Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ireally hope whoever is here is going to be super cool with weird shit really quickly.
Then again, as I told Flint, no one ever comes here so I can’t imagine who would be banging on the door. Not that it’s late by any means — it’s barely six at night. Still — when no one ever comes to visit, especially unannounced, the time of day doesn’t really matter, does it?
‘This is cold,’ Calida says through our mental link, nudging her remaining steak with her snout. She sounds unimpressed.
“Well, if you had come when I called, it would have been warm. And since you whine when it’s cooked, it only got the barest of treatment. Do you want me to cook it further?”
A snort fills my head. ‘Of course not.’
Deciding to ignore them for now, I open the apartment door to find Betsy with a bag in each hand, grinning at me from the threshold.
“Bits? What are you doing here?” Not that she’s never been here before, but she never shows up without letting me know first.
“Well, I was out doing my shopping and it occurred to me that Flint might need some things. So I went ahead and got what I thought was most important and, of course, fabulous.”
“You didn’t have to do that–” Flint begins, only to be promptly steam rolled by Betsy and her enthusiasm.
“Of course I did!” She comes in, nimbly stepping over Calida without missing a beat, and makes herself at home, dropping the shopping bags between her and Flint on the couch.
“Consider it a housewarming gift! Why — I’m a regular fairy godmother.
” She throws her head back and laughs hugely, then she pats his leg and then begins pulling items out of the bag.
Shaking my head, I gather up the dishes and cart them to the kitchen to begin cleaning up.
Flint cooked, so it’s only fair that I do KP duty.
Not a problem, especially since Flint is apparently one of those unicorns who cleans up as he cooks.
I generally end up with both responsibilities — unless I have yogurt or cookies for dinner — and it really was delicious.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a man cook me dinner before.
Not that I remember, anyway. Then again, there’s a lot I don’t remember.
I refuse to mope. Fuck that. Focus on the things I can control, right? Isn’t that what the smug therapy intern at the student health center told me the three times I visited? It was the one piece of advice she gave me that actually made any sense.
Locking my depressing thoughts away, I tune back in to what is transpiring on my couch between Flint and Betsy.
She’s piled the table high with jeans, t-shirts, Henleys, and at least one hoodie.
Thankfully, none of what she’s purchased appears to be in any of the clashing neon colors she gravitates towards for her own wardrobe.
Flint looks at the pile of purchases with amusement and some discomfort, whilst Betsy looks absolutely delighted with herself.
“I figured this way you have everything you need to get started at work. Shirts, pants, some of those athletic shorts, hoodies — it’s still chilly on and off this early in the spring.
I think I got everything. There should be socks — yep, here they are.
” She waves them triumphantly. Her face practically glows with delight.
“What about underwear?” I ask, noting the distinct lack of under garments in the piles.
Betsy’s grin is absolutely wicked. “Whoops.”
Betsy ends up staying for about an hour.
Not only did she insist Flint try on the items she purchased “to make sure they fit” she also somehow goaded him into putting on a full fashion show in the living room.
While he was in one of his costume changes, she sent me down to her car to collect yet another bag of purchases from her trunk.
I was taken aback by the weight but after the telltale clinking sounds, I’m pretty sure Betsy brought over half the local liquor store.
I get it up the stairs and into the apartment without dropping a bottle of wine on my toes (I’ve done it before, don’t ask).
Hauling it to the kitchen, I place some of it in the fridge and call to Betsy to ask what she wants to drink.
In response, she hoots. Turning around to see what the commotion is, I spot Flint coming out of the bathroom, his face once again aflame.
Holy fuck.
The jeans that Betsy chose were a medium wash, showcasing long legs, narrow hips and — my, oh my — Flint has a great ass.
He’s paired them with a midnight blue Henley, which only serves to set the blue of his eyes off and does absolutely nothing to disguise the planes of his chest. He has the top two buttons undone, allowing more of the black swirls of his ink to show.
He’s pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, showcasing the tan skin, tendons and veins of his very fucking attractive forearms. His hair is a mess, probably from the multiple outfit changes, the curls disheveled. My fingers ache to run through it.
