“Does that happen often?”
“I’m standingright here,” Grey says.
“And you’re using your stubborn ass voice,” I snap back. “Also, my dog is freaking out, which means someone else needs to check on you.”
“Wow. This is fascinating,” Zen says. “I’ll text him a picture of penis latte art, and if he doesn’t flip me off in response, make him lie down and put his feet up.”
I almost choke on my tongue.Make him lie down and put his feet up?Are they pranking me, or is something legit wrong here? “Oh my god.”
“I know. Penis latte art is extreme, but I like to remind him life could be worse.”
“The other thing.”
“Oh. That. He won’t die.”
“Oh my god.”
“Still standing right here.” Grey presses his palms into his eyes, clearly standing on his own just fine, but Zen isn’t making me feel any better.
Nor is Jitter.
My dog is still laying across Grey’s feet, whining and pressing his body to Grey’s legs while the man himself leans against the wall under the stairs.
“For real, he’s only had one trip in an ambulance, and his stress levels are much lower here compared to then, even if he’s making things worse on himself with thisSuper Villain Manplan.”
“I swear to caramel macchiatos, if you’re fucking with me right now—”
Grey moves, and I cut myself off to point him toward the couch. “Lay down.”
“I’mfine,” he says.
“He’s grumpy again. Like, worse grumpy. Is that a good or a bad sign?” I ask Zen.
“He has a minor circulation issue that may or may not clear itself up if he can reduce his stress levels, so he should probably not be grumpy. Did you do something?”
“Are you helping or hurting with the stress levels?”
“Helping. Duh. You? What did you do to stress him out? Did you pull out the powdered cheese again?”
Am I having blood pressure issues now too? I do believe I am. “I walked my dog.”
“Aww, Jitter’s such a good dog. Hey, has he checked his phone? I texted him.”
“Check your phone,” I tell Grey when I realize Zen didn’t mean Jitter needed to checkhisphone.
Grey looks at the dog, then at me, and he sighs as he sinks to the floor. “My phone stresses me out.”
“He needs to change his number, but he won’t listen to me no matter how many penis latte art pictures I send him,” Zen says. “Oh, yes, there it is. He’s flipped off my latte art in text. He’s fine. Go about your day with a clear conscience, and thank you for your good deed.”
“My—”
The line clicks dead.
“—pleasure,” I finish.
Minor circulation issue?Super Villain Man?
“You can go,” he says stiffly, not looking at me.
