I’m close enough that I hear Jack’s muttered comments, but Anna must catch enough of them, too, since a cutting look ends them.
She turns to Avery, continuing the conversation, but Jack turns to me. “I changed, by the way.”
My brows pinch, confused, but then I take in his sweats. He doesn’t know how much he’s changed in my mind ever since I found out he wasn’t a cheater, especially with the proof of it here in my apartment, chatting up my friend. Thankfully, Jack’s apartment-poaching plan helps me maintain at least some of my disdain.
“We can work on the wall if you’re done eating,” he says.
“Ah, your sister’s here, though.”
“She’ll keep herself entertained.” He nods at her and Avery, deep in whatever the hell they’re talking about. I catch Anna asking Avery if he lives here with me, and he protests so much that it’s borderline insulting.
I shrug and wolf down the last two bites of my taco, then reach for my tool and goggles.
As Jack and I work on the wall, Avery—who was supposed to help make this wall work go faster—drifts off toward the fire-escape window with Anna, the two of them sharing a laugh. Anna is a talker, and she’s found the best listener on the planet.
“This sure is hard work!” I call out, mentally willing Avery to stop playing with a long vine branching in from one of my plants outside and ditch the look in his eyes whenever he gazes at Anna. He doesn’t acknowledge my comment, but when he notices me watching him, he gestures to his eye, his heart, and Anna with an exaggerated look of longing. I point at the plant and slice a finger across my throat.
Avery wouldn’t have appreciated this simple truth after his coworker argument, but his face is truly what you’d see in the dictionary under “reliable.” In college, he played the role of mother hen to me and Margie, since the two of us seemed hell-bent on risky behavior back then.
I squirm, thinking of a twenty-one-year-old Margie barefoot on the subway after somehow losing her shoes at a club and Avery stripping off his socks to force at least some barrier between her and the floor.
He’s endearingly earnest, gets his hair cut more regularly than any other person I know, and always carries a ready smile in his back pocket. His heart is as pure as they come. I’ve often lamented that we had a brother-sister vibe right off the bat; he’s one of those people whose relationships have all been slipped on and off like comfy old sweaters. He’s never a source of drama, which makes him a rare breed on the verge of extinction. And right now I’m worried that he’s in a tailspin over unavailable Anna, which would be super out of character for him.
She does seem fun, I have to admit. She’s a little too loud, but I’ve been accused of that myself. And there always seems to be a laugh rippling below her surface, ready to geyser its way out in an explosion of mirth and charm. But every now and then, when she’s not talking with her wild hand gestures, when she’s just listening to Avery’s quiet and reassuring murmurs, a look overtakes her face, one that suggests there’s a vein of sadness threaded through her core. She reaches out a hand, gripping Avery’s arm as she makes a quip, and they both laugh uproariously.
I tip my head, appraising the situation. She’d be easy to mistake for a manic pixie dream girl. Or at least, that’s the facade she’s rolling with. Either way, Avery is ensnared.
Jack mops his brow with his forearm, and his own expression is inscrutable as he takes in Anna and Avery giggling by the window, their heads bent like coconspirators. The look on his face is gone as quickly as it appeared, and then he’s bent in front of me to retrieve the dustpan at my feet, teasing my nose with the salty scent of sweaty Jack and smoky pine.
“You don’t have to—” I start to say, but he ignores me and straightens, peering down at me while clutching the dustpan. I could reach out and rest a hand on his navy-T-shirt-covered chest. I could flick one of those pebbled nipples with a nail. Instead, I look up at him with an undoubtedly dumb expression and snap, “Or clean. Whatever.”
He arches an eyebrow and moves away, sweeping and tidying up. I sneak glances at him, unsure what to think of him now that I know my initial prejudice was bogus.
He started out friendly. Did I drag the dickishness out of him? Or is he hiding around everyone else, and I just got to see the real him? I think back. Our exchanges have nearly always been obnoxious. But how many times did I misinterpret something he was doing or saying and lash out when maybe he wasn’t planning on being a jerk? How many of our sparring matches were my doing entirely? How many of his actions have just been one-upmanship?
“Let’s grab a drink!” Anna shouts, startling me out of my reverie.
Avery is on his feet so fast I’d swear he had a spring attached to his ass.
I glare at him.We are not grabbing a drink with these people.
“Let’s do it,” he says.
“No—” Jack says.
“I can’t—” I start. I turn my glare on Jack. He rejected the idea even faster than I did. Rude.I’mrejectingyou.
“Fine. We’ll go alone,” Anna pouts. She presses a kiss on Jack’s forehead and calls for Avery to follow. He does, with ludicrous speed.
“Heel, doggy,” I whisper as Avery hugs me goodbye.
He whispers back without a pause, “I’m in love be happy for me call you later love you.”
They’re out my door a second later.
“Ugh.”
“What’s your problem?” Jack mutters.
