Page 23 of Collision of Winters
Wade finished his coffee in two gulps. “I’ve postponed this enough, I’m afraid. I have to take the dogs out, but I suspect we’ll be back in minutes.”
I did not envy the doggies. I’d been out on the porch, and that was enough! It was super windy and cold.
While he was out, I could start thinking about how long I had to stay with Dad. As comfortable as it was, I wanted my own place—which cost a lot of money. A fucker needed to hold down a job in order to pay rent.
The first couple of hours, Wade seemed to be on edge and observing me semi-discreetly, as if to figure out who I was. He sat on the other section of the couch with a new book, but the pages didn’t turn as frequently as usual.
I didn’t have a whole lot to do, so I was just writing lists of things I needed for my return to DC.Extensivelists, like of what I could sell or throw out in my tiny studio apartment in Dallas. Good thing nobody in my family had been there, ’cause they’d balk at the conditions. Every time Dad had wanted to fly out, I’d suggested we go camping instead.
My throw-out list was very, very long. My sell-this list had three items, but one was a collectible I was fairly sure I could get a few hundred bucks for, and moving was expensive.
“I wish I could print money,” I said. “Only for a little while. Nobody would notice.”
Wade glanced up from his book. “Chris tried that once when we were young. He copied a five-dollar bill and printed it in black and white, proud as hell, and went to the store to buy candy.”
I laughed. That was so funny. “How did that go?”
He smirked. “He came home enraged because the store owner had just laughed at him.”
I could totally see it.
“Do you need money for anything in particular?” he asked next.
I shrugged. “I have some stuff I want with me from Dallas.” I eyed my list of such items. “My gaming chair, clothes, collection of pillowcases, sneakers?—”
“You collect pillowcases?” He turned curious.
“Yessir.” I grinned. “I have thirty-seven of them now, and they all go on my big pillow.” Which I also wanted to bring with me. It was one of those longer pillows you found in hotels. “It’s better than any stuffed animal in the world.”
He closed his book and shifted in his seat to rest an arm along the back of the couch. “I admit I’m curious about your Middle-isms, especially since I can’t imagine this place offers you anything to make you happy.”
Oh, I could think of one thing.
“I take it you don’t care about stuffed animals,” he deduced. “What about other toys and hobbies?”
I had several of them! “I still collect Pokémon cards,” I admitted sheepishly. “And baseball cards and some hockey cards.” I continued, because he appeared genuinely interested.“I have a ton of comics too, and I like to draw my own—not that I’m any good at it.”
“According to you, you’re not good at anything,” he pointed out. “I’m sure you’re great at it.”
Um, I wasn’t.
“I love to make cupcakes,” I added. “They’re super tasty and fun to decorate. I love frosting. I use Yaya’s brownie recipe, so the cupcakes come out flat…? That way, you can fit more frosting on there.”
He smiled. “Clever. I don’t suppose it’s a hobby of yours to have a savings account.”
I scrunched my nose. “What money would I put in there? I’m broke! When rent’s paid, I have to prioritize the bills.”
He furrowed his brow. “How can you afford your hobbies?”
I shrugged. “Birthday money, Christmas money, trading collectibles, and, occasionally, a partner feeling bad about not having time for me.” For some reason, I attracted business guys who worked too much. “The last Dom I was with gave me something from the comic bookstore every time he had to cancel a date. It was how I could afford car insurance while we were together. I sold the stuff he gave me.”
The furrow between his brows had deepened. “How long did that relationship last?”
I wasn’t sure I could call it a relationship. More like a dynamic. “We weren’t really together, but…a few months? I can never find anything lasting.”
In the end, I’d had to sell my car. Couldn’t afford it. At the time, I hadn’t needed it anyway, because I’d worked five minutes away from my apartment.
“But we all know there’s something wrong with me,” I joked. Although, I was dead serious.
