“Good to know…” I trail off as Omar walks into the room. He looked damn fine in that suit, but the beat-up jeans and white tank top he’s wearing are…yeah.Nice.
He’s barefoot, holding one flip-flop in his hand, and I hold back a laugh.
“Have you seen my other one?” he asks in an accusatory tone, assuming—correctly—that I have something to do with the unpaired state of his footwear. The disgruntled stitch of his eyebrows is totally worth it.
I smile and pull it out of the couch cushions where I hid it earlier.
He rolls his eyes and sits next to me, mumbling, “Figures.”
“What figures?”
“You didn’t give me a hard time on the walk over, so you had to make up for it somehow.”
I lean my shoulder into his. “Oh, do you need our little back-and-forth?”
He pushes me away, but there’s no heat to it. “No. But it makes me nervous when you behave yourself for more than five minutes at a time.”
“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.”
“Since the stairwell?”
“I’m an enigma. I contain multitudes.”
He snorts. “Doubt it. You’re pretty much a one-note.”
On one hand, it’s as close to a genuine laugh as I’ve ever gotten from him, which is pretty impressive for a sentient piece of rebar. On the other, having him think I’m a one-note…rankles.
Anyway, joke’s on him. I’d spent the walk over thinking about how to get him back for the fuck-me eyes he’d given me in the stairwell, but now I’m questioning whether or not it’s the mature choice.
Just kidding—I never consider whether or not it’s the mature choice.
He’ssogoing to pay for that little party trick.
3
Omar
It’s possible I’ve terribly underestimated one Anders Fucking Bash. At minimum, I’ve completely miscalculated his dedication to fucking with me.
Ever since the night we took out the judge, he’s been pranking me. I knew I was inviting bullshit by staring at him while I was kissing that older guy, but it felt good to be the one to mess with his head for once. Hell, focusing on Anders made the kissing more bearable.
The problem is, right after that op, I bought a Land Rover and signed on my condo. While I would never admit this aloud…it’s a big deal for me. I spent the first ten years in America completely alone and barely scraping by, and now I drive a nice car and live in a luxury condo in Downtown Austin.
More than that, this is the development Jake’s sister and her wife just finished, so Jake also lives here with his fiancé, who is some big basketball hero. Parker just moved in a few weeks ago, and now Rafi and Everett are considering buying here as well. I’ve missed living with Rafi, and something about all of us in the same place makes it feel like…home. And family.
So, of course, Anders’ little pranks always involve either my car or my condo. One of his favorite things to do is break into my home—despite my extensive safety measures—and move one thing out of place.
Take today for instance. It’s the week after Thanksgiving, and there’s a light freeze warning. That’s an important fact because Anders has been on an op for the last week and a half, and I just got back from my morning run to find that all my houseplants have been brought in.
More than that, every single one of them has a handwritten note from Anders’ prescription pad, outlining the exact way in which I’m killing them and what I can do to fix it. A quick Google search confirms he’s right about every single one of them.
I know when I’ve been outmatched, so this morning I called in reinforcements.
“You do know that we have a perfectly lovely coffee shop in our actual building,” I say as Parker joins me on the couch.
We’re at Genuine Joe’s in North Central Austin, and while this is one of my favorite coffee shops, it’s not what you’d call convenient.
“I thought we were being covert,” she says, widening her eyes as she brings a beautifully poured matcha latte to her mouth.
