Page 30 of How to Deal

I ran out of the expo with Casey. Right out of there, stopped by the store for some ice cream and then back to my apartment.

By the time we get inside, Oliver is cowered in the corner, and I realize why fairly quickly. He’s peed on the kitchen floor. Again.

Some think—like Zane—that because Oliver is a dog, he shouldn’t annoy me. It happens to every couple, even in a dog/human relationship. Live with anyone for longer than a few days, and you’re bound to get annoyed with one another. Dogs are no exception.

“Come on.” I motion for Casey to get off the couch where she’s staring at her dress in her hand. “I have to walk Oliver, and I’m not doing it alone.”

Gently, she hangs her dress up in the coat closet next to the door. “Let’s go in the hot tub.”

“Fine, but we have to bring Oliver.”

We both change into our swimsuits. As I’m putting Oliver’s leash on him, Casey reaches for her cell phone.

I eye it offensively, and she feels the need to explain. “In case Bryan calls me.”

I’m not buying that, are you?

“Uh-huh.”

Her eyes drift to my body as I wrap the towel around my chest. “Damn girl. Swimming does your body good.”

Pushing her hands away, I reach for her towel and throw it at her. “Grab that bottle of wine.”

Outside, Casey smiles at Tathan’s door when we pass by it. I know she’s dying to go inside and beg him to take her wedding photos now that she knows exactly who he is.

“Stay off your phone,” I warn her, opening the gate to the pool and hot tub.

Inside the courtyard, she guards her phone and I know she’s on Facebook because I can see the blue login screen as it lights her face in the night.

“I’m texting Bryan.”

“You are not.”

“I am.” She shows me her screen of a selfie she just took of herself in her bikini and sent to him.

“You guys are sick.”

All in all, I’m happy for them. Jealous, yes. But happy.

“You know what makes me mad?” Casey asks, once we’re in the hot tub and Oliver is lying beside us on our towels.

“What, Casey?” I twist to the side to fill my wine glass and Casey’s.

“Over the last three months, I’ve sent Elliott Warren like a million messages.” She takes her phone and turns on some music for us. “Not once has he replied. I mean, it’s kinda rude when you think about it. I have a bone to pick with him.”

“He’s an asshole.” I bring the wine glass to my lips.

“Or just that famous,” Casey adds, playing with the wet strands of her hair as I hand her wine to her. “I bet he has someone who checks his messages for him. I bet he has a maid too.”

“I don’t understand him.” I face her, holding my wine in one hand. “He’s so confusing. And damn it, he lied to me.”

“Technically, he didn’t lie to you,” she points out, picking up her cell phone beside her, careful not to let it drop in the water. “You never asked him if he was Elliott Warren. He just didn’t tell you he was a famous photographer.”

“Whatever. He’s my neighbor. You would think I would know something like that. I didn’t even put two and two together when I saw the framed photos in his apartment.”

“Like I said.” She sets her phone down, turning it over, so the screen doesn’t get wet. “You’re intimidating.”

I get defensive. “What are you going to do when you’re married? You can’t stay here every Friday and Saturday night.” I slump down in the water until the bubbles hit my chin and tickle my nose.

---