Page 20 of Until We're More
“I’ll swing by sometime after work this week. And by then I’ll be telling you all about how I kicked names and took ass. Wait.” Her forehead scrunched up. “Reverse and remix that shiznit—you know what I’m saying.”
“Rarely,” I joked. “If you need anything, text or call.”
“Will do. I’ll probably send you weird Snapchat pics when I get bored, so be prepared for the awesome.” It was her favorite thing to do in her free time, and I’d received countless weird pictures over the last few months. “You know, if you got the app, I wouldn’t have to post them to my storyandtext them to you, my one friend who refuses to get with the times.”
“Never going to happen.” Regardless of her pushing me to get the absurd app, I didn’t have a clue how to work it, and I had absolutely no desire to take pictures that turned me into a fucking dog-pig or cracked-out bunny.
Secretly, I liked when she sent me the selfies with all the goofy filters. As ridiculous as they were, they never failed to make me smile. Not that I could admit to that now, or I might reveal too much, and the urgency to get out of here as soon as possible streaked through me.
I texted Finn, telling him to meet me at the Fainting Goat; rushed through a quick shower even though I’d taken one before leaving the gym, since I—like the rest of my apartment—smelled like smoke; and then threw on jeans and a T-shirt.
By the time I returned, George was curled up on Chelsea’s lap, and she was brushing his teeth. He appeared miserable yet resigned.Yeah, that’s what you get for hacking on my rug, dude.
The concentration on Chelsea’s face made me smile. She was so thorough, not bothered in the least by her cat’s grumpy disposition or how he jerked his head away every few seconds. You could literally see how much she loved him, and I resolved to make peace with the temperamental feline. Even if he threw up everywhere and constantly showed me his asshole. By the end of this month, George and I were going to be besties.
Or at least learn how to tolerate each other.
“Later,” I called out, heading toward the door so I wouldn’t go and do something stupid, like abandon my hookup plans to watch Chelsea brush her cat’s teeth as she played some movie where the guys wore frilly, silky pants and talked in even frillier British accents.
I hesitated in the doorway, unable to resist one last chance to tease her. “For safety reasons, I feel I ought to say that if you need a distraction…”I know a much better method than cooking.Damn it, that wasn’t supposed to pop into my head. I swung open the door to the cupboard under the sink. “There’s a fire extinguisher in here.”
Chelsea attempted a flinty glare—still cute. “Are you implying I can’t cook?”
“No. I’m saying it. I’ll spell it out for you if you need me to.”
She tossed a crumpled napkin at me, but it caught air and landed on the floor halfway to the kitchen. “Have a good night, jerk face.”
“Night.”
As I was pulling the door closed, I caught sight of her flinging her bra aside, and then I had to force myself to lock the door so I wouldn’t head right back in.
…
In some ways, I felt bad for dragging Finn out to a bar where he couldn’t drink, thanks to being so close to his next fight. But I’d been sober and played DD plenty of times.
“What’s up?” he asked as soon as we’d settled on stools at the bar. “With Chelsea here, I figured you’d be at the gym or with her, from now until she leaves.”
“Yeah, me too, but…” I caught the bartender’s eye and lifted a finger, signaling I’d be the only one of the two of us drinking tonight. “I just need to expend some energy.”
A whole heap of smugness settled into my brother’s smile, tempting me to punch it right off him.
“Don’t start,” I warned, right as the bartender placed a beer in front of me.
“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to see it. I’m proud. I thought it’d be longer.”
My current plan was denial—not that it was working great, but once I decided on a method, I hated to abandon it. Instead I’d kill myself perfecting it, just so I could say I was right. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I just need a quick hookup. How many times have I been your wingman for the very same thing?”
Finn drummed his fingers on the bar. Then he lifted his phone and stared at the screen. “I really wanna call Brooklyn and ask for her advice. I can tell from the serious look on your face, I’m going to need help to talk you out of this crazy plan.”
“Don’t talk me out of it, then.” Like with the denial, I’d decided this was the best method to take the edge off. It had to work—the other option wasn’t an option. “Just help. Use your powers to find me a hot and unavailable girl for the night, and then I never want to hear about it again.”
He glanced around, and a one-two combo of apprehension and relief hit me. But instead of stopping on a girl, the blue eyes my siblings and I inherited from Dad landed back on me. “It’s not you, bro. Never has been. Then tomorrow you’ll be extra grumpy, hating yourself for it, and since you’re my coach, that’s not going to work in my favor.”
“Or maybe I’ll finally take the edge off and be happy.”
“You don’t do happy.”
“Not around you,” I grumbled, “and this conversation is a good example of why.”
