10. Olga
Olga
“ N utella, for God’s sake, let go of Michael’s leg,” I said firmly. “Bad boy!”
My Burmese cat looked up at me, a scornful look in his golden eyes, then went back to attacking Michael’s leg. I leaned down and grabbed him by the scruff, removing his claws one by one from Michael’s jeans, then hugged him tightly to my chest to keep him from going after my new roommate again.
“Be nice,” I scolded. “Michael is our friend.”
Like he did every time I hugged him like this, Nutella started purring loudly, giving me a look of pure adoration.
When I looked up at Michael, his eyes were glued to Nutella. Or maybe my breasts. Nutella had burrowed against me, pulling the neckline of my loose shirt down enough to expose a significant swath of my bra. Since it was moving day, I was wearing a crappy old bra, along with an ancient pair of granny panties, not that Michael would be seeing those.
Nutella jumped down and Michael continued to stare like he was in a trance, confirming that it was my breasts that caught his attention. I felt a flush of pleasure. I’d have to be dead to not notice how attractive he was. If I wasn’t his new roommate, I might have asked him out, but I really didn’t need any more complications in my life than I already had.
I cleared my throat, and his eyes flew up to mine, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks.
“Uh. So that’s Nutella, huh? Is he always so friendly?”
“He doesn’t like a lot of people,” I said. “Well, if I’m being totally honest, he doesn’t like anyone except for me. I rescued him when he was just a kitten. I’d gone to take the trash out and he was cornered in the alley next to the dumpster, with two stray dogs growling at him. He was so tiny, just skin and bones, but those dogs were determined to eat him.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I remembered that I had some leftover fried chicken at the top of the trash bag, so I lured them away with chicken,” I said. “Once I got their attention, I tossed it down the alley, grabbed the kitten, and ran in the back door of my apartment. Nutella and I have been best buds ever since. But he gets kind of jealous if he thinks I’m paying attention to other people, so I’ll just apologize in advance if he’s a dick to you.”
As if to emphasize my point, Nutella hissed loudly from where he’d disappeared underneath the couch.
“Are you going to your mother’s house to join those guys for dinner?”
“No,” I said. “There’s going to be way too much testosterone there for my taste. Besides, I prefer not to have an audience when my mother lectures me about how I’m wasting my life by not getting married and having children.”
“You’ve never been married?” he asked.
“No. You?” For some reason I was really hoping he said no.
“No. I dated a couple of women seriously over the years, even lived with one for a while, but it never felt right, you know?”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Listen, I know you need to unpack, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight?” he asked. “We could order pizza and watch movies, maybe get to know each other a little better.”
“Oh yeah, that would be awesome,” I said gratefully. “I’m exhausted from packing and stressing out about moving. I could use a break.”
I also wanted to spend some time with him, but I didn’t share that part.
“Perfect. Well, I’m going to do a few hours of work for my businesses, but how about we meet back here around five and then we can pick out a pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
I spent the next couple of hours unpacking my stuff. I filled my tall dresser and the walk-in closet with all of my clothes and accessories, with plenty of room left for blankets and coats.
The Olivers had set up my bed for me, so I made the bed, and moved my desk and chair to the other side of the room, plugging in my laptop and an extra lamp. After arranging pictures and books on the bookshelf I’d brought from my apartment, the room was looking pretty homey.
Michael had said that the bathroom on this side of the unit was all mine, so I set up Nutella’s litter box in one corner, then filled the cabinets with my towels and various toiletries.
When I was done there, I went to explore the kitchen. I’d brought over my dishes, utensils, and small appliances, but I wanted to see what he already had before I moved anything of mine in. Seeing that Michael only had a crappy coffee maker, I set up my espresso machine on the granite countertop, then tucked my air fryer and instapot into an empty cabinet.
Last but not least, I found Nutella’s bowls and set out food and water for him along the back wall of the kitchen. The instant I filled one of the bows with food, Nutella came flying out from wherever he was hiding, setting about to eat some of his food as if he hadn’t eaten in months.
As I watched Nutella eat, I realized that I felt tired, but I also felt a sense of accomplishment. I had to admit, it’d felt good to dump my old living room furniture and the rickety dining room set that I’d picked up at a thrift shop when I was in college. It was like I’d released some kind of a weight that I hadn’t known was weighing on me. Plus, seeing Michael’s nicer and more grown-up furniture made me embarrassed that I’d lived like I had for so long.
“You two all settled in?” I jumped as I heard Michael’s voice behind me.
“Sorry.”
“Oh no, it’s me,” I reassured him. “I’ve lived alone since I was twenty-two, it might take me a while to get used to having someone else around.”
He walked past me to the refrigerator, and I realized that he’d taken a shower. His hair was damp, and he’d changed from jeans to flannel pajama pants and a tee shirt. His feet were bare, which was oddly arousing.
Down girl! I scolded myself. Stop lusting after the man who’s helping you out of a jam.
“Are you ready for bed already, old man?” I teased, nodding at his outfit.
“There’s no sense getting another pair of pants dirty,” he smirked, plucking a menu off the side of the refrigerator. “Do you like Lou Malnati’s?”
“Please, am I a Chicagoan?” I asked.
“Deep dish or thin crust?”
I just rolled my eyes and gave him a pointed look. Everyone knew that deep dish was for tourists or special occasions. Regular people here ate the uber thin crust pizza some people called tavern style.
“Thin crust it is,” he said solemnly. “What toppings do you like?”
“Definitely sausage,” I said. “And mushrooms. Oh, and onions and peppers. And…”
“How about if I order a vegetarian but add sausage?” he interrupted.
“Oh yeah,” I clapped my hands like a little kid who just heard they were going to Disney Land. “That’s perfect.”
He gave me a smile that almost looked indulgent. “Okay I’ll order now, then we can pick out a movie.”
“Let me just get my purse.”
He shook his head. “First pizza is on me. It’s a roommate rule. The original roommate buys the first pizza.”
“So I’ll buy the second pizza?” I asked.
His eyes darted to the left, the way they’d done when he lied as a kid. “Absolutely. The next pizza is on you.”