Page 73 of Under Pressure

I’ll go over there later. Bring him some dinner and medicine so he’ll feel better.

I drive home, more centered now that I have a plan, and walk into my apartment, a wave of sweltering heat blasting me. My God, she has the thermostat set to eighty-one. What is wrong with this girl?

I immediately strip off my coat, hanging it up, and step into the kitchen, gazing at the mess of dirty dishes from dinner two nights ago. I glance over at Kelsey in the living room, hunched over the coffee table painting her nails. I purposely left them here, hoping she would take the hint to wash them, but apparently that’s too subtle of an approach for her.

I sigh and fill up the sink with hot water and dish soap, dumping in the silverware first.

When was the last time she cleaned? Not just the dishes but the common areas too. And forget about cooking, keeping track of our bills, anything like that.

“Can you keep it down in there?” she calls out. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Resentment bubbles within me, recalling what Tyler said ages ago about rewarding bad behavior. That’s what I’ve been doing with her, haven’t I? Coddling her. She’ll never actually do anything if I continue doing it for her. And I don’t care anymore if she acts pissy or mad about it.

“Hey, I’ve decided on a new rule,” I call out to her. She pauses and blows on her fingernails, looking at me. “If I cook a meal, then you’ll clean it up.”

Her eyes narrow. “What?”

I concentrate on getting all the caked-on gunk off a fork. “Yeah, I was thinking it’s really unfair for me to both cook and clean. If you eat the food I make, then you should do something to help out. Or you could cook and I’ll clean.”

“You know I can’t cook.”

“Then I guess it’ll be you cleaning.”

She huffs, her eyes wide like she can’t believe this is happening to her. “It’ll ruin my manicure.”

“They make these things called rubber gloves.” I can’t help the sarcasm that leaks out, but it seems to fly over her head.

“I don’t like cleaning.”

“Okay,” I say cheerfully. Her face clears of its worried expression, but then I continue with, “Then don’t eat my food anymore.”

She quickly screws the cap back on the nail polish and jumps up. “You can’t do that. Fast food makes me fat. How else am I going to eat?”

I take my time setting the dirty plates in the water, reminding myself that I shouldn’t be babying her anymore. “Kelsey, you’re twenty-one years old. You can figure it out.”

She stomps up to the breakfast bar, eyeing me speculatively. “What brought this on? Why are you being this way?”

I rinse off a plate, placing it in the dish rack, wishing she’d just accept what I say and move on. She seems to have no problem using that attitude with me. “It was actually Tyler that pointed it out to me a while ago. You remember him, right? The guy you told I had a crush on?”

“I said I was sorry about that,” she pouts, finally appearing contrite.

“You did.” I nod. “Though it would have been better if you had said nothing at all.”

She stares at me, like she’s seeing me in a new light. After avoiding confrontation with her for so long, I’m not quite sure where this newfound confidence is coming from.

No, that’s not true. I know. It’s Tyler. The way he looks at me when I call him on his bullshit, like he’s proud of me, despite himself. I love how that look makes me feel. I love the confidence I have with him, how safe I am. I love both his intellect and raw physicality, the dual sides of him so attractive.

Oh God, I like him. Ireallylike him. I might even lo—

“Mia, did I do something to piss you off?” Kelsey asks tentatively. “I’m sorry if I did. I’ll try to be better about picking up after myself, okay?”

I sigh, scrubbing off the last plate before rinsing it in the sink. “I don’t need you to just try. I need you to actually do it.”

She watches me with wide eyes as I stride out of the kitchen and into my bedroom to change clothes. I need to stop by the store to pick up stuff for Tyler.

There’s someone who actually needs me.

Though he’d never admit it.

---