Page 61 of The Import Slot
The screen dims, and he places the iPad on the counter. “Nah, this can’t be true. He’d tell me if he was getting married.” The realisation hits him, and his face drops into a frown.
“I guess that explains why he didn’t want to come here anymore?” I say.
“He’s such a shitbag sometimes. Always been the same. Why didn’t he tell me?” he says, anger bubbling in his voice.
“It’s probably nothing personal, Ry. He’s most likely just really embarrassed,” I say, trying to be rational.
“It’s not us though; we don’t keep secrets, embarrassing or not. Fucking douche,” he says, turning and going back into my bedroom. I follow him, forgetting the drinks, but he’s on his knees again, concentrating on the wardrobe construction.
We’re both silent for a while and when he talks, he doesn’t mention Liam again and I don’t bring it up.
It takes him half the time it would have taken me, and once it’s built, I help him stand it up.
“I just need to secure it to the wall,” he says, his voice quiet.
“Thank you so much. It looks amazing.” I say, his arm snaking around my shoulder as he pulls me in to admire his handy work.
“You’re welcome. When is your bed coming? Will you need help with that too?” he asks, breaking away so he can fix it to the wall.
“Tomorrow. It’s all assembled and ready, but thanks for the offer.”
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asks.
“I’ve got a ready bed, one of those inflatable things. I borrowed it from Becca,” I say.
He looks at me with complete disgust. “Like you’re camping?”
“Well, I’d still be inside, but—”
He takes me in his arms. “Wouldn’t you rather stay with me?”
“Yes. Yes, I would,” I say, leaning up and kissing him.
I grab an overnight bag and fill it with my essentials while he packs Johnny’s tools away.
Once we’ve got everything ready, we head to Ryan’s building. Vicky wasn’t home when we left, and I’m grateful to avoid that confrontation. I’m not sure if Ryan would even want to talk about it again tonight, but as soon as we get to the eighth floor, he heads for Johnny’s apartment. He knocks, telling me he wants to return his tools.
Johnny answers in nothing but sweatpants, his chest and feet bare, and I must say, he’s been looking after himself too. He’s slightly taller than Ryan but not as broad, and his hair is a dirty blond, scruffy looking, but it suits him. I haven’t been in Johnny’s place before, but he invites us in, and I follow Ryan through to the living area, a mirrored version of next door.
“Thanks for these,” Ryan says, placing the tool bag down.
“Anytime. Did you do what you needed?” Johnny asks.
Ryan nods and starts fiddling with his hat, taking it off, putting it back on, flipping it forward, flipping it backwards. I can tell he’s itching to tell Johnny about the iPad call and message.
“You okay, man?” Johnny notices his anxiety too.
“Hey, has Vicky said anything about Liam since you spoke to her?” Ryan asks, his cap dancing by the snap on his index finger.
“No, why?”
“Just wondered. Do you know if they were getting serious or anything?” he asks.
“They aren’t even speaking, bud,” Johnny says, as if it’s obvious, but I think Johnny knows less than us.
“Right.” Ryan pops his cap back on and shoves his hand in his pocket.
“What’s this about?” Johnny asks, his eyes now bouncing between me and Ryan.
