Understandable—
“Holmes isn’t happy, and he doesn’t have a lot of sex,” Posey says out of fucking nowhere.
Uh . . . what?
Blakely brings her attention to me with a tilt of her head. “Not having a lot of sex, Holmes?”
Kill me.
Kill me right fucking now.
“I mean, he has sex,” Posey interjects. “But not like the other guys, you know? He’s not a virgin if that’s what you’re thinking. Far from a virgin. Although there was a point in time when I wondered if he even had genitals—”
“Shut . . . up,” Silas mutters, thankfully.
“Right.” Posey clears his throat. “Anyway, he has a spare bedroom, and he’s not part of a happy couple, and for all we know, he doesn’t have an infant, so you know, you could stay with him.”
What the actual fuck is he doing?
Blakely, stay with me?
I can barely look at her or talk to her. Sharing a living space would probably send me into a nervous breakdown.
“Are you his landlord?” Blakely teases.
“More like his hairy godmother.” Posey makes himself laugh . . . and only himself.
Either Blakely is being polite or she’s unaware of the tension building in our circle. As much as I love Posey for everything he is, he’s putting me on the goddamn spot right now. I’m pretty sure it’s not something I can handle.
Hell, I know it’s not something I can handle.
What if she accepts? What the hell am I supposed to do? Live with my crush?
How would that fucking work? Me walking around the apartment, stumbling over my words and trying not to stare at her too much while she lives her life, probably taking on the opinion that I’m some sort of a goddamn nutjob?
No . . . this can’t happen.
Not to mention, there’s no way she would ever live with someone she barely knows. She has a good head on her shoulders, so she’ll probably find a hotel or—
“Is it a real offer?” she asks.
My gaze snaps up to hers, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Posey’s obnoxious smile. The satisfaction that must be running through him right now.
“Huh?” I ask, blanking completely.
“The offer to stay at your place, is it real?”
She can’t be serious.
No way does she want to stay with me. She barely knows me. Sure, we’ve talked here and there, and I’ve told her she looked beautiful in her dress a couple of times. But stay with me? She might be desperate, but not that desperate.
“It is,” Posey says. “He was telling me the other day that he wishes someone could water his bonsai tree when he’s on away trips. He’s always worried it will die when he’s gone.”
What the fuck is a bonsai tree?
“Don’t you have to spritz them with water gently?” she asks.
“You would think,” Posey says, “but I believe Holmes lets his soak up its own water, don’t you?”
