38. Rosy
THIRTY-EIGHT
ROSY
“Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages,” Steph whines, flopping down onto the bed beside me.
“That’s because you keep spending most evenings elsewhere.” I laugh, nudging her foot with mine. “Anyway, it’s only been a few days since we last saw each other.”
“Yeah, but I’m used to being here, the two of us…” She trails off, her toes flicking back and forth as she stares at my ceiling. “Do you think I’m rushing things?”
I snort at her question, stretching out a hand for Moshi to sniff as he perches at the end of my bed, staring at Steph’s feet.
“Are you sure you’re asking the right person?
I’ve spent most of my adult life unsuccessful at any form of dating, only to now have three people apparently interested in me.
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing, let alone giving you advice. ”
Moshi finishes his appraisal of my hand, then butts me with his head. I oblige by gently scratching his cheeks.
She makes an overly sympathetic sound. “Yeah, I’m definitely jealous that you have three people interested in you who want to get all up in your vagina. It must be hard living that life.”
“Oh my god.”
“What? I wouldn’t be complaining if I had three women all wanting to give me orgasms, send flowers, and cook me food. Maybe that’s the issue; they aren’t giving you enough orgasms, so your brain still has space to overthink.” She snaps her fingers triumphantly.
“That is…no.” I shake my head, refusing to entertain her thinking. “And none of them sent me the flowers. I tried thanking them and they all said they didn’t.”
“They didn’t?”
“No, are you sure they were for me?”
“Yeah, the delivery person gave me your name as the recipient.”
I frown in thought, a slow knot forming in my stomach. “Well, I don’t know then. There’s no one else I know who would send me flowers.”
“What about that one guy you dated who wore too much hair gel and tried to choose your outfits?”
“Ben? No, I don’t think it would be him. We only went on a few dates, and I’m sure he’s seeing someone anyway.” The more I think about it, the more it’s making me uneasy. It makes no sense for someone to send flowers without a note…but what am I supposed to do? Other than panic and worry.
“Anyone from work?”
“No, definitely not. Most of them don’t even like me as a person, so I doubt any would send me flowers.
Plus, they wouldn’t know my address,” I confirm, glancing at the time.
At least I’ll have a nice distraction this evening.
“I need to get going. When Bry invited me over for dinner tonight, I said I would help cook.”
As I slide off the bed, giving Moshi one last stroke, Steph snorts behind me before proceeding to cackle. Annoyingly.
“Does he know how bad you are at cooking?”
My hands fall to my hips indignantly. “I can be helpful, and I’m not that bad.”
“What about that time with the exploding porridge?”
“That was an accide—”
“Or that time you tried to make custard? The omelette incident?” she rudely interrupts, listing my culinary failures like she’s got a list hidden somewhere.
“I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions…so this is me walking out and ignoring you,” I call out over my shoulder.