Having him able to pitch in means two things. One, there’s someone else to try to rein in Betsy’s antics, for which I am forever grateful. Annemarie thinks they’re fucking hilarious, so she’s far more likely to add fuel to the fire than actually assist in stopping them. Second, it allows me a little more freedom in my days. I’m able to bring my laptop to write at work now, something that had never occurred to me before. The solution was suggested by Flint, followed by Betsy’s whole-hearted approval. His being here also allows me time to myself, especially now that I’m living with a man for the first time in my life.
Honestly, that hasn’t been as much of an adjustment as I thought it would be. Flint is a great roommate, or he has been so far. He’s tidy and takes care of his own messes, which is something I had worried about after overhearing so many young women discussing their husbands and boyfriends. Not that I’m a clean freak, but his belongings are definitely better cared for and cleaner than mine. At least he’s not adding to my mess.
He’s great about helping with meals and, one potato catastrophe aside, he’s a much better cook than I, although that doesn’t say a lot. He is intent on feeding me and, since what he makes beats the ramen or cold cereal I was feeding myself regularly, I’m not going to complain. Most evenings, he is content to read or watch something on streaming services whilst I work on writing, or pretend to, while simultaneously pretending that I’m not watching him.
Last week, at Betsy’s insistence, (“What happens ifthere’s an emergency?!”) I took Flint out and helped him get a cell phone. Due to his lack of ID and my lack of funding, Betsy signed the paperwork to have him added to her company plan. After explaining how a phone worked, we spent the next three evenings teaching him how to use it to contact me, to contact Betsy, etc. I never thought I’d be in the position to teach a soldier to use a smartphone, let alone how to text or Google something. After some trial and error, he is proficient enough to look up YouTube videos, scroll TikTok and send messages to the two of us.
This week, Calida declared that she is tired of his silent reading. Despite the fact that she can hear him reading to himself, she has decided that it won’t do unless he is also willing to read her a book too. Out loud. So the two of them took to Google to try to find books that would be appropriate for “an adolescent dragon”. Unsurprisingly, the search results left a lot to be desired, so what did they do? They turned to their favorite bookshop.
“You want what sort of rec?” Betsy asks. I pray she isn’t actually paying attention to the conversation. We haven’t actually discussed Calida yet and I still don’t know how to approach the topic with her.
“What would you recommend to a teenage girl?”
Betsy seems to consider. I’m waiting with bated breath because, given her love of all things smutty, this should be good.
“Did you have any ideas?” She finally asks.
He places a book with a cartoon cover on the counter. “I found this and it looked kid friendly. I mean… they’re animated.”
I quickly step in. Iknowthat book.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” Betsy asks. Is she for real?
“Bits, that book is hella explicit. All the spice. For you, fine. For a teen? Absolutely not.”
Betsy rolls her eyes. “Who are you to judge?”
“I’m the one who will be dealing with an angry parent if you go around recommending “why choose” books to teenagers!”
“They have to learnsometime,” she mutters. “How else will they ever embrace experimenting and their sexual freedom? Fucking patriarchy.”
“Bits.” I wrap my arms around her from behind and rest my chin on the top of her head. “I love you. I do. But you cannot make these recommendations tochildren! We’ll end up with an angry mob out front. Complete with torches and pitchforks. No, thanks.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Fine. I’ll keep my recommendations to adults, just to appease you.”
I give her an extra squeeze. “Appreciate it.”
Flint eyes both of us, warily. “So… this is not the book I should choose?”
“Absolutely not. I’ll find something more appropriate. Come on.”
I led him over to the young adult section. “Anything here should be… more along the lines of what you’re looking for.”
I refuse to address the purely selfish motivation of not being able to handle hearing this man read spicy scenes out loud. Just living in close proximity with him has me crawling out of my skin some days. I can’t imagine what hearing him read a smut scene would do to me.
While I’m studying Flint and allowing myself toimagine what it would be like to be with him, a voice clears behind me.
I start, because being busted having steamy thoughts in public is not embarrassingat all.Whirling around, I bite back a groan and force a grimace. I really hope it passes for a customer service smile.
“Brett.”
“Hey, Cas!” Brett flashes that too bright smile at me. “I heard a new band is coming through and playing this weekend. I got us tickets. How about I pick you up at six on Saturday? We can go for dinner, have some drinks, some fun.”
And this is so much of what makes him gross. He really thinks he’s going to, what? Bulldoze me into a date? I wouldn’t put it past the man to roofie any drink I may have with him. He’s misogynistic and I very much get the vibe that all the clean cut good looks are hiding a heart and soul that are absolutely rotten. I’m not surprised that he missed my subtle hints at book club.
“Um… what band?” comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. My fucking appeasing, customer service skills take over with zero conscious thought and I desperately wish I could physically reach out and retrieve my words. He’s only going to take it as encouragement, which it absolutely is not.