“Oh!” Betsy clapped her hands, pressing them to her breasts, startling me enough that I almost ruin my streak of fortune and bobble the bottle of wine I’m holding. “You look mighty fine in those threads!”
I must have made some sound, because Flint turns those gorgeous eyes on me and gives me a smug smile. Beaming, Betsy also turns to me. “What do you think, Pumpkin?” she asks, slyly, smirking at me.
I clear my throat.
What am I supposed to say? What would her fictional women say?
I’d ride that man until the wheels come off?
I’m going to climb him like a tree? I want to rip those clothes off of him and let him do unspeakable, terrible things to my body?
I want to bite his ass? I want to taste that sliver of his neck that’s on display?
Oh. Wait. She’s actually waiting for a response and the longer I’m silent, the slier her smirk becomes. Flint’s grin has widened, as well.
“You look good.” I try, lamely.
Good? What the fuck Casie? Get it together! Christ. Play it any cooler and this man won’t be able to help throwing himself at your feet.
“I mean, the clothes are great. It was really nice of you to bring them over, Bits. He looks great in everything you picked out.”
“I bet he looks even better in what I forgot!”
‘Please make her stop,’ Calida begs in my mind.
I shake my head as Flint mutters something under his breath and looks at me for help.
“What did you want to drink, Bits? I was going to open a bottle of wine.”
“Nothing for me, pumpkin. Now that I know these clothes fit, I will just be on my way.”
“What about the half a liquor store you had me haul up here?”
“Why, that’s for you two! Two young, able bodied, hardworking kids should be able to unwind at the end of a long day, right?
Flint told me how hard you were working on your book today!
You should take a day off sometime, sweetie.
I bet it would help those creative juices flow.
” She looks over as Flint goes back into the bathroom, I assume to collect his new wardrobe.
“Of course, that man could probably get plenty of other juices flowing without much trouble.” She nudges me in the ribs with her elbow.
“For fucks sake!” I hiss. “He could hear you! You’re embarrassing him, saying shit like that!”
“Nonsense. He knows I mean nothing by it and if Flint is anything, he is self aware. That man knows he’s attractive, but he’s not an asshole about it.”
I pour myself a glass of wine and debate whether I should pour one for Flint. Maybe he’d prefer the beer Betsy brought? I’ll just wait and ask him.
“While he doesn’t appear to be an asshole, you can’t just say things like that to someone you barely know.”
“Oh, I think I know him well enough,” she says, waving off my comment. “Besides, you’re the one living with him.”
I don’t have anything to say to that, so I fill my mouth with wine.
She’s baiting me. I know it.
“What do you mean you know him well enough?”
That seems to give her pause. “I just mean I am an excellent judge of character and I know him better than you might think. He has a beautiful aura.”
She kisses my cheek and calls out her farewell to Flint, who gives a muffled response through the bathroom door.
With Betsy gone and the blessed silence once again filling the apartment, I glance around, realizing I haven’t seen Calida and have no earthly idea where she is.
I spot her laying on the bed. She’s somehow covered herself in my comforter, until only the tip of her nose peeks out.
It sounds like she’s snoring. Apparently she doesn’t find fashion shows as riveting as Betsy and I do — at least when it’s being put on by the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
A moment later, Flint comes out from the bathroom, looking sheepish. Reading the expression on his face, I ask “Did you just hide in the bathroom until she left?”
“Maybe.” He smiles fully. “Do you blame me?”
I take a slow sip of wine as I consider him.
“Not really, no. She can be a lot sometimes. No, scratch that. She’s a lot all of the time, but every once in a while she really amps it up.
But, thank you for being a good sport. She’s the only family I have and I love her.
As a reward — do you want wine or beer?”
“I’d love a beer, after all of that. It was sweet of her to think of getting me something to wear. I hadn’t given it a thought and it would have quickly become a problem.”
Handing him his beer, I smile. “She’s the absolute best. She can be terrifying and dizzying, a lot like a tornado, but I sort of want to be her when I grow up.”
Our fingers brush as he takes the beer. I swear, a line of heat shoots up my arm. Have I always been this easy?
“You mean you aren’t grown up?” he teases.
I laugh. “No. I still spend most of my days hoping an adultier adult will come along and look out for me.”