Belinda shakes her head, silver hair bouncing. “Patty told me they’re full up until August.”
I sit up straight as my stomach drops. The butterflies rejoice. “August?” I repeat weakly. “What about that room that old lady Sherry was renting?”
“That got filled up last week,” Wolfe answers. “Her goddaughter or something.”
“Almond?” I croak. “Surely Almond has room.”
Gilbert and Belinda share alook.
“Almond has a couch,” Wolfe says. “And that couch barely fits Amia’s little body for her to sleep over. It’s definitely not fitting you, even if you are apretty little princess.”
“I can’t stay with Fox,” I tell the room.
“She can’t stay with me,” he agrees just as vehemently.
Crickets respond.
An hour later, I stand unhappily in front of Fox’s door while my sisters make a run to my house to pack a suitcase for me for the next several weeks. Of staying with Fox. In his apartment. With him.
This is the worst day of my life, and that’s saying something with the house I grew up in.
The butterfly enclosure that is my body disagrees.
Bodies. Are. So. Stupid.
Host extraordinaire, Fox sniffs unhappily as he unlocks his door and pushes in ahead of me, not waiting to see if I follow.
I highly,highlyconsider not, but Wolfe nudges me from behind, and I have no choice.
It’s into the belly of the grumpy, jerkface beast I go.
Chapter Nine
?
To win is to win, of course.
Poem
Fox’s apartment looks exactly like I would have expected of a dwelling above a bar and not at all like I would have guessed for him. I always pictured him with dark leather and dark wood, living life by a single Tiffany lamp and a cozy, manly mood.
The cozy, manly moodispresent, but presented much differently than I imagined. Instead of leathers and dark woods, the huge, open space boasts brick walls and steel beams. Color dots the main room in surprising slashes. A yellow couch. A pink rug. Orange barstools. He flips a switch, and several tall, sculptural lamps turn on, illuminating the mixture of industrial and fun in a soft glow.
It looks…
Incredible, if I’m honest. Funky without being overwhelming and warm in a way that shows he clearly cares about the comfort of himself and his guests—when those guests aren’t me, anyway.
He grumbles something decidedlynothospitable as he comes to a stop in the middle of his open-plan kitchen to glare at me.
I turn, looking for my emotional support Wolfy, only to find him wiggling his fingers in a goodbye from the hallway.
“Don’t leave me here with him!” I hiss.
“Sorry,” he says, not one single ounce of apology in his tone. “But I’m childfree for a night. I’m going to go take a long, uninterrupted shower and watch something rated R.” He grins,eyes flashing to his brother. “Enjoy your… whatever it is you two have going on.”
And then the door is shut, and he’s gone, and I am all alone with Fox and my moronic butterflies.
My skin tingles.
