Page 8 of Fluffed and Folded

It honestly wasn’t so bad, he said and was glad he actually meant it. He’d gotten out of the house, watched a stunningly beautiful woman eat a teaspoon of steak, and lost half a week’s salary in the process. And yet he’d almost had fun. It had eased his nerves, because certainly this had to be the worst that was out there, a mercenary, shallow woman who judged a man by his bank account. And even though he hadn’t met Plushy’s standards, he hadn’t felt rejected by her, at least not personally. They weren’t what the other was looking for, and that was fine. She hadn’t met his, either, despite her devastating physical appeal.It can only get better from here, right?He didn’t bother texting that to Josie because she would agree, but her optimism couldn’t be trusted. She thought she and Tristan balanced each other, but really she and Gabe balanced each other. Josie was always bright and cheerful; Gabe was always gloom and doom.They were his Faustian angels, and he supposed he needed them both, even though Gabe was a pain ninety percent of the time.

As if to assure himself of what he already knew, he texted Gabe.Date was a bust.

Called it,Gabe predictably replied.Admit it, she was a dog.

Eli sent him a picture of Plushy. Gabe responded immediately, in all caps.

HOW COULD ANY DATE WITH THAT ANGEL POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN BAD?

She didn’t have a nice personality,Eli returned.

…I don’t understand,Gabe said after a minute.

Eli sighed. There was no way to explain to Gabe, who only ever believed what he was already programed to believe, never once considering that someone else’s belief might be equally valid or, more mind boggling, correct.

She wasted an entire steak,Eli finally said.

Deal breaker,Gabe returned. If there was one thing as reliable as Gabe’s obtuseness, it was his cheapness.Maybe the next one will be better,Gabe said, surprising Eli with the spot of optimism. But before he could ponder his friend’s change too much he followed it up with,But probably not.

With a sigh, Eli let himself into his apartment and tucked his leftover steak in the fridge, and then stopped short and made a slow circle of his apartment. Nothing was moved, nothing was out of place, but was something off somehow? The space felt different. If he believed in vibes, he would say his had been disturbed, as if the very air particles that comprised his abode had shifted unnaturally and for someone other than him.

“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing faintly in the stillness. After a few beats when no one answered, he shook his head and pushed away the paranoia. Of course no one had been in his apartment. What could they possibly hope to gain? A couple of mismatched juice glasses and a table from Ikea?

Assured he was losing his marbles, he locked the door and went to take a shower.

CHAPTER 5

For some reason the laundry room episode stood out clearly in Darby’s mind. She had no idea who the guy was, nor which apartment he lived in, but his comments, though funny, had upset her. Did she do a lot of laundry? And did people notice?

When she tried to think about it, she couldn’t remember. And when she tried to think about how she actually spent her time, she couldn’t. What did she do all day? When was the last time she had a clear thought?

With difficulty she opened the information for the apartment and tenants. Ham automated everything long before he died. Between his automation and her accountant, she had very little to do, in terms of day-to-day investments. Maybe she should take a firmer hand, try to expand Ham’s empire. Was that even possible? Could she buy more properties? Did she want to?

Pushing those thoughts away, she clicked a few buttons and opened the vital statistics she kept on her tenants, including their pictures. There, that guy. Eli Jackson. Age twenty eight. Good credit, no previous complaints or issues in the two years he’d lived in the building. Two years. Was that possible? How had she never seen him before?

Absently, the mouse clicked through the remainder of the tenants, mentally cataloguing them as if to remind herself of their names and apartment numbers. Her hand froze on the last one, heart thumping. There was something…off about him. But what was it? Why did he give her such a bad feeling? Had she ever talked to him?

As if of their own accord, her fingers touched her lips, almost expecting them to be puffy and raw, but why? She hadn’t kissed anyone since Ham died. Had she?

Something was very, very wrong. Darby had no idea what. Worse, she had no idea how to find out. All she had was this vague and terrifying feeling of unease, as if every sense was suddenly alert and blaring an alarm at her.Danger, danger, danger.Why? From where?

Unable to find answers, unable to think about it any longer, Darby slammed the laptop closed and shoved it in a drawer. There. Out of sight, out of mind. If she didn’t see it, there wasn’t a problem. Not a perfect strategy, but it had kept her going this long. No need to change that today.

Ghostlike, she pushed away from the desk, wandered to her room, and stripped the sheets off the bed, ignoring the vivid red splotches that covered everything once again.

CHAPTER 6

“That’s why guinea pigs are better.”

Eli stared at the woman, not certain if he was supposed to speak now. She had been on a guinea-pig-laced diatribe since the date began, an hour ago. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides her oddly specific love of South American rodents, she at first held such promise. She was cute, a little on the plump side, but Eli didn’t mind. But because she hadn’t stopped talking about guinea pigs since she sat down—even though Eli hadn’t asked—it was hard not to compare her to one. Now suddenly they were overlaid in his mind, the tiny, stout rodents with the tiny, stout woman. Even her incessant droning had started to sound like squeaking.

“How many guinea pigs do you own?” he tried.

“Only four, my apartment is kind of small. And since they have free reign, I wanted them to have lots of room.” She shoveled a bite of corn, chewing in tiny, fast nibbles.

“They run free?” Eli clarified.

She nodded and used the napkin to dab her lips, which would have been a nice display of manners, except she put the cloth between both hands and clutched it like a peanut between two paws. “Guinea pigs can be potty trained,” she said after the dabs.

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