“Connor Lockwood, I know your father. You know as well as I do he could restore this lamp in a morning.”
From there, I zone out for a good long while, and when I come back to reality, they’re still at it. By the look of things, Connor has the owner on the ropes. He keeps naming a price so low that I’m deeply embarrassed to be part of this. The poor man is twittering and shaking his head, but to my amazement, he appears to be having the time of his life.
Eventually, they shake on a number, and Connor whips out his card and pays. I stand there, delayed, as he seizes the lampand hot-foots it out of the store. “Hurry,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, “before he changes his mind.”
“Just so you know,” the owner yells after us, “you didn’t rob me. I gave that lamp to you. Needed the space in my store.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say as we walk to the car. He’s holding the lamp in both hands, in front of his body, like it’s a trophy.
“I could tell you loved it, so yeah, I did.”
“I could have paid.”
“No, no,” he says. “It’s a welcome-to-the-apartment gift. Plus, it doesn’t matter what that guy says. It was asteal. We robbed him blind. Can’t wait to call my dad and tell him about it.”
“Um, thanks.”
The pit from before forms again. Deeper and heavier. Like I’m a door, and something or someone is knocking on my spine. Tapping to remind me of something. Or to let me know that I need to let someone in.
19
Lennon
Westepbackandadmire our efforts. The nightstands have been placed on either side of my bed, the new lamp on the right side, and Havi’s old broken one on the left. The books I was perfectly happy using as a nightstand have been placed on the shelf, in alphabetic order, and the wicker baskets take up most of the bottom shelf.
“Hm,” says Connor critically. “You need a mirror or something above the shelves.” If I cared about the décor of my room, or if this was indeed my actual room, not a visual representation of several of my biggest mistakes come to life, I’d be inclined to agree. “Wanna come antiquing with me again next weekend?”
“No,” I say firmly.
Connor’s chest caves and a throaty chuckle leaves him. He swings a hand in my direction, swatting me lightly on the arm. “If you come with me, I won’t tell Anna you need a mirror.”
“Good luck with that,” I tell him, crossing my arms and rubbing the spot he just touched. His touch was light, but it lefta warm imprint of his hand on my skin all the same. “Hate to break it to you, bud, but that threat only works once.”
“Okay,” he shrugs. “So you’ll come because you want to spend time with me.” He’s being completely ridiculous. I have no idea why it isn’t annoying the hell out of me. “What are you going to put in the baskets?”
“No idea. I wasn’t the one who thought I needed them.”
He crosses his arms and tips his head to the side. “I guess if you had a big collection of sex toys, you could put ’em in there. They’re a good size for that kind of thing. Pity the shelves are so far from the bed though.”
“I, er, I don’t have sex toys.” His brows shoot up, and despite how out of left field his comment was, he manages to look more shocked by my response than I am by what he said. I’m not sure how to reply, but it feels like I need to say something. Sadly, I land on, “Do you have a big collection of sex toys?”
He scoots his lips up and to the side and rocks a hand from side to side. “I wouldn’t saybig, but it’s well-rounded.”
His phone rings, and all traces of our conversation evaporate.
“It’s my mom,” he cries happily.
I gape at his back as he leaves my room. If this continues, I’m going to have to compile a list of shit dudes don’t get ridiculously happy about and give it to him when I move out.
“Hey, Momma,” I hear him say as he heads to his room. There’s a smile in his voice. Love too. A lot of it. There’s a pause as his mom says something, and he answers, “Yep, still here…” Another pause. Another smile, this one accompanied by a soft sigh. “Still beating.”
I look down at my wrist and groan inwardly. There are still hours of today left. Hours and fucking hours. I can’t be in this apartment with Connor here until nightfall.
In keeping with the fact that I haven’t had a rational thought in months, I decide that the best thing to do is to go for a run.
Get some fresh air. Clear my head.
It’ll do me good.
