Page 31 of About That Night

Right. The cockroach.

I ease past her, careful not to touch her with any part of me, for fear I’ll just toss the cup over my shoulder and her onto the countertop.

I don’t have to worry about it. She runs away from me and the cup and drops the towel as she gets back in the shower. The curtain jerks shut.

“Can you believe that?” I ask the roach as I exit the bathroom, lifting the sponge to make sure he’s still in there. He seems to know his fate. He’s not even trying to climb the side of the cup. “Maybe I need to accept my fate,” I tell him.

He doesn’t seem to care. I roll my eyes as I go through my apartment. I’m talking to a cockroach. That isn’t normal, but Chastity makes me crazy.

It only takes a minute or two to rehome the roach out in the back parking lot, but when I get back, Chastity is in the living room. She has the towel wrapped around her like a sarong, my sweatshirt back on.

“Is it gone?” she asks, eyeing the empty cup in my hand with a hearty dose of suspicion.

“It’s gone.”

Her shoulders slump in relief. “I can’t believe you have a soft spot for bugs,” she says.

“And I can’t believe your compassion for humans doesn’t extend to insects.”

She shudders. “I just can’t with all the legs and the antennas. So gross.”

“Let me get you some pants.” I need her in pants. It’s the only way to survive.

Only my pants are too long for Chastity. She emerges from my bedroom as I come out of the bathroom post-shower. She has the sweats rolled up so that they have thick bands at the bottom. At the same time, they’re straining across her ass. Her body is all woman, that’s for damn sure. The sweatshirt was too hot for the weather, so I gave her a T-shirt, and she fills that out in ways that make my mouth water. It’s white, which was both calculating on my part and masochistic. I can’t see through it, but it feels like I can because it’s pulling tight across her breasts. The outline of her chest is clearly visible.

She crosses her arms over her chest, covering herself. “Do you have a dryer? I should throw my clothes in. I can’t exactly go home wearing your clothes.”

“Of course.” I collect her clothes and toss them in the dryer that’s in a rickety and dark shed room off the back of the building.

“This looks like a murder room,” she says from the doorway behind me.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is just where I keep the bodies afterward,” I joke. “Don’t look in the freezer.”

“Is this a double-dog dare to actually look? Or a general warning?”

“If you want to see a bunch of chicken stock, go for it. Otherwise, it’s not that exciting.” I close the dryer door and turn it on. “What time do you need to be home?”

“I should probably go in an hour. I don’t want to take too much advantage of Nevaeh.”

“Sounds good. Are you hungry?” Cooking always soothes me, and I could use a distraction.

“Sure, I could eat.”

“Something light? Or more satisfying?” I know, I know. That’s a leading question. I can’t help myself. I’m like a little kid, thinking if he just asks over and over, he’ll get the cookie.

Chastity isn’t inclined to give me her cookie. She squeezes her arms tighter across her chest. “Light is good.”

“I’ll make a goat cheese salad then.”

“Don’t go to a lot of trouble.”

“It’s not a big deal. Just some greens thrown in a bowl. Shredded carrots, some cranberries, maybe pickled onions. Though I might fry the goat cheese to make it more exciting.”

“You can fry goat cheese?”

“You can fry anything, honey.”

“Really? Anything?”

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