“She’s not living with me,” he insists. Though, for someone so adamant about something, his voice notably drops a few levels in volume. Like he’s afraid she might hear him. “She’s just staying with me while she’s between places.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Right. Just staying with you. Between places.”
“Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Repeating what I said," he huffs. "Like you’re mocking me.”
“Oh, that.” I roll my eyes. “Because Iammocking you.” I lean toward him and hiss, “I hate to break it to you, Jovi, but you one hundred percent have a live-in girlfriend.”
He matches my stance and hisses back, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stand upright again. “Right. So there’s, like, a housing shortage right now?”
His brow crinkles. “No.”
“She can’t afford rent?”
He averts his eyes. “She’s a teacher. Money’s not great but she can live on it.”
When he still refuses to see where I’m leading him, I carry on, “And all her stuff, it’s in storage?”
“No.” This time his nose twitches at the admission.
“In boxes? Stored in a closet? Or a spare room?”
He starts to shift his weight from side to side. “No.”
“Then…it’s unpacked? In your house?”
He scowls. “It’s not how it sounds. I haven’t been around to move all my stuff in, let alone buy the furniture to fill this place. And she couldn’t stay in an empty house, so—”
I smirk, reveling in my impending victory. “She moved in.”
“It’s only temporary,” he grumbles, right back to where he started.
I sigh. “I’m too tired to explain to you how girls work but trust me when I say,thisgirl found a loophole with your commitment-phobic ass and jumped on it.”
I slide my hand over the hood as I start walking. It’s still hot and the warmth reminds me that somewhere inside Jovi’s mansion, beyond the misguided woman trying to trap him, is a bed calling my name.
The brief reprieve this distraction offered is wearing thin. I’m ready to stuff my face in a pillow and forget the world for a few hours.
“Unless you tell her to move out, she’sneverleaving.”
Jovi continues to mutter under his breath all the way up to the front door. Surprisingly, he’s gracious enough to keep his arguments inaudible, allowing us both the satisfaction of believing we won.
Sometimes it’s not all bad having known each other for half of our lives. Even when we don’t like each other, which is most of the time, we still get each other. And tonight, that counts for more than just about anything.
“Do me a favor,” he says as he reaches for the door handle, preparing to lead us inside. “Keep all your theories about my relationship status to yourself. No snarky comments. No witty insinuations. No sarcastic implications. Nothing.”
I have half a mind to act offended. But the other half is too tired to bother. “Don’t worry. I’ve lost interest in your ridiculous love life already. The only thing inside that house I care about is the bed I plan to collapse in until morning.”
“Works for me.” His hand twists and pushes. Then he steps aside. “After you.”
I give a slight bow of my head to thank him as I go by. As soon as I do, I can’t help but wonder why we always bother with manners when we’re constantly being dicks to each other. Good upbringing, I guess.
“You’re home!” a semi-unpleasant squeal reaches us from somewhere inside the house. I'm sure it's delightful under any other circumstances. Tonight, everything feels like an assault on my battered nervous system.
