Chapter 31
LOREN
I have news.
Meg
Good news or bad news?
Juicy news
I run into Elliott in the hallway, a trash bag in either hand that are both heavy enough to make the muscles in his biceps bulge. Not that I’m looking.
Okay, maybe I am looking, but I’m not going to do anything about it. A week ago, maybe. But now that he’s saving my ass from living under the bypass, that line will not be crossed. Not that he’s given any indication that he’d be interested in stepping over said line anyway.
Focus, Loren.
“Getting rid of the bodies, I see.”
Chuckling, he mutters, “Something like that.” He nods his chin toward his apartment. “The door is open and there’s an extra key on the counter. Make yourself at home.”
I’ve been in plenty of frat houses back in my day, so I have a loose idea of what to expect from Elliott’s apartment.
That is until I step into an immaculate sanctuary.
Holy cow, this apartment is nice—so much nicer than mine.
Yeah, the beige paint is dated, but other than that, the place looks brand new.
“You’ve been here for twelve years?” How is that possible? Even the fridge is spotless if you look past the stack of takeout containers and door full of different sauces. The oven? Not a smudge or greasy stain in sight. “You don’t do much cooking, do you?”
“Not anymore.”
I don’t ask why and he doesn’t elaborate and—holy shit. He has a washer and dryer up here, too? No more communal laundry for this girl. I’ll be living in the lap of luxury.
The spare bedroom is small, but compared to where I was living, this place is a freaking palace. And there aren’t any stains on the pristine mattress, like it’s never been slept on. When I flop on top, there isn’t one squeak or groan.
Not from the bed, anyway.
This mattress must be made of angel wings.
Elliott watches me from the doorway, his eyes shuttered as he leans a shoulder against the doorframe.
“This might be the most comfortable bed I’ve ever felt. Is it a queen?”
“Yeah.”
I’ll have to buy some new sheets, but it doesn’t even matter because I’m in heaven. The cream headboard with matching nightstands and mirrored closet look like something straight off Pinterest. Who knew this guy had such good taste?
“We’ll be sharing a bathroom. Hope that’s okay.”
Right. Totally forgot to ask about the whole bathroom situation. If it’s as clean as the rest of this place, that shouldn’t be a problem. “It’s fine with me if it’s fine with you.”
“Wouldn’t have suggested you move in if it wasn’t. You need help with your stuff?”
Reluctantly, I push myself off the luxurious mattress. “I’ll get it. You’ve done enough.”
If he sees the state of my car, he’ll absolutely change his mind about giving me the spare room.
It’s not that I’m a messy person. I’ve just been busy lately and—
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m a slob.
That ends now. I’m not going to do anything to screw this up.
I take the steps two at a time, breathing heavily by the time I get to my car. Before I grab the next box, I collect all the takeout containers and receipts and the random assortment of other crap that I’ve collected and haul it all into the dumpster.
Then I grab the pizza inside so Elliott can enjoy a slice while I move in.
My suitcase bumps along behind me. Did I mention it only has three wheels? Don’t know when that happened.
Elliott meets me at the bottom of the stairs, picks the thing right up, and carries it to my room.
I’m an idiot for not taking him up on his offer to stay in the first place.
It would’ve been a lot easier to move all my worldly possessions right down the hall—something Elliott reminds me of every time we pass each other in the stairwell.
But I felt so guilty and helpless and upset, and he seemed to like his own space, so I didn’t want to impose.
Thank goodness he’s letting me impose. Otherwise, I would’ve left that weird house and driven straight to Maryland. I wouldn’t have even worried about the boxes left in his truck.
When I return with the last armload of stuff, Elliott is on his phone. He looks up from the screen, then stuffs the handset into his pocket to relieve me of the box. “I’m gonna grab a drink with August.”
A pang of disappointment spreads through my core. “You don’t want any pizza?” I bought a large so we could share.
“Just put what you don’t eat in the fridge, and I’ll have some when I get back. You want me to pick anything up for you while I’m out?”
It’s silly to feel disappointed that he’s not going to be here this evening. What did I expect? That he’d help me unpack and we could Netflix and chill on the leather couch? Get it together, Loren. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
I venture into the bathroom that smells like him.
There aren’t any toothpaste stains in the sink or spit marks on the mirror.
The shower is mold-free, but there’s no shower curtain, only a clear plastic liner.
That won’t work at all. What if I accidentally walk in while he’s showering? Not that I don’t know how to knock.
Still, better safe than sorry.
I grab my shower curtain from the suitcase. If Elliott hates it, I’ll buy a new one. He doesn’t have any throw pillows either. Not to worry. I can pick up a few from the store when I head out to buy sheets.
After I finish getting everything set up, I eat four pieces of pizza, not because it’s good, but because I’m drowning my sorrows in cheese and pepperoni. Doesn’t really help. You know what does? The bottle of wine I wash it down with when I get back from Target.
Do you ever have those days where everything feels like a slog?
Today was one of those.
Even checking my email felt like a monumental task. I’d blame it on stress and lack of sleep, but I slept like the dead last night.
Maybe I’m about to start my period. It’s all doom and gloom when that happens.
When I finally get back to Elliott’s, all I want is to curl up and die, but I’m also starving, so dinner first and then death.
I step into the apartment and find Elliott in the kitchen holding a takeout container overflowing with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and collard greens. “That looks delicious.” It’s depressing to see him eating like a king when I only have a TV dinner in the freezer.
Tomorrow, I’m going grocery shopping. I don’t care how tired I am.
“I’m glad you think so because there’s one for you on the counter.”
“You bought me dinner?” I think I might cry.
He shrugs. “It’s the least I could do for the woman who redecorated the entire apartment.”
Oh, right. The decorations.
By the time Elliott got home last night, the wine had done the trick, and I was happily snoring away in my bed of clouds, forgetting all about the beautifying spree I may have gone on.
The thing is, nothing matched my old apartment’s sickly green paint so I never bothered buying decor.
Well, that and I never had any money.
Elliott’s apartment, however, is beige and brown and is it my fault that I found the perfect forest green throw for his couch? I couldn’t let the throw be the only spot of color, so I grabbed a couple of pillows to compliment.
Then this framed picture caught my eye, and I couldn’t leave it behind either.
“Sorry. I went overboard, didn’t I?” I always do that. Jump right in with two feet. Move in with your hot neighbor? Why don’t you redecorate his entire house while you’re at it? A manly man like him will love ruffles and floral patterns.
“Not at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Loren, it’s fine. I’m only giving you shit. I told you to make the place your own, and you did.” He kicks his feet onto the corner of the coffee table, right next to the scented candle I bought along with the two others in the bathroom and my bedroom.
They were buy two, get one free.
Everyone knows that’s a deal you don’t pass up.
Tears prickle the backs of my eyes when I flip open the lid on my own takeout container, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.