Page 17 of Something Forever

The door opens, her bored expression meeting mine. “‘Yeah’ doesn’t always mean enter. You should be more precise,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice.

I suppress an eye roll, knowing that if I react to her attitude I’m only going to make things worse. “You’re right. Sorry about that. I’ll be more transparent in future,” I reply.

She narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me, then huffs, crossing her arms. “How do you want to handle rent and utilities? Venmo, or…?”

A moment stretches between us. I can’t stop looking at her eyelashes. Why are they so long?

“Is there another option coming, love?”

“Don’t call me that.” She shifts her weight. “Olivia always Venmo’d me.”

I smirk. “Venmo works.”

“Cool,” she replies.

“Was there something else?” I prompt, trying to keep my voice as light as possible.

“Yes.” She stands rod-straight, her chin lifted. “I was wondering if you’d like to do a chore wheel.”

I blink at her. “What’s a chore wheel?”

“It’s a wheel you spin to decide what chore you do.”

Is she serious? I try my hardest not to smirk. “There’s only two of us. Why would we need a wheel? I’ll clean up after myself.”

“In case we wanted to mix it up and have different chores,” she clarifies.

“Then we can just switch. Bloody hell, you’re a handful.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” I admit. “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it, yeah? I don’t need a wheel.”

“Fine. Forget it,” she grits out, turns on her heels, and struts out of my room, slamming the door behind her.

Well, I fucked that one.

Seriously? What the hell is it about this girl that has my heckles raising? It’s like no matter what comes out of that perfect mouth of hers, I turn into the worst version of myself. Maybe if I stopped counting her eyelashes or staring at her lips, she wouldn’t bother me so much.

I realize with a grimace I forgot to ask her about my dad staying with us in November. Whatever. I still have a few months, so I’ll get around to it. Hopefully by then we’ll be on better terms, or at the very least, our conversations won’t end with a door slam.

A guy can hope.

My phone rings with an incoming call from my mum. I stare at it for a few seconds, thinking. I really don’t want to get into the whole me-dropping-out-of-school thing right now — or ever for that matter — but I can’t avoid her forever. All I can hope is that Simon isn’t on the call. He loves to slide in on our conversations and ask me questions about my life and call me buddy.

“Hello?”

“Liam, darling! You’re alive! I’d never know it given how little I hear from you.”

There’s that passive aggressive charm I know and love.

“Hi, Mum. Sorry it’s been a while. Things have just been…” I trail off, unsure of what I was going to say. Horrible? Depressing? Filled with dread? “Before you say anything, I’ll come over there for Christmas, if you’d like.”

I haven’t been home in a while, so I’m not surprised when she squeals in glee on the other line. The sound of it sent a wave of guilt through me, my stomach knotting.

“Simon! Simon, come here!”

I suppress an eye roll as I hear Simon’s voice on the other line.

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