Chapter 23 Larissa
LARISSA
Are you sure he won’t mind that we’re in here?” I asked, looking at the taxidermy on the shelves in Greg Maddox’s office.
“Greg doesn’t care,” Chris said, studying a raccoon in a tutu walking a tightrope. “He’s proud of it. He’d show you himself.”
The bathroom off the pool had a line and Mike was busy telling some animated story to his cousin Jacob over by the chocolate fountain, so Chris offered to take me to one in the house.
When I was done, he asked if I wanted to see the famous taxidermy room.
I was glad for the excuse not to be out there in the yard because I was getting a little annoyed with Mike.
He’d had three drinks.
I didn’t care if he drank or not. I mean, I did, because I didn’t like how he got when he drank too much, but it wasn’t my rule that he didn’t drink tonight, it was his.
I didn’t mind having mocktails and volunteering to drive, but he’d told me he wasn’t having any—and now he was buzzed.
That’s what bothered me. I only had half of my pina colada because once Mike hit drink number two, I’d stopped enjoying mine.
I’d had a feeling this would happen for some reason.
Something about the breaking promises to himself thing put me on alert. The hint of a pattern I’d already seen way too many times in my life.
I was trying to tell myself it wasn’t a big deal. It was a party. It was only three drinks, and he hadn’t touched a drop since the cabin.
He’d been talking so loudly, people were starting to look at us.
He’d kept grabbing me and kissing me. The last time he did it, he’d accidentally knocked the flower out of my hair.
The second my hair got yanked, I got irrationally angry, and it was all I could do not to snap at him.
Honestly, when Chris got me out of there, I’d felt like I was being rescued.
The karaoke was still going strong outside. Someone was rapping Salt-N-Pepa. The bass was shaking the taxidermy animals. Chris was examining a mounted skunk dressed in a Union Civil War costume.
“So Greg made all these?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He looked at me over his shoulder. “If you ever find fresh roadkill, let me know. I’ll bring it to him.”
“Text the drug dealer if I find any bodies. Got it,” I said. “Do you think we could go see the parrot?” I asked. “Before we go back out.”
“Sure.”
“Does he really talk?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Grandpa taught him to say ‘Help! I’ve been turned into a parrot!’”
I laughed.
“They have a cat too,” he said, straightening. “Maybe we can find it.” He looked at his watch.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Ten. Look at this one.” He pointed to some lizards dressed in Victorian clothing mounted to look like they were dancing.
I came up next to him.
He was wearing that cologne that I liked again. He smelled good.
I wondered why Chris didn’t invite a date.
I don’t think he’d gone out with anyone since I knew him.
Or maybe he did and he didn’t tell me? But I feel like it would have come up during our custody conversations about Woofarine.
There had to be a night where he didn’t want the dog so he could go out.
Or stay in.
For some reason I didn’t like the visual of Chris with a date.
I gazed at him while he examined the taxidermy.
He looked really handsome today. And then I felt gross for thinking it—and for being weird about the thought of him sleeping with someone while I watched our dog.
It was completely and utterly none of my business if Chris had sex with someone. It was none of my business if he smelled good either. I walked to the other side of the room so I couldn’t breathe him in.
“Did you see the deer’s head over the fireplace?” I asked.
His eyes slid to mine like he knew I was about to tease him.
“What?” I said innocently.
The deer had been taxidermied with shark teeth in its mouth.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen a deer the way you’ve described them,” I said.
“You are not a nice person.”
I gaped. “That is statistically untrue.”
“I told you that story and you promised you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“I don’t think I did promise that.”
“It was implied,” he said.
“It was implied that I would make fun of you.”
He gave me a look and I grinned.
He really should date. He was a great guy.
Chris had self-control. He was not impulsive, not the kind of man who said he wasn’t going to drink and ended up having three drinks in under an hour. He didn’t seem to have any vices actually.
It’s funny how different best friends can be. Lexi and I were polar opposites, too, but this felt bigger than that.
I wondered sometimes if Chris and Mike would still be friends if they’d met as adults. I didn’t think so. I couldn’t imagine the common ground they’d exist on outside of their past.
But I was glad they were friends. I think Chris was good for Mike.
I hoped it went the other way too.