Griffin peeks inside the envelope, spots the cash in there, then shakes his head.“Nope.”
“It’s only five hundred,” I say.“I just guessed, because you won’t set an amount.”
He slides it my way.“Save it.”
I sigh.“For Chicago, I know.”I snatch it up and stick it in my back pocket.“I’ll get this into your hands one way or another.”
“You won’t.”
“Then I’ll get your mom to steal your bank account information for me so I can renegade deposit it.”
He snort-laughs.“Good luck with that.Don’t you know the old saying?I’m rubber and you’re glue.Whatever money you send bounces off me and sticks to you.”
I send him a sharp look.“Pretty sure that is about calling people names, not sending rent money, but whatever.”
We make easy conversation as I prep omelets for us.When they’re ready, I plate them, but something is niggling at me at the back of my mind.
“Here’s yours.”I hand him the plate, and he smiles down at the food, nodding.
“This looks like a great appetizer.”
That’s when it hits me.Our portions are the same.The man eats like a walrus and I served him the equivalent of a handful of guppies.
“Oh my god.I forgot about the twelve thousand calories a day that you need.”I slap my forehead, turning for the fridge.“How many more should I make.Three?Four?”
“None.Let’s eat.”
He nods toward the breakfast nook, and I carry my plate over.We dig in, and he hums appreciatively as he eats.
“Fuck yeah, cheese and eggs,” he says.I giggle into my palm, savoring the view of him enjoying my food.
“Sorry for the paltry amount,” I say.I’m maybe a quarter of the way through my food and he’s on his second to last bite.
“This was so fucking good, Case.”He polishes off the eggs and gives me two thumbs up.“Ten out of ten would eat again.”
“Thanks for pumping up my basic omelet,” I laugh.“Next time I won’t feed you like we’re rationing food for a war or something.”
“I’ve got protein shakes.Don’t worry about me.”Griffin pats my shoulder as he carries his plate to the sink.“I’ve gotta run to Cleveland.I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, I’ll be around.Probably reading, not gonna lie.”
I’m waiting for a groan or a crack about how boring the plan is.Instead, Griffin says, “That’s hot.Bye, Case.”
He’s out the door then, leaving me in a cloud of pleasant confusion.
“Is that ‘hot’ like you want to have sex with the book nerd or ‘hot’ like Paris Hilton says it?”I murmur to no one in particular.
It doesn’t matter.It’s safer to assume that Griffin sees me as the last thing I want to be to him: a sister.
I don’t know what it’s going to take to convince my head or my heart to get over this infatuation with Griff.I don’t want things to get weird between us, but knowing myself, they surely will.As I finish my breakfast, my mind wanders, fixating on the least likely scenarios and all manner of what-ifs.Brains are a wonderful, terrible creation, and mine loves to circle the drain on any negative or heart-wrenching possibility out there.
I begin to imagine what my life will be like if I can’t find a new marketing job in Chicago by the time I move back in August.When will my savings run out?What if my recent layoff taints my career forever?And how on earth could I even jumpstart my love life if I’m jobless or severely underemployed?Forget going out and getting to know people.Do I even want to jumpstart my love life?
In my mind’s eye, I see Griffin.
He’s the only thing I want to jumpstart—or jumpon.
But now that I’m living with him, I feel more compelled than ever to keep that boundary secure.He’s being a good friend; he does not want me to lust after him like some desperate nymph.
