after eating your weight in sugar?”
“Of course, I always have room for your cooking.” She smiled.
