Avery nods, pursing his lips. “Looks like you’re all sorted, so—”
“You’re still helping with demolition.”
He sighs. “Can I pay someone to stand in for me instead of providing the free labor myself?”
I hear Jack’s door open, and my joy at besting that dildo knows no bounds. I poke my head through The Hole. Jack is shrugging off his dress shirt. He cocks a dark eyebrow, staring at me, as he drops it onto the back of a chair. This isn’t Victorian England. I’m not distracted by the flash of tanned skin above the neck of his undershirt. I’m simply confirming that there are no signs of a cat allergy yet.
“Hiya, roomie! Welcome home.” My gloating floats over to him like a noxious yellow cloud.
“These two are a disaster,” Margie says to Avery. I shoot her a quelling look.
“Heads-up that construction is underway. I’ve assembled my crew, and we’re measuring and stuff before starting demolition.”
“Your crew,” he deadpans. He approaches The Hole, smelling of piney evil, and glances through. “Why are you measuring the wall before you take it down?”
“See?” Margie says.
Avery snorts.
“Because we need to know how much material to buy for the rebuild. That’s why.” In my head, the answer sounds like it could be correct. I, myself, didn’t question why Avery was measuring, and we have recorded exactly zero metrics, but Jack doesn’t need to know that.
Avery nods at Jack. “Hi. I’m Avery,” he says. “This is Margie.”
Margie salutes.
“Jack.”
“A face to go with the bathroom,” Margie murmurs, drawing Jack’s sharp eyes.
I’m going to murder her.
“Nice to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I’m immediately overcome by fury at the reminder of his eavesdropping. Guess what keeps longer than my relationships, Jack? My grudges.
I push at the sheet I’ve draped over my sofa so that it once again covers The Hole…and Jack’s gargoyle dimples.
8
Happy hour at La Smith’s is always a crush of swaying bodies, bass, and laughter. Today is no exception. After successfully navigating the crowd, I nod a greeting at La’s bartender and plop myself on the chair across from Margie. She wordlessly hands me her drink, and I dutifully take a pull on the straw.
“Why isn’t breaking shit a faster process?” I moan. “Everything aches. Everything, all day today at work. And I work out!”
Margie tosses me a look.
“Sometimes. I work out sometimes. But based on what we accomplished last night, my muscles shouldn’t be hanging out in painful little knot gangs like this. We didn’t even put a dent in the wall demo.”
“Hmmm hmmm.” Margie bites the inside of her cheek and nods. “I was surprised at how slow it was going.”
“Maybe it would’ve gone faster if you didn’t spend all your time taunting me about Jack and playing a construction helper on TV,” I grumble. Margie swung exactly zero hammers, though she put on and took off a pair of safety goggles multiple times.
“I have a new show!” She gestures to her body with a sweep of her arm. “I can’t risk messing up my moneymaker. I’m there more for moral support. And I’ll carry debris downstairs for you. Also, not for nothing, I got you La’s promise to help rebuild after you take the wall down.”
I grunt. I don’t want her risking her job, and getting La to helpwasa coup. But my head is throbbing. If there is ever wind in my sails, Jack has to act as a hidden reef. Last night, after Margie and Avery went home, Jack started playing “What Was I Made For.” And then never stopped. Even a song I love loses its charm after the eight hundredth repetition. Paired with my achy body, it made for a particularly trying day at work today, which makes for a cranky Penny now.
“Okay. Sorry. I appreciate you.”
“You’re so moody.”
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out. Mom. My shoulders tighten. I missed talking to her yesterday. “Give me a sec to take this, Margie?” I steel myself and press the button.
